MA S TER NEGATIVE NO. 93-81384 MICROFILMED 1993 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES/NEW YORK as part of the "Foundations of Western Civilization Preservation Project" Funded by the NATIONAL ENDOWMENT FOR THE HUMANITIES Reproductions may not be made without permission from Columbia University Library COPYRIGHT STATEMENT The copyright law of the United States - Title 17, United States Code - concerns the making of photocopies or other reproductions of copyrighted material. Under certain conditions specified in the law, libraries and archives are authorized to furnish a photocopy or other reproduction. One of these specified conditions is that the photocopy or other reproduction is not to be "used for any purpose other than private study, scholarship, or research." If a user makes a request for, or later uses, a photocopy or reproduction for purposes in excess of "fair use," that user may be liable for copyright infringement. This institution reserves the right to refuse to accept a copy order if, in its judgement, fulfillment of the order would involve violation of the copyright law. AUTHOR: STEWART, DUGALD TITLE: ELEMENTS OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE PLACE: LONDON DA TE : 1850 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES PRESERVATION DEPARTMENT Master Negative # BIBLIOGRAPHIC MTCROFORM TARCFT Restrictions on Use: J' Original Material as Filmed - Existing Bibliographic Record 192St41 Q Stewart, Dugald, 1753-1828. Elements of the philosophy of the human mind, m tvro parts, by Dugald Stewart ... V.ith refer- ences, sectional heads, synoptical table of con- tents and translations of the numerous Greek, Latin, and French quotations, &c., by the Rev. G. N. Uright ... London, riilliam Tegg and co., xi, 602 p. 23«^. ^i^ 'I "^ i- 1, ( ^ -•—.—- -_ \ TECHNICAL MICROFORM DATA REDUCTION RATIO: FILM SIZE: ^^_m,__ IMAGE PLACEMENT: lA (IIA IB IIB DATE FILMED: S_-S^-^ '__ ' INITIALS ifl_ ]). C FILMED BY: RESEARCH PUBLICATIONS. INC WOQDBRIDGE. CT " I /A c Association for information and image iManagement 1100 Wayne Avenue. Suite 1100 Silver Spring. Maryland 20910 301/587-8202 Centimeter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 mm IIIIIIMlllllllllllilllllllllilllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllMllllllllinlMllllllllllllllIM wm ¥m T ^ T Inches 1 » ' I T 1.0 If 1^ itt -^ Uk Ilk . 1.4 |2.5 22 I.I 2.0 1.8 1.6 1.25 MfiNUFfiCTURED TO flllM STflNDRRDS BY RPPLIED IMfiGE, INC. n. .<, n^ :p; f hi Coimnbia (Bnttif mitp LIBRARY , ^:mJi M .if^i'^^uy ELEMENTS OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN MIND. IN TWO PAETS. BY DUGALD STEWART, PROriMOR or MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE ONIVER8ITV, AND FELLOW OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF EDINBURGH. ETC. ETC. I»J WITH REFERENCES, SECTIONAL HEADS. SYNOPTICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS AND TRANSLATIONS OF THE NUMEROUS GREEK, LATIN, AND FRENCH QUOTATIONS, Sic. BY THE REV. G. N. WRIGHT, M.A., EDITOR OP THE WORK! OP BERKELEY. RSID, CTC. LONDON: WILLIAM TEGG AND CO., 85. QUEEN STREET, CHEAPSIDE. 1853. H 4 2 \ PREFACE. CO o After an interval of more than twenty years,=*^ I venture to present to the pubhc the second Part of the " Philosophy of the Human Mind/' When the first Part was sent to the press, I expected that a few short chapters would comprehend all that I had further to offer concerning the Intellectual Powers; and that I should be able to employ the greater part of the second in examining those principles of our constitution, which are immediately connected with the Theory of Morals. On proceeding, however, to attempt an analysis of Reason, in the more strict acceptation of that term, I found so many doubts crowding on me with respect to the logical doctrines then generally received, that I was forced to abandon the com- paratively limited plan according to which I had originally in- tended to treat of the Understanding, and, in the meantime, to suspend the continuation of my work, till a more unbroken leisure should allow me to resume it with a less divided attention. Of the accidents which have since occurred to retard my pro- gress, it is unnecessary to take any notice here. I allude to them, merely as an apology for those defects of method, which are the natural, and perhaps the unavoidable consequences of the frequent interruptions by which the train of my thoughts has been diverted to other pursuits. Such of my readers as are able to judge how very large a proportion of my materials has been the fruit of my * The first Part of " The Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind" was pub- lished in 1/92, the second in 1814. A 2 (/■ f >H(1 »» /^ CD .11 :„ PREFACE own meditations, and wlio are aware of the fugitive nature of our reasonings concerning phenomena so far removed from the percep- tions of sense, will easily conceive the difficulty I must occasionally have experienced, in deciphering the short and slight hmts on these topics, which I had committed to writing at remote periods of my life; and still more, in recovering the thread which had at first connected them together in the order of my researches. I have repeatedly had occasion to regret the tendency of this intermitted and irregular mode of composition, to deprive my speculations of those advantages, in point of continuity, which, to the utmost of my power, I have endeavoured to give them. But I would willingly indulge the hope, that this is a blemish more likely to meet the eye of the author than of the reader ; and I am confident that the critic who shall honour me with a sufficient degree of attention, to detect it where it may occur, will not be inclined to treat it with undue severity. The circumstances which have so long delayed the publication of these reflections on the Intellectual Powers, have not operated, in an equal degree, to prevent the prosecution of my inquiries into those principles of Human Nature, to which my attention was, for many years, statedly and forcibly called by my official duty. Much, indeed, still remains to be done in maturing, digesting, and arranging many of the doctrines which I was accustomed to intro- duce into my lectures ; but if I shall be blessed, for a few years longer, with a moderate share of health and of mental vigour, I do not altogether despair of yet contributing something, in the form of Essays, to fill up the outline which the sanguine imagination of vouth encouraged me to conceive, before 1 had duly measured the "magnitude of my undertaking with the time or with the abilities which I could devote to the execution. The work which I now publish is more particularly intended for the use of academical students ; and is offered to them as a guide or assistant, at that important stage of their progress when, the usual course of discipline being completed, an inquisitive mind is naturally led to review its past attainments, and to form plans PREFACE, y for its future improvement. In the prosecution of this design, I have not aimed at the establishment of new theories ; far less have I aspired to the invention of any new organ for the discovery of truth. My principal object is to aid my readers in unlearning the scholastic errors which, in a greater or less degree, still maintain their ground in our most celebrated seats of learning ; and, by sub- jecting to free but, I trust, not sceptical discussion, the more enlightened though discordant systems of modern logicians, to accustom the understanding to the unfettered exercise of its native capacities. That several of the views opened in the following pages appear to myself original, and of some importance, I will not deny ; but the reception these may meet with, I shall regard as a matter of comparative indifference, if my labours be found useful in training the mind to those habits of reflection on its own operations, which may enable it to superadd to the instructions of the schools, that higher education which no schools can bestow. KiNNEIL HOUSE, 22nd November, 1813. i In order to estimate the value, and comprehend the force of the Author's criticisms on the theories of those metaphysical writers who have preceded him, it is absolutely necessary to understand the meaning of the numerous extracts from their writings to which his arguments immediately apply. As these occupy more than a six- teenth part of the whole volume, and have hitherto been allowed to remain in the different languages of their respective writers, an accomplished linguist alone was qualified to read " The Philosophy of the Mind" with effect. To extend the usefulness of the Author's labours, translations of all such extracts are now introduced (the original passages being also retained) ; more method is observed in the arrangement of the chapters, and headings are prefixed to those sections that appeared to require them. The employment of brackets to inclose the valuable, emphatic, or recapitulatory sen- tences in each section, has also been followed, and, an index (1^^) ( I i i> M » . VI PREFACE. placed at the commencement of each illustrative example, figure, or image, as in the editions of the works of Reid and Berkeley, published contemporaneously witii this volume. If this treatise were to be read only by him for whom it was written, — " the young philosopher, who had closed his academical career, and was therefore capable of reviewing with attention and candour his past acquisitions," — it might not be necessary to recom- mend a cautious reception of the observations, opinions, and lan- guage which it contains ; but, as the unlearned may also desire to examine the valuable store of knowledge here accumulated, it is expedient that he should be advised to guard against fallacies in which exuberance of style may sometimes involve him ; as well as against the illustrative arguments which the Author has occa- sionally employed without sufficient rcHection. Tlie confusion which appears in the chapter on Conception, where "Memory*' would evidently be a more appropriate term, exemplifies the first species of error : the illustration of *' a person iiiliiug asleep in church," &c., (who is certainly awakened by a new action pro- duced on the organs of hearing,) is an instance of the second. G. N. W. Coed Cklvx, Llankwst, Dknbighshirk. SYNOPTICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS. INTRODUCTION. CHAPTER I. PACK OP THE NATURE AND OBJECT OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN MIND 1 Sec. 1. That the Philosophy of the Human Mind has liithcrto made so Utile progress, acci- dental - - - ib. 2. Our notions of Matter and Mind relative - - 3 3. But the evidence of the exist- ence of Mind stronger - ib. 4. The consideration of the na- ture of Substance abandoned by modem Natural Pliiloso- phers - - - 3 5. Reid saw clearly the distinc- tion between an inquiry into the nature of Mind and into the laws of its phenomena - 4 6. The Uttle progress hitherto made in the philosophy of mind not surprising 7. Attention to two circum- stances would accelerate the progress of the ^ philosophy of mind - . - 8. Analogy between the investi- gation of the laws of Matter and of Mind - - 6 9. Inattention to the proper limits of philosophical in- quiry a source of error - 7 10 Analofry not hitherto em- ployed with sufficient caution ly philosophers - - 8 11. Principal object of Reid's in- quiries - - - ib. 5 ib. CHAPTER II. OF THE UTILITY OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN MIND - Sec. 1. A mutual connexion between the different arts and sciences 2. All the pursuits of life are connected with the study of the Intellectual Powers 3. Advantages of a successful analvsis of them 4. The most essential objects of education - - . 5. Farther advantages resulting from a knowledge of our capacities - - - 6. True principles on which edu- cation should be conducted, considered - - - 7. Why such different opinions upon this subject 8. Objection to the advantages of Education answered - 9. The necessity, force, and na- tural effects of authority Preliminr.ry step in entering upon the study of metaphy- sical science Such an examination alone can secure a philosopher from the danger of unlimited scepticism ... 12. How far implicit credulity and unlimited scepticism related Value of correct early im- pressions - - - In proportion as a creed is complicated in its dogmas, the more difficult is it to emancipate ourselves from its influence - PAGE 10. 11. 13. 14. ib. 10 ib. 11 13 ib. 14 15 17 ib. 18 19 21 - 23 'fi. I ib ^ u im STNOFTICAL TABLV. or CONTENTS. CHAPTER III. PA6I OONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT 24 Sec 1. Two consequences flowing from the relation between the diflFerent branches of edu- cation and the philosophy of the human mind - - ib. 2. A chief Obstruction to the study of Physics amongst ancient, and of Metaphysics amongst modem philosophers 25 rxcB Sec. 3. Analysis an additional illustra- tion of the utility of method 30 4. The observations on method will not apply literally to our inquiries in metaphysics, mo- rals, or politics - - 31 5. Further observations relative to the utility of the philo- sophy of mind - - 32 6. The most important purposes to which the philosophy of the human mind is subservient - 34 PART I. CHAPTER I. OF THE POWERS OF EXTERNAL PER- CEPTION - - - 35 Sec 1. Of the Theories which have been formed by Philosophers, to explain the manner in which the Mind perceives external Objects - - ib. 2. Of certain natural Prejudices which seem to have given rise to the common Theories of Perception - - 39 3. Of Dr. Raid's Speculations on the Subject of Perception - 47 4. Of the Origin of our know- ledge - - - 51 CHAPTER II. OF ATTENTION - - - 56 Sec. 1. The Connexion between At- tention and Memory - ib. 2. Of habits in which both mind and body are concerned - 60 3. Phenomena, or Habits purely intellectual - - - 66 CHAPTER III. 71 OF CONCEPTION Sec. 1. Conception, that power of the mind which enables it to form a notion of an absent object of perception, or of a sensa- tion which it has formerly felt - - - ib. 2. Agreements and Differences between Conception and Ima- gination - - - 75 CHAPTER IV. OF ABSTRACTION - - - 81 Sec. 1. General Observations on this Faculty of the Mind - ib 2. Ofthe objects of our thoughts, when we employ general terms - - - 85 3. Remarks on the Opinions of some modem Philosophers on the subject of the fore- going Section - - 96 4. Continuation of the same sub- ject. Inferences with re- spect to the use of Language as an Instmment of Thought, and the errors in Reasoning to which it occasionally gives rise . - - 104 5. Of the Purposes to which the Powers of Abstraction and Generalization are subser- vient - - - 108 6. Of the Errors to which we are liable in Speculation, and in the conduct of Affairs, in consequence of a rash Appli- cation of general Principles 114 7. Continuation of the same sub- ject. Differences in the In- tellectual Characters of Indi- viduals, arising from their different Habits of Abstrac- tion and Generalization -118 8. Continuation of the same sub- ject. Use and abuse of ge- neral principles in PoUtics 124 I I I CHAPTER V. PACE OP THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. FIRST ; OF THE INFLUENCE OF ASSOCIATION IN REGULATING THE SUCCESSION OP OUR THOUGHTS - - - 146 Sec. 1. General Observations on this Part of our Constitution, and on the Language of the Philo- sophers with respect to it - ib. 2. Of the Principles of Associa- tion among our Ideas - 152 3. Of the Power which the Mind has over the Train of its Thoughts - - - 156 4. Illustrations of the Doctrine slated in the preceding Sec- tion - . - 159 CHAPTER VI. THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.— SECONDLY ; OF THE INFLUENCE OF ASSOCIATION ON THE INTEL- LECTUAL AND ON THE ACTIVE POWERS ... 184 Sec. 1. Of the Influence of Casual Associations on our Specu- lative Conclusions - - ib. 2. Influence of the Association of Ideas on our Judgments in Matters of Taste - 195 3. Of the Influence of Association on our active Principles, and on our moral Judgments - 204 4. General Remarks on the Sub- jects treated in the foregoing Sections of this Chapter - 210 CHAPTER VII. OF MEMORY ... 212 Sec. 1. General Obser\ations on Me- mory - - - ib. ix PAGE Sec. 2. Of the Vaneties of Memory in diflferent Individuals - 219 3. Of the Improvement of Me- mory. — Analysis of the Prin- ciples on which the culture of Memory depends - - 226 1. Aid which the Memory de- rives from Philosophical Ar- rangement - - - 230 5. Effects produced on the Me- mory by committing to Writ- ing our acquired Knowledge 235 6. Of Artificial Memory - 240 7. Importance of making a pro- per Selection among the ob- jects of our Knowledge, in order to derive Advantage from the Acquisitions of Me- mory _ _ - 243 8. Of the Connexion between Memory and Philosophical Genius ... 248 CHAPTER VIII. OF IMAGINATION - - - 253 Sec. 1. Analysis of Imagination - ib. 2. Of Imagination considered in its Relation to some of the Fine Arts - - - 258 3. Relation of Imagination and of Taste to Genius - - 267 4. Of the Influence of Imagina- tion on Human Character and Happiness • - 268 5. Inconveniences resulting from an ill-regulated Imagination - 272 6. Important Uses to which the Power of the Imagination is subservient - - - 279 I PART II. OF REASON, OR THE UNDERSTANDING PROPERLY SO CALLED ; AND THE VARIOUS FACULTIES AND OPE- RATIONS MORE IMMEDIATELY CONNECTED WITH IT - - 283 Preliminary Observations. — On the vagueness and ambiguity of the common philosophical language relative to this part of our con- stitution. — Reason and reason- ing, — understanding, — intellect, — judgment, &c. - - ib. CHAPTER I. OF THE FUNDAMENTAL LAWS OF HU- MAN BELIEF ; OR THE PRIMARY ELEMENTS OF HUMAN REASON - 296 Sec. 1. Of Mathematical Axioms - ib. 2. Continuation of the same subject . - . 305 3. Of certain Laws of Belief, in- separably connected with the Exercise of Consciousness, Memory, Perception, and Reasoning - - - 308 SYNOPTICAL TABLK. OF CONTENTS. FAGS Sec. 4. Critical Remarks on some late Controversies to which it has given rise. Of the Appeals which Dr. Reid and some other modem Writers have made, in their philoso- phical Discussions, to Com- mon Sense, as a Criterion of Truth - - - 31G CHAPTER II. CHAPTER V. FAGI CHAPTER VII. XI FAOE - 389 OF X REASONING AND OF DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE Sec. 1. Doubts with respect to Locke's Distinction between the Powers of Intuition and of Reasoning 2. Conclusions obtained by a Process of Deduction often mistaken for Intuitive Judg ments - 329 ib. ! ib. - 333 CHAPTER III. or GENERAL REASONING • - 337 Sec. I. Illustrations of some Remarks formerly Stated in treating of Abstraction - - ib. 2. Oi Language considered as an Instrument of Thought - 348 3. Visionary Tlieories of some Logicians, occasioned by their inattention to the Essential Distinction between Mathe- matics and other Sciences - 353 4. Peculiar and supereminent Advantages possessed by Ma- thematicians, in consequence of their definite Phraseology 358 3. 4. 392 - 403 CHAPTER IV. C1F MATHEMATICAL DEMONSTRATION 360 Sec. 1. Of the Circumstance on which Denjonstrative Evidence es- sentially depends - - ib. 2. How far it is true that all Mathematical E^^dcnce is re- solvable into Identical Pro- positions - - - .167 3. Evidence of the Mechanical Philosophy, not to be con- founded with that which is properly called Demonstra- tive or Mathematical. — Op- posite Error of some late Writers - - - 373 OF OUR REASONINGS CONCERNING PROBABLE OR CONTINGENT TRUTHS Sec. 1. Narrow Field of Demonstra- tive Evidence. — Of Demon- strative Evidence, when com- bined with that of Sense, as in Practical comet r\' ; and with those of Sense and of Induction, as in the Mecha- nical Philosophy.— Remarks on a Fundamental Law of Belief, involved in all our Reasonings concerning Con- tingent Truths 2. Of that Permanence or Sta- bility in the Order of Nature, which is presupposed in our Reasonings concerning Con- tingent Truths General Remarks on the diffe- rence between the Evidence of Experience and that of Analogy E\'idence of Testimony tacitly recognised as a ground of Belief, in our most certain conclusions concerning Con- tingent Truths. — Ditference between the Logical and the Poi>ular Meanmg of the word Probability - - - CHAPTER VI. OF THE ARISTOTELIAN LOGIC - 411 Sec. 1. Of the Demonstrations of the Syllogistic Rules given by Aristotle and his Commen- tators - - - ib. 2. General Reflections on the aim of the Aristotelian Logic, and on the intellectual Habits which the study of it has a tendency lo form. — That the improvement of the power of Reasoning ought to be re- garded as only a secondary Object in the culture of the Understanding - - 425 Sec. 3. In what respect the study of the Aristotelian logic may be useful to disputants. — A ge- neral acquaintance with it justly regarded as an essen- tial accomplishment to those who are hberally educated. — Doubts suggested by some late writers concerning Aris- totle's claims to the invention of the Syllogistic Theory - 435 FAGB 409 OF THE METHOD OF INQUIRY POINTED OUT IN THE EXPERIMENTAL OR INDUCTIVE LOGIC - - 446 Sec. 1. Mistakes of the Ancients con- ceniing the proper Object of Philosophy. — Ideas of Bacon on the same subject. — In- ductive Reasoning. — Analysis and Synthesis. — Essential difference between Legiti- mate and Hypothetical Theo- ries - - - ib. 2. The Induction of Aristotle compared with that of Bacon 463 CHAPTER VIII. OF THE IMPORT OF THE WORDS ANA- LYSIS AND SYNTHESIS, IN THE LANGUAGE OF MODERN PHILO- SOPHY - - - - 472 Sec. 1. Preliminary Observations on the Analvsis. and Svnthesis of the Greek Geometricians ib. 2. Critical Remarks on the vague use among modern Writers of the terms Analysis and Synthesis - - - 478 CHAPTER IX. THE CONSIDERATION OF THE INDUC- TIVE LOGIC RESUMED - - 487 Sec. 1. Atlditional Remarks on the Distinction between Expe- rience and Analogy. — Of the grounds afforded by the latter for Scientific Inference and Conjecture - - - ib. 2. Use and Abuse of Hypotheses in* Philosophical Inquiries. — Difference between Gratui- tous Hypotheses, and those which are supported by pre- sumptions suggested by Ana- logy. — Indirect Evidence which an Hypothesis may de- rive from its agreement with the Phenomena. — Cautions against extending some of these conclusions to the Phi- losophy of the Human Mind 498 Sec. 3. Supplemental Observauons on the words Induction and Ana- logy, as used in Mathematics 511 CHAPTER X. OF CERTAIN MISAPPLICATIONS OF THE WORDS EXPERIENCE AND INDUCTION, IN THE PHRASE- OLOGY OF MODERN SCIENCE. ILLUSTRATIONS FROM MEDI- CINE AND FROM POLITICAL ECONOMY - - - 516 CHAPTER XL OF THE SPECULATION CONCERNING FINAL CAUSES - - 526 Sec. 1. Opinion of Lord Bacon on the subject. — Final Causes re- jected by Des Cartes, and by the majority of French Phi- losophers. — Recognised as legitimate objects of research by Newton. — Tacitly acknow- ledged by all as a useful logi- cal Guide, even in Sciences which have no immediate relation to Theology - ib. 2. Danger of confounding Final with Physical Causes in the Philosophy of the Human Mind - - - 537 CONCLUSION OF PART II. - - 543 NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS - 549 '\ INTRODUCTION. CHAPTER I. OF THE NATURE AND OBJECT OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN MIND. 1. That the Philosophy of the Human Mind has hitherto made so tittle progress, accidental— {Tn^ prejudice which is commonly enter- tamed agamst metaphysical speculations, seems to arise chiefly from two causes: First, from an apprehension that the subjects about which they are employed are placed beyond the reach of the human faculties ; and, secondly, from a behef that these subiects have no relation to the business of life.] The frivolous and absurd discussions which abound in the writ- ings of most metapiiysical authors, afford but too many arguments m justification of these opinions ; and if such discussions were to be admitted as a fair specimen of what the human mind is able to accomplish in this department of science, the contempt, into which it has fallen of late, might with justice be regarded, as no inconsi- derable evidence of the progress which true philosophy has made m the present age. Among the various subjects of inquiry, how- ever, which, in consequence of the vague use of language, are com- prehended under the general title of Metaphysics, there are some which are essentially distinguished from the rest, both by the degree of evidence which accompanies their principles, and by the relation which they bear to the useful sciences and arts : and it has unfortunately happened, that these have shared in that general dis- credit into which the other branches of metaphysics have justly fallen. [To this circumstance is probably to be ascribed, the little progress which has hitherto been made in the philosophy of the HUMAN MIND ; a scicucc, so interesting in its nature, and so im- portant in Its applications, that it could scarcely have failed in these inquisitive and enlightened times, to have excited a very general attention, if it had not accidentally been classed, in the public opinion, with the vain and unprofitable disquisitions of the schoolmen.] In order to obviate these misapprehensions with respect to the subject of the following work, I have thought it proper, in this (■"i B M, ' •» ^ ^ Ki V i / "v y INTRODUCTION. CHAP. I. preliminary chapter, first, to explain the nature of the truths which I propose to investigate ; and, secondly, to point out some of the more important applications of which they are susceptible. In stating these preliminary observations, I may perhaps appear to some to be minute and tedious ; but this fault, I am confident, will be readily pardoned by those, who have studied with care the prin- ciples of that science of which I am to treat : and who are anxious to remove the prejudices which have, in a great measure, excluded it from the modern systems of education. In the progress of my work, I flatter myself that I shall not oflen have occasion to solicit the indulgence of my readers, for an unnecessary diffuseness. II. Our notions of Matter and Mind relative. — [The notions we an- nex to the words, matter and mind, as is well remarked by Dr. Reid (in his Essays on the Active Powers of Man), are merely relative.] If I am asked, what I mean by matter? I can only explain my self hy saying, it is that which is extended, figured, coloured, movable, hard or soft, rough or smooth, hot or cold ;— that is, I can define it in no other way than hy enumerating its sensible qualities. It is not matter, or body, which I perceive by my senses ; but only extension, figure, colour, and certain other qualities, which the constitution of my nature leads me to refer to something, which is extended, figured, and coloured. The case is precisely similar witli respect to mind. ^Ve are not immediately conscious of its existence, but we are conscious of sensation, thought, and volition ; operations, which imply the existence of something which feels, thinks, and wills. Every man, too, is impressed with an irresist- ible conviction, that all these sensations, thoughts, and volitions, belong to one and the same being ; to that being, which he calls himself; a being, which he is led, by the constitution of his nature, to consider as something distinct from his body, and as not liable to be impaired by the loss or mutilation of any of his organs. III. But the evidence of the existence of Mind stronger. — From these considerations it appears, that [we have the same evidence for the existence of mind, that we have for the existence of body ; nay, if there be any difference between the two cases, that we have stronger evidence for it ; inasmuch as the one is suggested to us by the sub- jects of our own consciousness, and the other merely by the objects of our perceptions :] and in this light, undoubtedly, the fact would appear to every person, were it not, that, from our earliest years, the attention is engrossed with the qualities and laws of matter, an acquaintance with which is absolutely necessary for the preservation of our animal existence. Hence it is, that these phenomena occupy our thoughts more than those of mind ; that we are perpetually tempted to explain the latter by the analogy of the former, and even to endeavour to refer them to the same general laws ; and that we acquire habits of inattention to the su!^cts of our consciousness, too strong to be afterwards surmounted, without the most perse- vering indiistry. INTRODUCTION. 3 If the foregoing observations be well founded, they establish the distinction between mind and matter, without any long process of metaphysical reasoning (note a.) : for, if our notions of both are merely relative ; if we know the one, only by such sensible qualities as extension, figure, and solidity ; and the other, by such operations as sensation, thought, and volition ; we are certainly entitled to say, ' that matter and mind, considered as objects of human study, are ^ essentially different ; the science of the former resting ultimately on the phenomena exhibited to our senses ; that of the latter, on the phenomena of which we are conscious. Instead, therefore, of ob- jecting to the scheme of materialism, that its conclusions are false, it would be more accurate to say, that its aim is unphilosophical! It proceeds on a misapprehension of the proper object of science ; the difficulty which it professes to remove being manifestly placed beyond the reach of our faculties. Surely, when we attempt to f explain the nature of that principle which feels and thinks, and wills, by saying, that it is a material substance, or that it is the result of material organization, we impose on ourselves by words ; forget- ting, that [matter as well as mind is known to us by its qualities and attributes alone, and that we are totally ignorant of the essence of either.]* IV. The consideration of the nature of Substance abandoned by modern Natural Philosophers. — [As all our knowledge of the mate- rial world is derived from the information of our senses, natural philo- sophers have, in modern times wisely abandoned to metaphysicians, all speculations concerning the nature o/*that substance of which it is composed ; concerning the possibility or impossibility of its being created; concerning the efficient causes of the changes which take place in it ; and even concerning the reality of its existence, inde- pendent of that of percipient beings : and have confined themselves to the humbler province of observing the phenomena it exhibits, and of ascertaining their general laws.] By pursuing this plan steadily, they have, in the course of the two last centuries, formed a body of science, wliich not only does honour to the human under- standing, but has had a most important influence on the practical arts of life. — This experimental philosophy, t\o one now is in danger of confounding with the metaphysical speculations already men- tioned. Of the importance of these, as a separate branch of study, it is possible that some may think more favourably than others ; but they are obviously different in their nature, from the investiga- tions of physics ; and it is of the utmost consequence to the evidence of this last science, that its principles should not be blended with those of the former. * Some metaphysicians, who appear to admit the truth of the foregoing reasoning, have farther urged, that for anjihing we can prove to the contrary, it is possible, that the unknown substance which has the qualities of extension, figure, and colour, may be the same with the unknown substance which has the attributes of feeling, thinking, and willing. But besides that this is only an h>-pothesis, which amounts to notliing more than a mere possibility, even if it Mere true, it would no more be proper to say of mind, that it is material, than to sav of bodv, that it is spiritual. B 2 I ^ l'^ ' 4 INTRODUCTION. CHAP. r. A similar distinction takes place among the questions which may be stated relative to the human mind. — Whether it be extended or unextended ; whether or not it has any relation to place ; and (if it has) whether it resides in the brain, or be spread over the body, by diffusion; are questions perfectly analogous to those which metaphysicians have started on the subject of matter. It is unne- cessary to inquire, at present, whether or not they admit of answer. It is sufficient for my purpose to remark, that they are as widely and obviously different from the view, which I propose to take, of the human mind in the following work, as the reveries of Berkeley concerning the nonexistence of the material world, are from the conclusions of Newton, and his followers. — [It is farther evident, that the metaphysical opinions, which we may happen to have formed concerning the nature either of body or of mind, and the efficient causes by which their phenomena are produced, have no necessary connexion with our inquiries concerning the /ait'5, accord- ing to which these phenomena take place.] Whether (for example), the cause of gravitation be material or immaterial, is a point about which two Newtonians may differ, while they agree perfectly in their physical opinions. It is sufficient, if both admit the general fact, that bodies tend to approach each other, with a force varying with their mutual distance, according to a certain law. In like manner, [in the study of the human mind, the conclusions to which we are led, by a careful examination of the phenomena it exiiibits, have no necessary connexion with our opinions concerning its nature and essence.] If^ That when two subjects of thought, for instance, have been repeatedly presented to the mind in conjunction, the one has a tendency to suggest the other, is a fact of which I can no more doubt, than of any thing for which I have the evidence of ray senses ; and it is plainly a fact totally unconnected with any hypo- thesis concerning the nature of the soul, and which will be as readily admitted by the materialist as by the Berkeleian. V. Reid saw clearly the distinction between an innuiry into the na' ture of Mind and into the laws of its phenomena — Notwithstanding, however, the reality and importance of this distinction, it has not hitherto been sufficiently attended to, by the philosophers who have treated of the human mind. Dr. Reid is perhaps the only one who has perceived it clearly, or at least who has kept it steadily in view, in all his inquiries. [In the writings, indeed, of several other modem metaphysicians, we meet with a variety of important and well- ascertained facts ; but, in general, these facts are blended with speculations upon subjects which are placed beyond the reach of the human faculties. It is this mixture of fact, and of hypothesis, which has brought the philosophy of mind into some degree of discredit ;] nor will ever its real value be generally acknowledged, till the distinction I have endeavoured to illustrate, be understood, and attended to, by those who speculate on the subject. By con- fining their attention to the sensible qualities of body, and to the INTRODUCTION." 5 sensible phenomena it exhibits, we know what discoveries natural philosophers have made : and if the labours of metaphysicians shall ever be rewarded with similar success, it can only be, by atten- tive and patient reflection on the subjects of their own consciousness, I cannot help taking this opportunity of remarking, on the other hand, that if physical inquirers should think of again employing themselves in speculations about the nature of matter, instesid of attempting to ascertain its sensible properties and laws (and of late there seems to be such a tendency among some of the followers of Boscovich), they will soon involve themselves in an inextricable labyrinth, and the first principles of physics will be rendered as mysterious and chimerical, as the pneumatology of the schoolmen. VI. [ The little progress (vide ^ i.) which has hitherto been made in the philosophy of mind wiW not appear surprising to those who have attended to the history of natural knowledge. It is only since the time of Lord Bacon, that the study of it has been prosecuted with any degree of success, or that the proper method of conducting it has been generally understood.] There is even some reason for doubt- ing, from the crude speculations on medical and chemical subjects which are daily offered to the public, whether it be yet understood so completely as is commonly imagined; and whether a fuller illustration of the rules of philosophising, than Bacon or his fol- lowers have given, might not be useful, even to physical inquirers. [When we reflect, in this manner, on the shortness of the period during which natural philosophy has been successfully cultivated ; and, at the same time, consider how open to our examination the laws of matter are, in comparison of those which regulate the phe- nomena of thought, we shall (1) neither be disposed to wonder, that the philosophy of mind should still remain in its infancy, nor (2) be discouraged in our hopes concerning its future progress.] The excellent models of this species of investigation, which the writings of Dr. Reid exhibit, give us ground to expect that the time is not far distant, when it shall assume that rank which it is entitled to hold among the sciences. VII. [It would probably contribute much to accelerate the pro- gress of the philosophy of mind, if (1) a distinct explanation were given of its nature and object ; and if (2) some general rules were laid down, with respect to the proper method of conducting the study of it.] To this subject, however, which is of sufficient extent to furnish matter for a separate work, I cannot attempt to do jus- tice at present ; and shall therefore confine myself to the illustra- tion of a few fundamental principles, which it will be of essential importance for us to keep in view in the following inquiries. Upon a slight attention to the operations of our own minds, they appear to be so complicated, and so infinitely diversified, that it seems to be impossible to reduce them to any general laws. In consequence, however, of a more accurate examination, the pro- spect clears up ; and the phenomena, which appeared, at first, to be H! 6 INTRODUCTION. CHAP. I. too various for our comprehension, are found to be the result of a comparatively small number of simple and uncompounded facul- ties, or of simple and uncompounded principles of action. These faculties and principles are the general laws of our constitution, and hold the same place in the philosophy of mind, that the gene- ral laws we investigate in physics, hold in that branch of science. In both cases, the laws which nature has established, are to be investigated only by an examination of facts ; and in both cases, a knowledge of these laws leads to an explanation of an infinite number of phenomena. VIII. Anuloyy between the investigation of the laws of Matter and of Mind. — [In the investigation of physical laws, it is well known, that our inquiries must always terminate in some general fact, of which no account can be given, but that such is the constitution of nature. 8^ After we have established, for example, from the astronomical phenomena, the universality of the law of gravitation, it may still be asked, whether this law impHes the constant agency of mind ; and (upon the supposition that it does) whether it be probable that the Deity always operates immediately, or by means of subordinate instruments? But these questions, however curious, do not fall under the province of the natural philosopher. It is sufficient for his purpose, if the universality of the fact be admitted. [The case is exactly the same in the philosophy of mind. When we have once ascertained a general fact; such as, the various /tft£?s which regulate the association of ideas, or the dependence of memory on that effort of the mind which we call. Attention ; it is all we ought to aim at, in this brancli of science.] If we proceed no further than facts for which we have the evidence o^ our own consciousness, our conclusions will be no less certain, than those in physics : but if our curiosity leads us to attempt an explanation of the association of ideas, by certain supposed vibrations, or other changes, in the state of the brain ; or to explain memory, by means of supposed impressions and traces in the sensorium ; we evidently blend a collection of important and well-ascertained truths, with principles which rest wholly on conjecture.* * There is indeed one \-iew of the connexion between Mind and Matter, which is perfectly agreeable to the just rules of philosophy. The object of this is, to ascertain the law s which regulate their union, without attempting to explain in what manner they are united. Lord Bacon was, I believe, the first who gave a distinct idea of this sort of specula- tion; and I do not know that much progress has yet been made in it. In his books de Augmentis Scicntiarum, a variety of subjects are enumerated, in order to illustrate its nature ; and, undou})tedly, most of these are in a high degree curious and important. — The following list comprehends the chief of those he has mentioned ; with the addition of several others, reconmiended to the consideration of Philosophers and of Methcal Inquirers, by the late Dr. Gregorj-. See his Lectures on the Duties and Qualifications of a Physician. 1. The doctrine of the prescr\ation and improvement of the diflfcrent senses. 2. The history of the power and influence of imagination. 3. The history of the several species of enthusiasm. 4. The history of the various circunjstances in parents, that have an influence on conception, and tlie constitution and characters of their children. I INTRODUCTION. 7 The observations which have been now stated, with respect to the proper limits of philosophical curiosity, have too frequently escaped the attention of speculative men, in all the different depart- ments of science. In none of these, however, has this inattention produced such a variety of errors and absurdities, as in the science of mind ; a subject to which, till of late, it does not seem to have been suspected, that the general rules of philosophising are appli- cable. The strange mixture of fact and hypothesis, which the greater part of metaphysical inquiries exhibit, had led almost uni- versally to a belief, that it is only a very faint and doubtful light, which human reason can ever expect to throw on this dark, but interesting, field of speculation. IX. [Beside this inattention to the proper limits of philosophical inquiry, other sources of error, from which the science of physics is entirely exempted, have contributed to retard the progress of the philosophy of mind. Of these, the most important proceed from that disposition which is so natural to every person at the commencement of his philosophical pursuits, to explain intellectual and moral phenomena by the analogy of the material world.} I before took notice of those habits of inattention to the subjects of our consciousness, which take their rise in that period of our lives when we are necessarily employed in acquiring a knowledge of the properties and laws of matter. In consequence of this early familiarity with the phenomena of the material world, they appear to us less mysterious than those of mind ; and we are apt to think that we have advanced one step in explaining the latter, when we can point out some analogy between them and the former. It is owing to the same circumstance, that we have scarcely any appro- priated language with respect to mind, and that the words which express its ditferent operations, are almost all borrowed from the objects of our senses. It must, however, appear manifest, upon a very little reflection, that as the two subjects are essentially dis- tinct, and as each of them has its peculiar laws, the analogies we are pleased to fancy between them, can be of no use in illustrating either ; and that it is no less unphilosophical to attempt an expla- 5. The history of dreams. 6. The history of the laws of custom and habit. 7. The history of the eflfects of music, and of such other things as operate on the mind and Ixwly, in consequence of impressions made on the senses. 8. The history of natural signs and language, comprehending the doctrine of physiognomy and outward gesture. 9. The history of the power and laws of the principle of imitation. To this list various other subjects might be added ; particularly the history of the laws of memory, in so far as they appear to be connected with the state of the body, and the histoiy of the diflfcrent species of madness. This view of the connexion between Mind and Matter does not fall properly under the plan of the following work ; in which my leading object is to ascertain the principles of our nature, in so far as they can be discovered by attention to the subjects of our own consciousness ; and to apply these principles to explain the phenomena arising from them. Various incidental remarks, however, will occur, in the course of our inquiries, tending to illustrate some of the subjects comprehended in the foregoing enumeration. ' ' <] -I . h «^''. > iiki 1 ■H ^H h| r: ^' { 1 iiiii'i » ) I ll! pm' 10 INTRODUCTION. CHAP. II. INTRODUCTION. 11 Although, however, the different departments of science and of art mutually reflect light on each other, it is not always necessary either for the philosopher or the artist to aim at the acquisition of general knowledge. Both of them may safely take many principles for granted, without being able to demonstrate their truth. ^T A seaman, though ignorant of mathematics, may apply, with correct- ness and dexterity, the rules for finding the longitude. An astro- nomer or a botanist, though ignorant of optics, may avail himself of the use of the telescope or the microscope. These observations are daily exemplified in the case of the artist ; who has seldom either inclination or leisure to speculate concerning the principles of his art. It is rarely, however, we meet with a man of science who has confined his studies wholly to one branch of knowledge. That curiosity, which he has been accustomed to in- dulge in the course of his favourite pursuit, will naturally extend itself to every remarkable object which falls under his observation, and can scarcely fail to be a source of perpetual dissatisfaction to his mind, till it has been so far gratified as to enable him to explain all the various phenomena which his professional habits are every day presenting to his view. II. All the pursuits of life are connected with the study of the Intel- lectual Potcers. — [As every particular science is in this manner con- nected with others, to which it naturally directs the attention, so all the pursuits of life, whether they tenninate in speculation or action, are connected with that general science which has the human mind for its object, llie powers of the understanding are instruments which all men employ ; and his curiosity must be small indeed, who passes through life in a total ignorance of faculties which his wants and necessities force him habitually to exercise, and which so re- markably distinguish man from the lower animals.] The active prin- ciples of our nature, which, by their various modifications and combi- nations, give rise to all the moral differences among men, are fitted, in a still higher degree, if possible, to interest those who are either dis- posed to reflect on their own characters, or to observe, with atten- tion, the characters of others. The phenomena resulting from these faculties and principles of the mind, are every moment soliciting our notice, and open to our examination a field of discovery as inexhaustible as the phenomena of the material world, and exhibit- ing not less striking marks of divine wisdom, i III. Advantages of a successful anahjsis of them. — While all the sciences and all the pursuits of life have this common tendency to lead our inquiries to the philosophy of human nature, this last branch of knowledge borrows its principles from no other science what- ever, [Hence there is (1) something in the study of it which is peculiarly gratifying to a reflecting and inquisitive mind, and (2) something in the conclusions to which it leads on which the mind rests with peculiar satisfaction, (3) Till once our opinions are in some degree fixed with respect to it, we abandon ourselves, with reluctance, to particular scientific investigations ; and (4) on the other hand, a general knowledge of such of its principles as are most fitted to excite the curiosity not only prepares us for engaging in other pursuits with more liberal and comprehensive views, but leaves us at liberty to prosecute them with a more undivided and con- centrated attention.] It is not, however, merely as a subject of speculative curiosity that the principles of the human mind deserve a careful examina- tion. The advantages to be expected from a successful analysis of it are various ; and some of them of such importance, as to render it astonishing, that, amidst all the success with which the subordi- nate sciences have been cultivated, this, which comprehends the prin- ciples of all of them, should be still suflered to remain in its infancy. I shall endeavour to illustrate a few of these advantages, begin- ning with what appears to me to be the most important of any ; [(5) the light which a philosophical analysis of the principles Of the mind would necessarily throw on the subjects of intellectual and moral education.] IV. [ The most essential objects of education are the two following : First, to cultivate all the various principles of our nature, both speculative and active, in such a manner as to bring them to the greatest perfection of which they are susceptible ; and, secondly, by watching over the impressions and associations which the mind receives in early life, to secure it against the influence of prevailing errors ; and, as far as possible, to engage its prepossessions on the side of truth.] It is only upon a philosophical analysis of the mind, that a systematical plan can be founded for the accomplishment of either of these purposes. There are few individuals whose education has been conducted in every respect with attention and judgment. Almost every man of reflection is conscious, when he arrives at maturity, of many defects in his mental powers, and of many inconvenient habits, which might have been prevented or remedied in his infancy or youth. Such a consciousness is the first step towards improvement ; and the person who feels it, if he is possessed of resolution and steadiness, will not scruple to begin, even in advanced years, a new course of education for himself. [The degree of reflection and observation, indeed, which is necessary for this purpose, cannot be expected from any one at a very early period of life, as these are the last powers of the mind which unfold themselves ; but it is never too late to think of the improvement of our faculties; and much progress may be made in the art of applying them success- fully to their proper objects, or in obviating the inconveniences resulting from their imperfection, not only in manhood, but in old age.] It is not, however, to the mistakes of our early instructors, that all our intellectual defects are to be ascribed. There is no profes- sion or pursuit which has not habits peculiar to itself, and which t J |. n ; A .s ' INTRODUCTION. CHAP. n. 12 does not leave some powers of the mind dormant, while it exercises and improves the rest. If we wish, therefore, to cultivate the mind to the extent of its capacity, we must not rest satisfied with that employment which its faculties receive from our particular situation in life. I^i" It is not in the awkward and professional form of a mechanic^ who has strengthened particular muscles of his body by the habits of his trade, that we are to look for the perfection of our animal nature ; neither is it among men of confined pursuits, whether speculative or active, that we are to expect to find the human mind in its highest state of cultivation. A variety of exer- cises is necessary to preserve the animal frame in vigour and beauty ; and a variety of those occupations which literature and science afford, added to a promiscuous intercourse with the world, in the habits of conversation and business, is no less necessary for the improvement of the understanding. I acknowledge, that [there are some professions in which a man of very confined acquisitions may arrive at the first eminence, and m which he will perhaps he the more likely to excel, the more he has concentrated the whole force of his mind to one particular object.] But such a person, however dis- tinguished in his own sphere, is educated merely to be a literary artisan, and neither attains the perfection nor the happiness of his nature. " That education only can be considered as complete and generous, which *' (in the language of Milton) " fits a man to per- form justly, skilfully, and magnanimously, all the offices, both pri- vate and public, of peace and of war." — Tractate of Education, I hope it will not be supposed, from the foregoing observations, that they are meant to recommend an indiscriminate attention to all the objects of speculation and of action. Nothing can be more evident, than the necessity of limiting the field of our exertion, if we wish to benefit society by our labours. But it is perfectly consistent with the most intense application to our favourite pur- suit, to cultivate that general actjuaintance with letters and with the world which may be sufficient to enlarge the mind, and to preserve it from any danger of contracting the pedantry of a particular pro- fession. In many cases, (as was already remarked) the sciences reflect light on each other ; and the general acquisitions which we have made in other pursuits, may furnish us with useful helps for the farther prosecution of our own. But even in those instances in which the case is otherwise, and in which these liberal accom- plishments must be purchased by the sacrifice of a part of our pro- fessional eminence, the acquisition of them will amply repay any loss we may sustain. [It ought not to be the leading object of any one, to become an eminent metaphysician, mathematician, or poet, but to render himself happy as an individual, and an agreeable, a respectable, and a useful member of society. A man who loses his sight, improves the sensibility of his touch ; but who would consent, for such a recompense, to part with the pleasures which be receives from the eye ?] INTRODUCTION. 13 V. Farther advantages resulting from a knowledge of our capacities, — It is almost unnecessary for me to remark, how much individuals would be assisted in the proper and liberal culture of the mind, if they were previously led to take a comprehensive survey of human nature in all its parts ; of its various faculties, and powers, and sources of enjoyment, and of the effects which are produced on these principles by particular situations. It is such a knowledge alone of the capacities of the mind, that (1) can enable a person to judge of his own acquisitions, and (2) to employ the most effectual means for supplying his defects and removing his inconvenient habits (3) Without some degree of it, every man is in danger of contracting bad habits before, he is aware, and (4) of suffering some of his powers to go to decay, for want of proper exercise.] VI. True principles on which Education should he conducted con- sidered. — If the business of early education were more thoroughly and more generally understood, it would be less necessary for indi- viduals, when they arrive at maturity, to form plans of improvement for themselves. [But education never can be systematically directed to its proper objects, till we have obtained, not only an accurate analysis of the general priiiciples of our nature, and an account of the most important laws which regulate their operation ; but an explanation of the various modifications and combinations of these principles, which produce that diversity of talents, genius, and character, we observe among men.] To instruct youth in the languages and in the sciences is comparatively of little importance, if we are inattentive to the habits they acquire, and are not careful in giving to all their different faculties, and all their different principles of action, a proper degree of employment. [Abstracting entirely from the culture of their moral powers, how extensive and difficult is the business of conducting their intellectual improve- ment ! To watch over the associations which they form in their tender years ; to give them early habits of mental activity ; to rouse their curiosity, and to direct it to proper objects ; to exercise their ingenuity and invention : to cultivate in their minds a turn for speculation, and at the same time preserve their attention alive to the objects around them ; to awaken their sensibilities to the beau- ties of nature, and to inspire them with a relish for intellectual enjoyment ;] — these form but a part of the business of education, and yet the execution even of this part requires an acquaintance with the general principles of our nature, which seldom falls to the share of those to whom the instruction of youth is commonly entrusted. ]Nor will such a theoretical knowledge of the human mind as I have now described, be always suflficient in practice. An uncommon degree of sagacity is frequently requisite in order to accommodate general rules to particular tempers and characters. In whatever way we choose to account for it, whether by original organization or by the operation of moral causes in very early infoncy, no fact can be more undeniable, than that there are i ". ii in I j < II ' W\ \i I H f 14 INTRODUCTION. CHAP. II. important differences discernible in the minds of children, previous to that period at which, in general, their intellectual education commences. There is, too, a certain hereditary character (whether resulting from physical constitution, or caught from imitation and the influence of situation) which appears remarkably in particular families. One race, for a succession of generations, is distinguished by a genius for the abstract sciences, while it is deficient in vivacity, in imagination, and in taste : another is no less distinguished for wit, and gaiety, and fancy; while it appears incapable of patient attention or of profound research. The system of education which is proper to be adopted in particular cases, owjht undoubtedly to have some reference to these circumstances, and to be calculated, as much as possible, to develope and to cherish those intellectual and active principles in which a natural deficiency is most to be appre- hended. Montesquieu, and other speculative politicians, have insisted much on the reference which education and laws should have to climate. I shall not take upon me to say how far their conclusions on this subject are just; but I am fully persuaded, that there is a foundation in philosophy and good sense for accommo- dating, at a very early period of life, the education of individuals to those particular turns of mind to which, from hereditary pro- pensities, or from moral situation, they may be presumed to have a natural tendency. VII. Whi/ such different opinions upon this subject, — There are few subjects more hackneyed than that of education ; and yet there is none, upon which the opinions of the world are still more divided, [Nor is this surprising ; for most of those who have speculated concerning it, have confined then* attention chiefly to incidental questions about the comparative advantages of public or private instruction, or the utility of particular languages or sciences ; with- out attempting a previous examination of those faculties and prin- ciples of the mind, which it is the great object of education to im- prove.] Many excellent detached observations, indeed, both on the intellectual and moral powers, are to be collected from the writings of ancient and modern authors ; but I do not know, that in any language an attempt has been made to analyse and illustrate the principles of human nature, in order to lay a philosophical foundation for their proper culture. I have even heard some very ingenious and intelligent men dis- pute the propriety of so systematical a plan of instruction. The most successful and splendid exertions, both in the sciences and arts, (it has been frequently remarked,) have been made by indi- viduals, in whose minds the seeds of genius were allowed to shoot up, wild and free ; while, from the most careful and skilful tuition, seldom anything results above mediocrity. I shall not, at present enter into any discussions with respect to the certainty of the fact on which this opinion is founded. Supposing the fact to be com- pletely established, it must still be remembered, that [originality of n INTRODUCTION. 15 aenius does not always imply vigour and comprehensiveness, and liberality of mind ; and that it is desirable only, in so far as it is compatible with these more valuable qualities.] I have already hinted, that there are some pursuits, in which, as they require the exertions only of a small number of our faculties, an individual, who has a natural turn for them, will be more likely to distinguish himself, by being suffered to follow his original bias, than if his attention were distracted by a more liberal course of study.* But wherever such men are to be found, they must be considered, on the most favourable supposition, as having sacrificed, to a certain degree, the perfection and the happiness of their nature, to the amusement or instruction of others. It is, too, in times of general darkness and barbarism, that what is commonly called originality of genius most frequently appears ; and surely the great aim of an enlightened and benevolent philosophy, is not to rear a small number of individuals, who may be regarded as prodigies in an ignorant and admiring age, but to diffuse, as widely as possible, that degree of cultivation which may enable the bulk of a people to possess all the intellectual and moral improvement of which their nature is susceptible. ** Original genius*' (says Voltaire) " occurs but seldom in a nation where the literary taste is formed. The number of cultivated minds which there abound, like the trees in a thick and flourishing forest, prevent any single individual from rearing his head far above the rest. Where trade is in few hands, we meet with a small number of overgrown fortunes in the midst of a general poverty : in proportion as it extends, opulence becomes general, and great fortunes rare. It is, precisely, because there is at present much light, and much cultivation, in France, that we are led to complain of the want of superior genius." f VIII. Objection to the advantages of Education answered. — [To what purpose, indeed, it may be said all this labour ? Is not the importance of every thing to man, to be ultimately estimated by its tendency to promote his happiness? And is not our daily ex- perience sufficient to convince us, that this is, in general, by no means proportioned to the culture which his nature has received ? — Nay, is there not some ground for suspecting, that the lower orders of men enjoy, on the whole, a more enviable condition, than their more enlightened and refined superiors?]. The truth, I apprehend, is, that happiness, in so far as it arises from the mind itself, will be always proportioned to the degree of perfection which its powers have attained ; but that in cultivatuig * Vide §. IV. p. 12. t Chateaubriand has beautifully described the same sentiment in his famous address to the Peers of France in 1815 : — " The time is not yet forgotten when Death made his frightful progress amongst us, with Liberty and Equality for his supporters. \Mien plunged again into anarchy, how are you to reanimate the Hercules on his rock, who alont was able to stifle the monster ? In the histor\' of the world there have been .nve or six such men. In the course of a thousand years, your posterity may see anot'ier Napoleon: but you must not expect it." — WrighVs Life of Louis-Philippe, p. 552. — Ed. I' 16 INTRODUCTION. CHAP. II. i I |i 11 li fl these powers, with a view to this most important of all objects, it is essentially necessary that such a degree of attention be bestowed on all of them, as may preserve them in that state of relative strength, which appears to be agreeable to the intentions of nature, rin consequence of an exclusive attention to the culture of the imagination, the taste, the reasoning faculty, or any of the active principles, it is possible that the pleasure of human life may be diminished, or its pains increased ; but the mconveniences which are experienced in such cases, are not to be ascnbed to education, but to a partial and injudicious education.] In such ca^es it is possible, that the poet, the metaphysician, or the man of taste and refinement, may appear to disadvantage, when compared with the vukar ; for such is the benevolent appointment of Providence with respect to the lower orders, that, although not one principle of their nature be completely unfolded, the whole of these pnnciples preserve among themselves that balance which is favourable to the tranquillity of their minds, and to a prudent and steady conduct m the limited sphere which is assigned to them, far more comp etely, than in those of their superiors, whose education has been conducted on an erroneous or imperfect system : but all this, far from weak- enincr the force of the foregoing observations, only serves to demon- strate how impossible it always will be, to fonn a rational plan for the improvement of the mind, without an accurate and comprehen- sive knowledge of the principles of the human constitutioi^ FThe remarks which have been already made, are sutticient to illustrate the dangerous consequences which are likely to result from a partial and injudicious cultivation of the mind; and at the same time, to point out theutiUty of the intellectual ]Mosophij,menMm^ us to preserve a proper balance among all its various faculties principles of action, and capacities of enjoyment.] Many additional observations might be offered, on the tendency which an accurate analysis of its powers might, probably, have to su-gest rules for their further improvement, and for a more successful application of them to their proper purposes: but this subject I shall not prose- cute at present, as the illustration of it is one of the leading objects of the following work.— [That the memory, the imagination, or the reasoning faculty, are to be instantly strengthened in consequence of our speculations concerning their nature, it would be absurd to suppose- but it is surely far from being unreasonable to thmk,that anacqmintance with the laws which regulate these powers, may ingest some useful rules for their gradua cultivation : for remedy- in^ their defects, in the case of individuals, and even for extending those limits, which nature seems, at first view, to have assigned To how great a deo'ree of perfection the intellectual and moral nature of man is capable of being raised by cultivation, it is difficult to conceive. 1^" The effects of early, continued, and systematical education in the case of those children who are trained, for the sake INTRODUCTION. 17 of gain, to feats of strength and agility, justify, perhaps, the most sanguine views which it is possible for a philosopher to form, with respect to the improvement of the species. IX. The necessity , force, and natural effects of authority. — I now proceed to consider, how far the philosophy of mind may be useful in accomplishing the second object of education (vide §. iv. p. 11) ; by assisting us in the management of early impressions and asso- ciations. [By far the greater part of the opinions on which we act in life, are not the result of our own investigations; but are adopted implicitly, in infancy and youth, upon the authority of others.] Even the great principles of morality, although implanted in every heart, are commonly aided and cherished, at least to a certain degree, by the care of our instructors. — All this is undoubtedly agreeable to the intentions of nature ; and, indeed, were the case otherwise, society could not subsist; for nothing can be more evident, tlian that the bulk of mankind, condemned as they are to laborious occupations, which are incompatible with intellectual improvement, are perfectly incapable of forming their own opinions on some of the most important subjects that can employ the human mind. It is evident, at the same time, that as no system of educa- tion is perfect, a variety of prejudices must, in this way, take an early hold of our belief; so as to acquire over it an influence not inferior to that of the most incontrovertible truths. When a child hears, either a speculative absurdity, or an erroneous principle of action, recommended and enforced daily, by the same voice which first conveyed to it those simple and sublime lessons of morality and religion which are congenial to its nature, is it to be wondered at, that, in future life, it should find it so difficult to eradicate pre- judices which have twined their roots with all the essential prin- ciples of the human frame? — If such, however, be the obvious intentions of nature, with respect to those orders of men who are employed in bodily labour, it is equally clear, that she meant to impose it as a double obligation on those who receive the advan- tages of a liberal education, to examine, with the most scrupulous care, the foundation of all those received oi)inions, which have any connexion with morality, or with human happiness. If the multi- tude must be led, it is of consequence, surely, that it should be led by enlightened conductors ; by men who are able to distinguish truth from error ; and to draw the line between those prejudices which are innocent or salutary, (if indeed there are any prejudices which are really salutary,) and those which are hostile to the interests of virtue and of mankind. X. Preliminary step in entering upon the study of metaphysical science. — [In such a state of society as that in which we live, the prejudices of a moral, a political, and a religious nature, which we imbibe in early life, are so various, and at the same time so inti- mately blended with the belief we entertain of the most sacred c i'"- 111 \ II 18 INTRODUCTION. CHAP. n. INTRODUCTION. 19 and i.„portant truths that the ^^^^^ V^^/^lZ':;^.S^7nZ must necessarily be devoted, not so mucl, to the acq ^^ knowledge, as to «»'*«[«/*%7^"" f" '^tin„^ give an implicit assent, befrhi-U tS experience and tofacts. good hope. might be entertained of him. short, at the precise boundary, which cooler reflection, and more moderate views, would have prescribed. The fact is, that tliey have passed far beyond it ; and that, in their zeal to destroy prejudices, they have attempted to tear up by the roots, many of the best and happiest and most essential principles of our nature. Having remarked the powerful influence of education over the mind, they have concluded, that man is wholly a factitious being ; not recollect- ing, that this very susceptibility of education presupposes certain original principles, which are common to the whole species ; and that, as error can only take a permanent hold of a candid mind by being grafted on truths, which it is unwilling or unable to eradi- cate; even the influence, which false and absurd opinions occa- sionally acquire over the belief, instead of being an argument for universal scepticism, is the most decisive argument against it; inas- much as it shows, that there are some truths so incorporated and identified with our nature, that they can reconcile us even to the absurdities and contradictions with which we suppose them to be inseparably connected. The sceptical philosophers, for example, of the present age, have frequently attempted to hold up to ridicule, those contemptible and puerile superstitions, which have disgraced the creeds of some of the most enlightened nations ; and which have not only commanded the assent, but the reverence, of men of the most accomplished understandings. But these histories of human imbecility are, in truth, the strongest testimonies which can be produced, to prove, how wonderful is the influence of the fundamental principles of morality over the belief; when they are able to sanctify, in the apprehensions of mankind, every extravagant opinion, and every unmeaning ceremony, which early education has taught us to associate with them. ' K^< . ; ? XII. How far implicit credulity and unlimited scepticism related. — [That implicit credulity is a mark of a feeble mind, will not be disputed ; but it may not perhaps be as generally acknowledged, that the case is the same with unlimited scepticism : on the contrary, we are sometimes apt to ascribe this disposition to a more than ordinary vigour of intellect.] Such a prejudice was by no means unnatural at that period in the history of modern Europe, when reason first began to throw ofi" the yoke of authority ; and when it unquestionably required a superiority of understanding, as well as of intrepidity, for an individual to resist the contagion of prevailino- superstition. But in the present age, in which the tendency of fashionable opinions is directly opposite to those of the vulgar ; the philosophical creed, or the philosophical scepticism of by far the greater number of those who value themselves on an emancipation from popular errors, arises from the very same weakness with the credulity of the multitude : nor is it going too far to say, with Rousseau, that "He who, in the end of the eighteenth century, has brought himself to abandon all his early principles without discrimination, would probably have been a bigot in the days of the c 2 !|! fe' \>i i I 11 II l.l» h 20 INTRODUCTION. CHAP. 11. Leacrue." [In the midst of these contrai-y impulses, of fashionable and^'of vulcrar prejudices, he alone evinces the superiority and the strength of his mind, who is able to disentangle truth from error; and to oppose the clear conclusions of his own unbiassed faculties, to the united clamours of superstition, and of ^^^^^ P^Vj^^^^y-Jr; Such are the men, whom nature marks out to be the lights of the world ; to fix the wavering opinions of the multitude, and to impress their own characters on that of their age. For securing the mind completely from the weaknesses I have now been descnbing, and enabling it to maintain a steady course of inquiry, between implicit credulity and unliniited scepticism, the most important of all qualities is a sincere and devoted attachment to truth r which seldom fails to be accompanied with a manly con- fidence in the clear conclusions of human reason. It is such a con- fidence, united (as it generally is) with personal intrepidity, which forms what the French writers call force of character ; one of the rarest endowments, it must be confessed, of our species : but wnich, of all endowments, is the most essential for rendering a philosopher happy in himself, and a blessing to mankind. There is, I think, good reason for hoping, that the sceptical teii- dency of the present age, will be only a temporary evil. W hile it continues, however, it is an evil of the most alarniing nature ; and, as it extends, in general, not only to religion and morality, but, in some measure, also to politics, and the conduct of life, it is equally fatal to the comfort of the individual, and to the improvement ot society. Even in its most inoffensive form, when it happens to be united with a peaceable disposition and a benevolent heart, it can- not fail to have the effect of damping every active and patriotic exertion. Convinced that truth is placed beyond the reach ot the human faculties ; and doubtful how far the prejudices we despise may not be essential to the well being of society, we resolve to abandon completely all speculative inciuirics ; and suffenng our- selves to be carried quietly along with the stream of popular opinions, and of fashionable manners, determine to amuse ourselves, the best way we can, with business or pleasure, durmg our sliort passage through this scene of illusions. But he who thinks more favourably of the human powers, and who believes that reason was given to man to direct him to his duty and his happiness, will despise the suggestion of this timid philosophy ; and while he is conscious that he is guided in his Inquiries only by the love of truth, will rest assured that their result will be equally favourable to his own comfort, and to the best interests of mankind. W hat, indeed, will be the particular effects in the first instance, of that general diffusion of knowledge, which the art of printing must sooner or later produce, and of that spirit of reformation with which it cannot fail to be accompanied, it is beyond the reach of human sagacity to conjecture ; but unless we choose to abandon ourselves entirely to a desponding scepticism, we must hope and believe, that the pro- INTRODUCTION. 21 gress of human reason can never be a source of permanent disorder to the world ; and that they alone have cause to apprehend the consequences, who are led, by the imperfection of our present insti- tutions, to feel themselves interested in perpetuating the prejudices, and follies, of their species. XIII. Value of correct early impressions. — From the observations which have been made, it sufficiently appears, that, in order to secure the mind, on the one hand, from the influence of prejudice, and, on the other, from a tendency to unUmited scepticism, it is necessary that it should be able to distinguish the original and universal principles and laws of human nature from the adven- titious effect of local situation. But if in the case of an individual who has received an imperfect or erroneous education, such a knowledge puts it in his power to correct, to a certain degree, his own bad habits, and to surmount his own speculative errors ; it enables him to be useful, in a much higher degree, to those whose education he has an opportunity of superintendingfrom early infancy. [Such, and so permanent, is the effect of first impressions on the character, that, although a philosopher may succeed, by perse- verance, in freeing his reason from the prejudices with which it was entangled, they will still retain some hold of his imagination and his affections ; and, therefore, however enlightened his under- standing may be in his hours of speculation, his philosophical opinions vvill frequently lose their influence over his mind, in those very situations in which their practical assistance is most required ; when his temper is soured by misfortune, or when he engages in the pursuits of life, and exposes himself to the contagion of popular errors. His opinions are supported merely by specu- lative arguments; and, instead of being connected with any of the active principles of his nature, are counteracted and thwarted by some of the most powerful of them. How different would the case be if education were conducted from the beginning with atten- tion and judgment !] Were the same pains taken to impress truth on the mind in early infancy that is often taken to inculcate error, the great principles of our conduct would not only be juster than they are, but, in consecjuence of the aid which they would receive from the imagination and the heart, trained to conspire with them in the same direction, they would render us happier in ourselves, and would influence our practice more powerfully and more habi- tually. There is surely nothing in error which is more congenial to the mind than truth. On the contrary, when exhibited separately and alone to the understanding, it shocks our reason and provokes our ridicule ; and it is only (as I had occasion already to remark) by an alliance with truths, which we find it difficult to renounce, that it can obtain our assent or command our reverence. What advantages then might be derived from a proper attention to early impressions and associations, in giving support to those principles which are connected with human happiness! The long reign of ! ■II ■\ 1 » t (I } I II 22 INTRODUCTION. CHAP. 11. • ♦ w error in the world, and the influence it maintains, even in an age of liberal inquiry, far from being favourable to the supposition, that human reason is destined to be for ever the sport of prejudice and absurdity, demonstrates the tendency which there is to permanence in established opinions and in established institutions, and promises an eternal stabiHty to true philosophy, when it shall once have acquired the ascendant, and when proper means shall be employed to support it by a more perfect system of education. Let us suppose, for a moment, that this happy era were arrived, and that all the prepossessions of childhood and youth were directed to support the pure and sublime truths of an enlightened morality. With what ardour and with what transport would the understand- ino- when arrived at maturity, proceed in the search of truth ; when, instead of being obliged to struggle, at every step, witli earlv prejudices, its office was merely to add the force of philoso- phical conviction to impressions which are equally delightful to the imagination and dear to the heart ! The prepossessions of childhood would, through the whole of life, be gradually acquiring stren*«-th from the enlargement of our knowledge, and, m theu* turi^'would fortify the conclusions of our reason against the scep- tical'suggestions of disappointment or melancholy. [Our'' daily experience may convince us how susceptible the tender mind is of deep impressions, and what important and per- mamnt effects are produced on the characters and the happiness of individuals, by the casual associations formed in childhood among the various ideas, feelings, and affections with which they were habitually occupied.] It is the business of education, not to coun- teract this constitution of nature, but to give it a proper direction ; and the miserable consequences to which it leads, when under an improper regulation, only show what an important instrument of human improvement it might be rendered in more skilful hands. If it be possible to interest the imagination and the heart in favour of error, it is, at least, no less possible to interest them in favour of truth. If it be possible to extinguish all the most generous and heroic feelings of our nature, by teaching us to connect the idea of them with those of guilt and impiety, it is surely equally possible to cherish and strengthen them, by establishing the natural alliance between our duty and our happiness. If it be possible for the influence of fashion to veil the native deformity of vice, and to give to low and criminal indulgences the appearance of spirit, of elegance, and of gaiety, can we doubt of the possibility of con- nectins:, in the tender mind, these pleasing associations with pur- suits that are truly worthy and honourable ? K^ There are few men to be found among those who have received the advantages of a liberal education, who do not retain, through life, that admi- ration of the heroic ages of Greece and Rome with which the classical authors once inspired them. It is, in truth, a fortunate prepossession on the whole, and one of which I should be sorry INTRODUCTION. 23 to counteract the influence. But are there not others of equal importance to morality and to happiness, with which the mind might, at the same period of life, be inspired ? If the first concep- tions, for example, which an infant formed of the Deity, and its first moral perceptions, were associated with the early impressions produced on the heart by the beauties of nature, or the charms of poetical description, those serious thoughts which are resorted to by most men, merely as a sourre of consolation in adversity, and which, on that very account, are frequently tinctured with some degree of gloom, would recur spontaneously to the mind in its best and happiest hours, and would insensibly blend themselves with all its purest and most refined enjoyments. In those parts of Europe where the prevailing opinions involve the greatest variety of errors and corruptions, it is, I believe, a common idea with many respectable and enlightened men, that in every country it is most prudent to conduct the religious instruc- tion of youth upon the plan which is prescribed by the national establishment, in order that the pupil, according to the vigour or feebleness of his mind, may either shake off, in future life, the prejudices of the nursery, or die in the popular persuasion. This idea, I own, appears to me to be equally ill-founded and dangerous. If religious opinions have, as will not be disputed, a powerful influence on the happiness and on the conduct of mankind, does not humanity require of us to rescue as many victims as possible from the hands of bigotry, and to save them from the cruel alter- native of remaining under the gloom of a depressing superstition, or of being distracted by a perpetual conflict between the heart and the understanding? [It is an enlightened education alojie.th'dt, in most countries of Europe, caw save the young philosopher (\) from that anxiety and despondence which every man of sensibility, who, in his childhood, has imbibed the popular opinions, must necessa- rily experience when he first begins to examine their foundation ; and, what is of still greater importance, which can save him, during life, (2) from that occasional scepticism to which all men are liable, whose systems fluctuate with the inequalities of their spirits and the variations of the atmosphere.] XIV. I shall conclude this subject with remarking, that, although in all moral and religious systems there is a great mixture of im- portant truth, and although it is in consequence of this alliance that errors and absurdities are enabled to preserve their hold of the belief, yet [it is commonly found, that, in proportion as an established creed is complicated in its dogmas and in its ceremonies, and in pro- portion to the number of accessory ideas which it has grafted upon the truth, the more difficult is it for those who have adopted it in childhood to emancipate themselves completely from its influence; and in those cases in which they at last succeed, the greater is their danger of abandoning, along with their errors, all the truths which thoy had been taught to connect with them.] 1^" The Roman ' H iii f) 24 INTRODUCTION. CHAP. II. INTRODUCTION. 25 li PI Catholic system is shaken off with much greater difficulty than those which are taught in the Reformed churches ; but when it loses its hold of the mind, it much more frequently prepares the wav for unlimited scepticism. The causes of this I may, perhaps, have an opportunity of pointing out, in treating of the association of ideas. , . «. x * I have now finished all that I think necessary to offer at present on the application of the philosophj df mind to the subject of education. To some readers, I am afraid, that what I have advanced on the sub- ject will appear to border upon enthusiasm ; and I will not attempt to justify myself against the charge. I am well aware of the ten- dencv which speculative men sometimes have to magnify the effects of education, as well as to entertain too sanguine views of the im- provement of the world ; and I am ready to acknowledge that there are instances of individuals whose vigour of mind is sufficient to overcome everything that is pernicious in their early habits: but I am fully persuaded tliat these instances are rare, and that by far the trreater part of mankind continue, through life, to pursue the same track into which they have been thrown by the accidental circumstances of situation, instruction, and example. CHAPTER III. CONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT. I. Two consequences flowing from the relation between the different branches of education and the philosophy of the human mind.— The remarks which have been hitherto made on the utility of the philo- sophy of the human mind are of a very general nature, and apply equally to all descriptions of men. Besides, however, these more obvious advantages of the study, there are others, which, though less striking and less extensive in their application, are neverthe- less, to some particular classes of individuals, of the highest im- portance. Without pretending to exhaust the subject, I shall offer a few detached observations upon it in this section. I already took notice, in general terms, of the common relation which all the different branches of our knowledge bear to the phi- losophy of the human mind. [In consequence of this relation, it not only forms (I) an interesting object of curiosity to literary men of everv denomination, but, if successfully prosecuted, it cannot fail to (2) furnish useful lights for directing their inquiries, whatever the nature of the subjects may be which happen to engage their attention.] - , . , In order to be satisfied of the justness of this observation, it is sufficient to recollect, that to the philosophy of the mind are to be referred all our inquiries concerning the divisions and the classih- cations of the objects of human knowledge ; and also all the various rules, both for the investigation and the communication of truth. These general views of science, and these general rules of method, ought to form the subjects of a rational and useful logic, a study, undoubtedly, in itself of the greatest importance and dignity, but in which less progress has hitherto been made than is commonly imagined. IL A chief Obstruction to the study of Physics amongst the ancient, and of Metaphysics amongst modern philosophers. — I shall endeavour to illustrate, very briefly, a few of the advantages which might be expected to result from such a system of logic, if properly executed. (I) And, in the first place, it is evident that it would be of the highest importance in all the sciences, (in some of them, indeed, much more than in others), to exhibit a precise and steady idea of the objects which they present to our inquiry. [What was the principal circumstance which contributed to mislead the ancients in their physical researches? Was it not t\\e\v cojifused dndi waver- ing notions about the particular class of truths which it was their business to investigate t It was owing to this that they were led to neglect the obvious phenomena and laws of moving bodies, and to indulge themselves in conjectures about the efficient causes of motion, and the nature of those minds by which they conceived the particles of matter to be animated, and that they so often blended the history of facts with their metaphysical speculations. In the present state of science, indeed, we are not liable to such mistakes in natural philosophy ; but it would be difficult to mention any other branch of knowledge which is entirely exempted from them. In metaphysics, I might almost say, they are at the bottom of all our controversies. In the celebrated dispute, for example, which has been so long carried on, about the explanation given by the ideal theory of the phenomena of perception, the whole difficulty arose from this, that philosophers had no precise notion of the point they wished to ascertain ; and now that the controversy has been brought to a conclusion, (as I think all men of candour must confess it to have been by Dr. Reid,) it will be found that his doctrine on the subject throws no light whatever on what was generally under- stood to be the great object of inquiry ; I mean on the mode of com- tnunication between the mind and the material world, and, in truth, amounts only to a precise description of the fact, stripped of all hypothesis, and stated in such a manner as to give us a distinct view of the insurmountable limits which nature has, in this instance, prescribed to our curiosity. The same observation may be made on the reasonings of this profound and original author, with respect to some metaphysical questions that had been started on the subject of vision ; in particular, concerning the cause of our seeing objects single with two eyes, and our seeing objects erect by means of inverted images on the retina. [If we were to examine, in like manner, the present state of morals, of jurisprudenco^ (f politics, and of philosophical criticism, 1 II. \ . , f A I \^l ^ 26 INTRODUCTION. CHAP. ITT. believe we should find that the principal circumstance which re- tards their progress, is the vague and indistinct idea which those who apply to the study of them have formed to themselves of the objects of their researches.] Were these objects once clearly de- fined, and the proper plan of inquiry for attaining them illustrated by a few unexceptionable models, writers of inferior genius would be enabled to employ their industry to much more advantage, and would be prevented from adding to that rubbisli which, in conse- quence of the ill-directed ingenuity of our predecessors, obstructs our progress in the pursuit of truth. [As a philosophical s^ystem of logic would assist us in our particu- lar scientific investigations^ (1) hy keeping steadily in our view the attainable objects of human curiosity ; so, (2) by exhibiting: to us the relation in which they all stand to each other, and (3) the rela- tion which they all bear to what ought to be their common aim, the advancement of human happiness, (4) it would have a tendency to confine industry and genius to inquiries which are of real prac- tical utility; and would (5) communicate a dignity to the most subor- dinate pursuits, which are in any respect subservient to so important a purpose.] K^ When our views are limited to one particular science, to which we have been led to devote ourselves by taste or by acci- dent, the course of our studies resembles the progress of a traveller through an unexplored country ; whose wanderings, from place to place, are determined merely by the impulse of occasional curiosity ; and whose opportunities of information must necessarily be limited to the objects which accidentally present themselves to his notice. It is tlie philosophy of the mind alone, which, by furnishing us with a general map of the field of human knowledge, can enable us to proceed with steadiness, and in an useful direction ; and while it gratifies our curiosity, and animates our exertions, by exhibiting to us all the various bearings of our journey, can conduct us to those eminences from whence the eye may wander over the vast and unexplored regions of science. Lord Bacon was the first person who took this comprehensive view of the different departments of study : and who pointed out, to all the classes of literary men, the great end to which their labours should conspire; the multiplica- tion of the sources of human enjoyment, and the extension of man's dominion over nature. Had this object been kept steadily in view by his followers, their discoveries, numerous and important as ihey have been, would have advanced with still greater rapidity, and would have had a much more extensive influence on the practical arts of life * * Omnium autem gravissimws error in deviatione ab ultimo doctrlnarwm fine con- sistit. Appctunt enim homines scientiam, alii ex insita curiositate et in'cquieta ; alii ainmi causa et delectationis, alii existimationis gratii ; alii coutentionis ergo, atcpie ut in disserendo superiores sint ; plerique propter lucrum et victum : paucissimi, ut dunuin ratiouis, divinitus datum, in usus humani generis impendant. — Hoc enim illud est, quod revera doctrinara atque artcs condecoraret, et attolleret, si contemplatio, et actio, wctiore if m\\\ I 28 INTRODUCTION. CHAP. III. skilled workman must trust to a happy combination of accidental cir- cumstances ; the misapplications, too, of the labour of one race are saved to the next ; and the acquisition of practical address is facili- tated, by confining its exertions to one du-ection.— The analogy is perfect in those processes which are purely intellectual ; and to regulate which, is the great object of logic. In the case of indi- viduals, who have no other guide to direct them in their inquiries than their own natural sagacity, much time and ingenuity must inevitably be thrown away, in every exertion of the inventive powers. In proportion, however, to the degree of their experience and observation, the number of these misapplications will diminish and the power of invention will be enabled to proceed with more certainty and steadiness to its object. The misfortune is, that as the aids which the understanding derives from experience, are seldom recorded in writing, or even described in words, every suc- ceeding inquirer finds himself, at the commencement of his philo- sophical pursuits, obliged to struggle with the same disadvantages which had retarded the progress of his predecessors. If the more important practical rules, which habits of investigation suggest to individuals, were diligently preserved, each generation would be placed in circumstances more favourable to invention than the pre- ceding ; and the progress of knowledge, instead of cramping origi- nal genius, would assist and direct its exertions. In the infancy of literature, indeed, its range may be more unbounded, and its acci- dental excursions may excite more astonishment, than in a cultivated and enlightened age : but it is only in such an age, that inventive genius can be trained by rules founded on the experience of our predecessors, in such a manner as to insure the gradual and regular improvement of science. So just is the remark of Lord Bacon : *' Certo sciant homines, artes inveniendi solidas et veras adolescere et incrementa sumere cum ipsis inventis."* The analogy between the mechanical arts, and the operations of scientific invention, might perhaps be carried further. In the for- mer, we know how much the natural powers of man have been as- sisted by the use of tools and instruments. Is it not possible to devise, in like manner, certain aids to our intellectual faculties i That such a query is not altogether chimerical, appears from the wonderful effects o^ algebra (which is precisely such an instrument of thought as I have been now alluding to) in facilitating the inquiries of modern mathematicians. Whether it might not be possible to realize a project which Leibnitz has somewhere mentioned, of introducing a similar contrivance into other branches of knowledge, I shall not take upon me to determine ; but that this idea has at least some plausibility, must, I think, be evident to those who have reflected on the nature of tlie general terms which abound more or * Men may rest assured of this, that sound and genuine skill in invention, grows and flourishes with the things invented. — Bacon, of the Advancement of Learning, hook 5th, chap. iii. INTRODUCTION. \ 29 less in every cultivated language ; and which may be considered as one species of instrumental aid, which art has discovered to oui inteU^tual powers. [From the observations which I am afterwards to make, it will appear, that, v,\ihoxA general terms, all our reasomngs must necessarily have been limited to particulars ; and consequently y it is owing to the use of these, that the philosopher is enabled to speculate concerning classes of objects, with the same facility with which the savage or the peasant speculates concernmg the indi- viduals of which they are composed.] The technical terms, m the different sciences, render the appropriate language of philosophy a still more convenient instrument of thought than those languages which have originated from popular use ; and in proportion as these technical terms improve in point of precision and comprehensiveness, they will contribute to render our intellectual progress more certam and more rapid. " While engaged " (says M. Lavoisier) in the composition of my Elements of Chemistry I perceived better than I had ever done before, the truth of an observation of toiidiUac, that we think only through the medium of words; and that lan- guages are true analytical methods. Algebra, which of all our modes of expression, is the most simple, the most exact, and the best adapted to its purpose, is at the same time, a language, and an analytical method. The art of reasoiimg is notlung more than a language well arranged." The influence which these very enl.ght- enel and philosophical views have already had on the doctnnes of chemistry; cannot fail to be known to most of my readers. The foregoing remarks, in so far as they relate to the possibility of assisting our reasoning and inventive powers, by new instrumental aids, may perhaps appear to be founded too much upon theory; but this objection cinnot be made to the reasonings I have offered on the importance of the study of metliod. To the justness of these the whole history of science bears testimony ; but more especially the histories of physics and of pure geometry; which afford so remarkable an illustration of the general doctrine, as can scarce y fail to be satisfactory, even to tliose who are the most disposed to doubt the efficacy of art in directing the exertions of gemus. With respect to the former, it is sufficient to mention the won- derful effects which the writings of Lord Bacon have produced in accelerating its progress. The philosophers who flourished tefore EUwere, undoubtedly, not inferior to then: successors, either in genius or industry : but their plan of mvestigation was erroneousl and their labours have produced only a chaos of fictions and absurdities. [The illustrations which his works contain of the «<.1 '1 ;' 1 ;' |, I I 1 ) "• rJl ] ' w M ' I 'I III H . ^ ''» . 30 / INTRODUCTION. CHAP. III. M« t? -''laid down with a sufficient degree of precision, minuteness, orip'eil .J, nor have they ever been stated and illustrated in so c\edT and popular a manner, as to render them intelligible to the cr/nerality of readers. The truth, perhaps, is that the greater part A>f physical inquirers have derived what knowledge of them they possess, rather from an attention to the excellent models of inves- tigation, which the writings of Newton exhibit, than from any of the speculations of Lord Bacon, or his commentators : and, indeed, such is the incapacity of most people for abstract reasoning, that I am inclined to think, even if the rules of inquiry were delivered in a perfectly complete and unexceptionable form, it might still be expedient to teach them to the majority of students, rather by examples, than in the form of general principles. But it does not therefore follow, that an attempt to illustrate and to methodize these rules, would be useless ; for it must be remembered, that, although an original and inventive genius, like that of Newton, be sufficient to establish a standard for the imitation of his age, yet that the genius of Newton himself was encouraged and led by the light of Bacon's philosophy. , III. [The use which the ancient Greek geometers made of their analysis affords an additional illustration of the utility of method in guiding scientific invention.] To facilitate the study of this species of investigation, they wrote no less than thirty-three preparatory books; and they considered an address, m the practice of it, (or, as Marinus calls it, a Suva^itc avaXvriKii) as of much more value, than an extensive acquaintance with the principles of the science.* Indeed, it is well known, to every one who is at all conversant with geometrical investigations, that although it may be possible for a person, without the assistance of the method oj analysis, to stumble accidentally on a solution, or on a demonstra- tion; yet it is impossible for him to possess a just confidence in his own powei-s, or to carry on a regular plan of invention and dis- covery. It is well known, too, that an acquaintance with this method brings geometers much more nearly upon a level with each other, than they would be otherwise : not that it is possible, by any rules, to supersede, entirely, ingenuity and address ; but, because, in consequence of the uniformity of the plan on which the method proceeds, experience communicates a certain dexterity in the use of it ; which must in time give to a very ordinary degree of sagacity, a superiority, on the whole, to the greatest natural ingenuity, un- assisted by rule.f * Mu^ov t " Plato's subterranean cave, and Mr. Locke's dark closet, may be applied with ease to all the systems of perceptions that have been invented : for they all suppose, that we perceive not external objects immediately ; and that the immediate objects of perception, are only certain shadows of the external objects. Those shadows, or images, which we immediately perceive, were by the ancients called species, forms, phantasms. Since the time of Des Cartes, they have commonly been called ideas; (note b.) and by Mr. Hume, impressions. But all philosophers, from Plato to Mr. Hume, agree in this, that we do not perceive external objects, immediately ; and that the immediate object of perception must be some image if< f 11' Wi V' 38 TART I. CHAP. I. nresent to the mind." On the whole, Dr. Re.d remarks, that in E sentiments concerning perception, there «»??-- "^^--I-S which rarely occurs upon subjects of so abstruse a nature. (Reid. ^Zvertshort aldliperfect view we have now taken of the common tUrS of perception, is almost sufficient, without any comment^ to establish the truth of the two general observations f«lv Se ; for [they all evidently (1) proceed on a supposition, su^ested by the phenomena of physics, that there must of necessity eSme medZn^f communication between the objects ofpercepUon ^dtZZrdp^t dnd; and they all (2) indicate a secret conviction Seir aiTthors, of the essential distinction between mmdandmatter ;] whth aUhough not rendered, by reflection, sufficient y precise Tnd satisEry to show them the absurdity of attempting to ex- i t e mode of their communication ; had yet such a degree of Sfluenc^ "n their speculations, as to induce then, to exhibit their suPDOsed medium under as mysterious and ambiguous a form as poSi™ order that it might remain doubtful to which of the ^predicaments, of body or mind, they meant that >^^-W be referred By refining away the grosser qualities of matter , ana bv aSons to some of the most atrial and magical appearances it imes they endeavoured, as it were, to spiritualize the nature of S medS ; while, at the same time, all their language conceni- n- it^mplied such a reference to matter, as was necessary for fufnishini a plausible foundation, for applying to it the received " A^W obrltSnS^ich was formerly hinted at, is eon- firmed by the same historical review; [that, (3) in the order of tuZ^yephenomena of vision, Ud first e^ngaged the attention of pCphersf and had suggested to them the b^*- P'^']/^*;^^ Innnuaae vith respect to perception in general; and that, in cons^e- SXfoV t is cXmstance, t^ie common modes of expression on Cbjl unphilosophical and fanciful at bes^ even when applied to the sense of seeing, are, in the case of all the other senses, \ obvtously m'intelllgible and self-contradictory.] As to objects of sS says Dr. Rrid, I understand what is meant by an image of S' figure in the brain; but how shall we conceive an image of heir colour, where there is absolute darkness ? And, as to all other obiects of sense, except figure and colour, I am unable to conceive what is meaAt by an image of them. I^t any man say^ X he means by an image of heat and cold, an image of hardness rsoftnes" an imlge of so'und or smell or taste The word image, when aTpHed to tlfese objects of sense, has absolutely no meaning. ThL Sable imperfection in the ideal theory, has plainly taken rise from the natural order in which the phenomena of perception nresent themselves to the curiosity. . . ^v .i j '^ The mistakes, which have been so long current in the world about tWs prrt of the human constitution, will, 1 hope, justify me THE POWERS OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTION. 39 for prosecuting the subject a little farther ; in particular, for illus- trating, at some length, the first of the two (three) general remarks already referred to. This speculation I enter upon the more will- ingly, that it affords me an opportunity of stating some iiliportant principles with respect to the object, and the limits, of philosophical inquiry ; to which I shall frequently have occasion to refer, in the course of the following disquisitions. II. Of certain natural Prejudices^ which seem to have given rise to the common Theories of Perception. — It seems now to be pretty generally agreed among philosophers, that there is no instance in which we are able to perceive a necessary connexion between two successive events ; or to comprehend in what manner the one pro- ceeds from the other, as its cause. From experience indeed we learn, that there are many events, which are constantly conjoined, so that the one invariably follows the other : but it is possible, for any thing we know to the contrary, that this connexion, though a constant one, as far as our observation has reached, may not be a necessary connexion ; nay, it is possible, that tliere may be no neces- sary connexions among any of the phenomena we see : and if there are any such connexions existing, we may rest assured that we shall never be able to discover them. (See note c.) I shall endeavour to show, in another part of this work, that the doctrine I have now stated does not lead to these sceptical conclu- sions, concerning the existence of a First Cause, which an author of great ingenuity has attempted to deduce from it. At present, it is sufficient for my purpose to remark, that the word cause is used, both by philosophers and the vulgar, in two senses, which are widely different. When it is said that every change in nature indicates the operation of a cause, the word cause expresses something which is supposed to be necessarily connected with the change ; and without which it could not have happened. This may be called the meta- physical meaning of the word; and such causes may be called metaphysical or efficient causes. In natural philosophy, however, when we speak of one thing being the cause of another, all that we mean is, that the two are constantly conjoined ; so that when we see the one, we may expect the other. These conjunctions we learn from experience alone ; and without an acquaintance with them, we could not accommodate our conduct to the established course of nature. The causes which are the objects of our investigation in natural philosophy may, for the sake of distinction, be called p?ty- sical causes, I am very ready to acknowledge that this doctrine, concerning the object of natural philosophy, is not altogether agreeable to popular prejudices. When a man, unaccustomed to metaphysical speculations, is told, for the first time, that the science of physics gives us no information concerning the efficient causes of the phe- nomena about which it is employed, he feels some degree of surprise and mortification Tlie natural bias of the mind is surely to con- i li "I :|! I* II II' d 40 PART I. CHAP. I. ceive physical events as somehow linked together; and materia substances, as possessed of certain powers and virtues, which fit hem to produce particular effects. That we have no reason to believe this to be the case, has been shown m a very particular manner by Mr. Hume, and by other writers ; and must, indeed appear evident to every person, on a moment s reflection. It is a curious question. What gives rise to tlie prejudice ? In stating the argument for the existence of the Dei y, several modern philosophers have been at pains to illustrate that law of our nature, which leads us to refer every change we perceiv'e in the uni- verse, to the operation of an efficient cause * This reference is not the result of reasoning, but necessarily accompanies the perception, so as to render it impossible for us to see the change, without feel- ing a conviction of the operation of some cause by which it was produce.! ; much in the same manner in which we find it to be impossible to conceive a sensation, without being impressed with a belief of the existence of a sentient being. Hence, I apprehend it is that when we see two events constantly conjoined, we are led to associate the idea of causation or efficiency, with the former, and to refer to it that power or energy by which the change was pro- duced ; in consequence of which association, we come to consider philosophy as the knowledge of efficient causes; and lose sight ot the operation of mind, in producing the phenomena of nature.- It is by an association somewhat similar, that we connect our sen- nations of colour, with the primary qualities of body. A rnoment s reflection must satisfy any one that the sensation of colour can only reside in a mind ; and yet our natural bias is surely to connect colour with extension and figure, and to conceive ti^Ai/., blue, and yellow, as something spread over the surfaces of bodies. In the same way we are led to associate with inanimate matter, the ideas o^pcncerUorce, energy, ^rv^ causation; which are all attributes of mind, and can exist in a mind only. The bias of our nature is strengthened by another association.— ' rOur language, with respect to cause and effect, is borrowed by crw- aloqy from material objects. Some of these we see scattered about us without any connexion between them ; so that one of them may be removed from its place, without disturbing the rest. We can, however, by means of some material vinculum, connect two or more objects together ; so that whenever the one is moved, the others shall follow. In like manner, we see some events which occasion- ally follow one another, and which are occasionally disjoined ; we see others, where the succession is constant and invariable. The former we conceive to be analogous to objects which are loose, and unconnected with each other, and whose contiguity in place is owing merely to accidental position ; the others, to objects which are tied to4ther by a material vinculum. Hence we transfer to such event^, the same language which we apply to connected * See Dr. Rcid's Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, passim. THE POWERS OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTTON. 41 objects. We speak of a connexion between two events, and of a chain of causes and effects.] (See note d.) [That this language is merely analogical, and that we know nothing of physical events, but the laws which regulate their succession, must, I think, appear very obvious to every person who takes the trouble to reflect on the subject ; and yet it is certain, that it has misled the greater part of philosophers ; and has had a surprising influence on the systems, which they have formed in very different departments of science ] A few remarks on some of the mistaken conclusions, to which the vulgar notions concerning the connexions among physical events have given rise, in natural pliilosophy, will illustrate clearly the origin of the common theories of perception ; and will, at the same time, satisfy the reader, with respect to the train of thought, which suggested ilie foregoing observations. The maxim, that nothing can act but where it is and when it is, has always been admitted, with respect to metaphysical or efficient causes. " Whatever objects," says Mr. Hume, " are considered as causes or effects, are contiguous ; and nothing can operate in a time or place, which is ever so little removed from those of its existence." " We may therefore," he adds, " consider the relation of contiguity as essential to that of causation." But although this maxiiii should be admitted, with respect to causes which are efliicient, and which, as such, are necessarily connected with their effects, there is surely no good reason for extending it to physical causes, of which we know nothing, but that they are the constant forerunners and signs of certain natural events. It may, indeed, be improper, according to this doctrine, to retain the expressions, cause and effect, in natural philosophy ; but, as long as the present language upon the subject continues in use, the propriety of its application, in any particular instance, does not depend on the contiguity of the two events in place or time, but solely on this question. Whether the one event be the constant and invariable forerunner of the other, so that it may be considered as its infallible sign ? Notwithstanding, however, the evidence of this conclusion, plulosophers have in general proceeded upon a contrary supposition ; and have discovered an unwillingness, even in physics, to call one event the cause of another, if the smallest interval of space or time existed between them. I^In the case of motion, communicated by impulse, they have no scruple to call the impulse the cause of the motion ; but they will not admit that one body can be the cause of motion in another, placed at a distance from it, unless a connexion is carried on between them, by means of some intervening medium. It is unnecessary for me, afler what has already been said, to employ any arguments to prove, that the communication of motion by impulse, is as unaccountable as any other phenomenon in nature. Those philosophers who have attended at all to the subject, even they who have been the least sceptical with respect to cause and effect, and who have admitted a necessary connexion among it ^ '♦ i ^k yi'' iti; 42 PART I. CHAP. I. physical events, have been forced to acknowledge that they could not discover any necessary connexiwi between impulse and motion.— Hence, some ot" them have been led to conclude, that the impulse only rouses the activity of the body, and that the subsejiuent motion is the effect of this activity, constantly exerted. "Motion says one writer, "is action; and a continued motion implies a continued action " " The impulse is only the cause of the beginmng ot the motion : its conthiuance must be the effect of some other cause, which continues to act as long as the body continues to move. — The attempt wliich another writer of great learning has made, to revive the ancient theory of mind, has arisen from a similar view of the subject before us. He could discover no necessary connexion between impulse and motion; and concluded, that the impulse was only the occasion of the motion, the beginning and continuance of which he ascribed to the continued agency of the mind witli which the bodv is animated. , . , . AlthouL'h, liowever, it be obvious, on a moment s consideration that we are as ignorant of the connexion between impulse and motion, as of the connexion between fire and any of the effects wc see it produce, philosophers, in every age, seem to have considered the production of motion by impulse, as almost the only physical fact which stood in need of no explanation. When we sec one- body attract another at a distance, our curiosity is roused, and wc inquire how the connexion is carried on between them. But when we see a bodv begin to move in consequence of an impulse wliicU another has 'given it, we inquire no farther: on the contrary, we think a fact sufficiently accounted for, if it can be sliown to bo a case of impulse. This distinction, between motion produced by impulse and the other phenomena of nature, we are led in a great measure to make, by confounding together efhcient and physical causes ; and by applying to the latter, maxims which have properly a reference only to the former. -Another circumstance, likewise has probablv considerable influence : that, as it is by means ot impulse alone that we ourselves have a power of moving external objects ; this fact is more familiar to us from our infancy than any other ; and strikes us as a fact which is necessary, and which could not have happened otherwise. Some writers have even gone so far as to pretend that, although the experiment had never been made, the communication of motion by impulse, might have been predicted by reasoning a priori —See an answer to Lord Kaimes s Essay on Motion ; by John Stewart, M.D. , . i .. From the following passage, in one of Sir Isaac .N ewtoii s letters to Dr. Bentley, it appears, that he supposed the communication of motion by impulse, to be a phenomenon much more explicable, than that a connexion should subsist between two bodies placed at a distance from each other, without any uiterveniug medium. "It is inconceivable," savs he, « that inanimate brute matter should, without the mediation of something else which is not material, ^ operate upon, and affect other matter, with.nit mutual contract; as .' THE POWERS OV EXTERNAL PERCEPTION. 43 it must do, if gravitation, in the sense of Epicurus, be essential and nherent in it And this is one reason why I desu-e that you would not ascribe innate gravity to me. That gravity should be innate, hiherent, and essential to matter, so that one body ina:r act on another, through a vacuum, without the mediation of any thing eUe. S and through which their action and force may be conveyed from one to anothe", is to me so great an absurdity, that I believe no man who has, in philosophical matters, a competent faculty ot thinking, can ever tsiU into it." , , -^ • • -uu With this passage 1 so far agree, as to allow that ,t is impossible to conceive, in what manner one body acts on another at a distance, through a Vacuum. But I cannot admit that it removes he drffi- culty to suppose, that the two bodies are m ac ual contact. Ihat one body may be the efficient cause of the motion of another body placed it a ditance from it, I do by no means assert ; but only, that we have as good reason to believe that thjs may be possible, as to believe that any one natural event is the efhcient cause of another. ^ I have been led into this very long disqms.tion, concerning efficient and physical causes, in order to point out the origin of tne Tmmon the Jies of perception ; all of which appear to me, to have takrri^7<"« tie same prejudice, which I have already remarked to have had so extensive an influence upon the speculations of " mifi'tti^of the perception of distant objects we re naturally inclined to suspect, either something to be emitted from S Sec to the orgaii of sense, or some med^m to intervene between the object and organ, by means of which 'be former may communicate an impulse to the latter ; appears from the common Zdrof^xpression on the subject, which are to be found in all kn^uages. ^n our own, for example, we frequently hear the vulgar soe ik of liKht striking the eye ; not in consequence of any philoso- dCi Aeory they have been taught, but of their own crude and EndTrLtSsClations. Perhaps%here are few men among those Tho have a'Lded at all to the Ury of their own thoughts who will not recollect the influence of these ideas at a, period of life W prior to the date of their philosophical studies Nothing, ndLd! can be conceived more simple and natural than their origin When an object is placed in a certain situa ion with respect to a partLular or^an of the body, a perception arises in the mmdt when S™c't l^removed, the perception ceases. *Hence we are led * Turn porro varies reruiii sentimus odores, Nee tamen ad nareis venienteis cernimus unquani : Nee calidos a?stus tuimur, nee frigora qmuius Usiirpare oeulis, nee voees eernere suemus ; Qujc tamen omnia con^orea constare neeesse est Natura ; quoniam sensus impellere possunt. ^ LUCRET. lib. 1. p. -'Jy» [" Next what keen eye e'er followed in tlieir course The light-wing'd odours or developed cle^r The mystic forms of cold or hea< intense, tt ^ I^li CHAP. I. i II- f 44 PART I. to apprehend some connexion between the object and the percep- tionVand as we are accustomed to believe, that matter produces its effects by impulse, we conclude that there must be some material medium intervenhig between the object and organ, by means of which the impulse is communicated from the one to the ^"\er.-- That this is really the case, I do not mean to dispute. I think, however, it is evident, that [the existence of such a medium does not in any case appear d, priori : and yet the natural prejudices of men have given rise to a universal belief of it, long before they were able to produce any good arguments in support of their opinion.] Nor is it only to account for the connexion between tlie object and the organ of sense, that philosophers have had recourse to the theory of impulse. They have imagined that the impression on the organ of sense is communicated to the mind, in a similar inanner. As one body produces a change in the state of another by impulse, so it has been supposed, that the external object produces percej)- tion, (which is a change in the state of the mind,) first, by some material impression made on the organ of sense; and, secondly, by some material impression communicated from the organ to the mmd along the nerves and brain. These suppositions, indeed, as I had occasion already to hint, were, in the ancient theories of i)crception, rather implied than expressed ; but by modern philosophers, they have been stated in the form of explicit propositions. " As to the manner," says Mr. Locke, " in vvhich bodies produce ideas in us, it is manifestly by impulse, the only way whicli we can conceive bodies operate in."— Essay on Human Understanding, book ii. chap. viii. § 2. And Sir Isaac Newton, although he does not speak of an impulse made on the mind, plainly proceeded on the principle that, as matter can only move matter by impulse, so no connexion could be carried on between matter and mind, unless the mind were present (as lie expresses it) to the matter from which the last im- pression is communicated. "Is not," (says he) "the sensorium 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?" Dr. Clark has expressed the same idea stdl more confidently, in the following passage of one of his letters to Leibnitz. "Without beinix present* to the images of the things perceived, the Or sound through ether fleeting ? yet tho' far From human sight removed, hy all confess'd Alike material, since alike the sense, Thev touch impulsive." Good.] * This phrase of '"the soul being present to the imnu;cs of externil ohjects," has l)een used hv nuinv philosophers, since the time of l)<;s Cartes; evitlentiy from a desire to avoitl the ahsurdity of supiwsing, that images of extension and figm'e can exist in an uncxtended mind. *« Quarts," (savs Des Cartes himself, in replying tt) the ohjeotions of one of his antagonists,) " qiiomodo cxistimem in me suhjecto inextenso recipi posse s|)cciem. ideamve corporis quod o\t«nsum est. Respondeo nuUam spcciem corpoream in mente recipi; sed purara intollrctiouem tarn rei corporeac quam imrorporrac fieri ahsquo ulla THE POWERS OF KXTERNAL PERCEPTION. 45 soul could not possibly perceive them. A living substance can only there perceive, where it is present. Nothing can any more act, or be acted upon, where it is not present, than it can when it is not." " How body acts upon mind, or mind upon body," (says Dr. Porterfield*) " I know not ; but this I am very certain of, that nothing can act, or be acted upon, where it is not ; and therefore our mind can never perceive any thing but its own proper modi- fications, and the various states of the sensorium, to which it is pre- sent ; so that it is not the external sun and moon, which are in the heavens, which our mind perceives, but only their image or repre- sentation, impressed upon the sensorium . How the soul of a seeing man sees these images, or how it receives those ideas, from such agitations in the sensorium, I know not ; but I am sure it can never perceive the external bodies themselves, to which it is not present." t The same train of thinking, which had led these philosophers to suppose that external objects are perceived by means of species proceeding from the object to the mind, or by means of some mate- rial impression made on the mind by the brain, has suggested to a late writer a very different theory : that the mind, when it perceives an external object, quits the body, and is present to the object of perception. "The mind" (says the learned author of Ancient Metaphysics), " is not where the body is, when it perceives what is distant from the body, either in time or place, because nothing can act, but when, and where, it is. Now, the mind acts when it perceives. The mind, therefore, of every animal who has memory or imagination, acts, and by consequence exists, when and where the body is not ; for it perceives objects distant from the body both in time and place." — Ant. Met. vol. ii. p. 306. Indeed, if we take for granted, that in perception the mind acts upon the object, or the object upon the mind, and, at the same time, admit the truth of the maxim, that " nothing can act but where it is," we must of neces- sity conclude, either that objects are perceived in a way similar 8i>ecie corporea ; ad imaginationem vero, qua; non nisi de rehus corporeis esse potest, opus quidera esse specie qua; sit venun corpus, et ad quam mens se apiHtcet, sed non qua; in mente recipiatur." [You ask how I could suppose that my intellect, which is un- cxtended, could receive a representation or idea of l)ody which is extended : I answer that no coqwreal representation is received into my mind, hut that a pure understanding of corporeal and incorporeal being is produced, vithout any corporeal representation ; hut for imagination, which can only take place concerning corporeal things, there is need of a representation being actually body, and to which the mind might apply itself, but not which could lie received into the mind.] It appears, therefore, that this philosopher supposed his images or ideas to exist in the brain^ and not in the mind. Mr. Locke's expressions sometimes imply the one supposition, and sometimes the other. * In his Treatise on the Eye. t "The shghtest philosophy " (says Mr. Hume) "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 conveyed ; without being 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 inde- pendent of us, sutfers no alteration : it was, therefore, nothing but its image, which was present to the mind. These " (he adds) " are the obvious dictates of reason." -Essay on the Academical or Sceptical Philosophy. V • w I : 1 « 46 PART I. CHAP. I. to what is supposed in the ideal theory, or that, m every act of perception, th, soul quits the body, ami is present to the object Mrceived. And accordingly, this alternative is expressly stated by Malebranche ; who differs, however, from the writer last quoted, in the choice which he makes of his hypothesis ; and even rests his proof of its truth on the improbability of the other opinion. I suppose," says he, "that every one will grant that we perceive not external objects 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, upon such occasions, the soul sallies out of the body in order to be present to the objects perceived. She sees them not therefore by themselves ; and the immediate object of the mind is not the thing perceived, but something which is inti- mately united to the soul; and it is that which I call an idea: so that by the word idea, I understand nothing else here but that which is nearest to the mind when we perceive any object. It ought to be carefully observed, that, in order to the mmd s per- ceiving any object, it is absolutely necessary that the idea of that object be actually present to it. Of this it is not nossible 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 modi- fications. The soul has no need of ideas for perceiving these things. But with regard to things without the soul, we cannot perceive them but by means of ideas." » • *u.. To these quotations, I shall add another, which contmns the opinion of Buffon upon the subject. As I do not understand it so completely, as to be able to translate it in a manner intelligible to myself, I shall transcribe it in the words of the author. " L'ame s'unit intimement a tel objet qu il Im plait ; la distance, la grandeur, la figure, rien ne peut nuire u cette union lorsque l'ame la veut: elle se fait, et se fait en un instant .... la volonte n'est elle done qu'un mouvement corporel, et la contemplation nn simple attouchement? Comment cet attouchement pourroit-il se faire sur un objet iloigne, sur un sujet abstrait? Comment pour- roit-il s'operer en un instant indivisible ? A-t-on jamais concu du mouvement, sans qu'il y ei.t de I'espace et du temps? Layolontc si c'est un mouvement, n'est done pas un mouvement materiel ; et si I'union de l'ame a son objet est un attouchement, un contact, cet attouchement ne se fait-il pas an loin? ce contact n est d pas une penetration?"* * The mind unites itself intimately to any object as it pleases ; (Ustance, size, fignre, nothinK can interfere «ith that union when the minrt wills it. It takes phicc, ami in an instant. Is not will then a corporeal motion, and contemplation merely contact ? How can this contact take place with regard to a distant object, or an abstract subject How can it act in an indivisible moment ? Can we conceive motion, without time or sDace > If the will be motion, is it not material motion ; anil if the union of the miiMl with its object be touch or contact, must not that contact take place at e distance > U not that contact penetration ? TUE POWERS OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTION. 47 All these theories appear to me to have taken their rhe,Jr^, from an inattention to the proper object of philosophy, and an Ipplation of the same gener'al maxims to phys.ca and to efficient caLes, and, secondly, from an '»PP;«l^«"^'*'"OSl Than at oAer the connection between impulse and motion, better than any otner hvskal fact. From the detail which I have given it appears how SsWe an influence this prejudice has had on the inquiries both of natural philosophers and of metaphysicians. In the foregoing reasonings, 1 have taken for granted, that motion mav be produced by impulse: and have contented myself with SseW,'^that this fLt is not more explicable than the motions whS the Newtonians refer to gravitation ; or than the '" ercourse which is carried on between the mind and external obj«5 ^ '^^^^^^ case of perception. The truth, however, is, that some of the ablest J^osoptrs I Europe are now satisfied, not only that ^he- is no evidence of motion being in any case produced by the actual con- tact of two bodies ; but that very strong proofs «»'^y, ^e f J^^ «» the absolute impossibility of such a supposition ; and hence they have beenledto^oncludi, that all the eftects which are commonly referred to impulse, arise from a power of '•«P"»«<^''' «f f7'°f J^ a small and imperceptible distance round every element of matter, -if this doctriiie shall be confirmed by future speculations in phy- sics, it must appear to be a curious "^cumstance in he history ^^^^ science, that phiWphers have been so long """"F^f.'^f ^,7X° to trace all the phenomena of matter, and even some of the phe- jTomeTa of mind^o a general fact which, "Pon an a-u-te exa- mination, is found to have no existence. I do not make tnu. XeVvation with a view to depreciate the labours of these philoso- pE S although the syitem of Boscovich were completely established, it would not 'diminish, in the smallest decree, he Sue of those physical inquiries, which have P--eded - Je common hypothesis, with respect to impulse. The laws whicU ^"Tate the communication of motion in the case of apparent con- tact are the most general facts we observe among the terrestrial phenomena; and tliey are, of all Phpical events, tW wh.eh ar^ the most familiar to us, from our earliest ^^fancy. Itwastheretore not only natural but proper, that philosophers should begin their IhS inquiries, with attempting to refer to these, (vvhich are ?he mtt gleral laws of nature, exposed to the e-mmation of our senses-) the particular appearances they wished to explain. Ana if ev^r the tLory of Boscovich should be completely established, it will have no other effect, than to resolve these laws into some prhiciple still more general, without affecting the solidity of the common doctrine, so far as it goes. Ill Of Dr. Reid-s Speculations ject of Perceptwn.— It was chiefly in consequence of the sceptical conclusions which BisTop Berkeley and lir. Hume had deduced from the ancient theories of perception, that Dr. Reid was led to call them in ques- / J. ;» 1 i. jl*l' 48 PART I. CHAP. 1. THE POWERS OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTION. 49 m |Hi i 11 tion- and he appears to me to have shown, m the most satisfactory manner not on^y that they are perfectly hypothetical, but that the Znosi ions they mvolve are absurd and impossible His reason- nS on this part of our constitution, undoubtedly form the most iSrtont accession which the philosophy of the human mind has received since the time of Mr. Locke. , . ^ ^ .u But although Dr. Reid has been at much pams to overturn the old ideal system, he has not ventured to substitute any hypothesis of his "Jf ^"ly,""^ '".g«""fy can pass. |^ It is a line too which is marked with sufficient dis- tinctness ; and which no man now thinks of passing, who has just views of the nature and object of philosophy. It forms the sepa- ration between that field which falls under the survey of the physical inquirer, and that unknown region of which, though it was necessary that we should be assured of the existence, m order to lay a foundation for the doctrines of natural theology, it hatU \ not pleased the Author of the universe to reveal to us the wonders, in this infant state of our being. It was, in fact, chiefly by tracing out this line, that Lord Bacon did so much service to science. Beside this effect, which is common to all our philosophical pursuits, of impressing the mind with a sense of that mysterious agency, or efliiciency, into which general laws must be resolved ; they have a tendency, in many cases, to counteract the influence of habit, in weakening those emotions of wonder and of curiosity, which the appearances of nature are so admirably fitted to excite. For this purpose, it is necessary, either to lead the attention to facts which are calculated to strike by their novelty, or to present familiar appearances in a new light : and such are the obvious eff'ects of philosophical inquiries ; sometimes extending our views to objects which are removed from vulgar observation ; and some- times correcting our first apprehensions with respect to ordmary events. The communication of motion by impulse, (as I already hinted,) is as unaccountable as any phenomenon we know ; and yet, most men are disposed to consider it, as a fact which does not result from will, but from necessity. To such men, it may be use- ful to direct their attention to the universal law of gravitation ; which, although not more wonderful in itself, than the common effects of impulse, is more fitted, by its novelty, to awaken theit attention, and to excite their curiosity. If the theory of Boscovich should ever be established on a satisfactory foundation, it would have this tendencv in a still more remarkable degree, by teaching us that the communication of motion by impulse, (which we are apt to consider as a necessary truth,) has no existence whatever ; ^nd that every case in which it appears to our senses to take place, is a phenomenon no less inexplicable, than that principle of attrac- tion which binds together the most remote parts of the universe. If such, however, be the eff*ects of our philosophical pursuits when successfully conducted, it must be confessed, that the ten- dency of imperfect or erroneous theories is widely different. 13y a specious solution of insuperable difficulties, they so dazzle and bewilder the understanding, as, at once, to prevent us from advanc- inff, with steadiness, towards the limit of human knowledge ; and from perceiving the existence of a region beyond it, into which philosophy is not permitted to enter. In such cases it is the busi- ness of srenuine science to unmask the imposture, and to point out clearly, both to the learned and to the vulgar, what reason can, and what she cannot, accomplish. This, I apprehend has been done, with respect to the history of our perceptions, in the most satisfac- tory manner, by Dr. Reid. When a person little accustomed to metaphysical speculations is told, that, in the case of volition, there are certain invisible fluids, propagated from the mmd to the organ which is moved ; and that in the case of perception, the existence and qualities of the external object are made known to us by means h^ species, or phantasms, or images, which are present to the mma \ r CUAP. I. ! ( J m I 50 PART I. in the sensoriura ; he is apt to conclude that the intercourse between mind and matter is much less mysterious than he had supposed ; and that, although these expressions may not convey to him any very distinct meaning, their import is perfectly understood by philosophers. It is now, 1 think, pretty generally acknowledged by physiologists, that the influence of the will over the body, is a mystery which has never yet been unfolded ; but singular as it may appear, Dr. Reid was the tirst person who had courage to lay com- pletely aside all the common hypothetical language concerning perception, and to exhibit the ditficulty in all its magnitude, by a plain statement of the fact. To what then, it may be asked, does this statement amount ? Merely to this ; [that the mind is so formed, that certain impressions produced on our organs of sense by exter- nal objects, are followed by correspondent sensations; and that these sensations, (which have no more resemblance to the qualities of matter, than the words of a language have to the things they denote), are followed by a perception of the existence and quahties of the bodies by which the impressions are made ; that all the steps of this process are equally incomprehensible ; and that for any thing we can prove to the contrary, the connexion between the sensation and the perception, as well as that between the impression and the sensation, may be both arbitrary ; that it is therefore by no means impossible, that our sensations may be merely the occasions on which the correspondent perceptions are excited; and that at any rate, the consideration of these sensations, which are attributes of mind, can throw no light on the manner in which we acquire our knowledge of the existence and qualities of body.] From this view of the subject, it follows, that it is the external objects themselves, and not any species or images of these objects, that the mind perceives ; and that although, by the constitution of our nature, certain sensa- tions are rendered the constant antecedents of our perceptions, yet it is just as difficult to exi)lain how our perceptions are obtained by their means, as it would be, upon the supposition, that tiie mind were all at once inspired with them, without any concomitant sen- sations whatever. These remarks are general, and apply to all our various percep- tions ; and they evidently strike at the root of all the common theories upon the subject. The laws, however, which regulate these perceptions, are different in the case of the different senses, and form a very curious object of philosophical inquiry. — Those, in particular, which regulate the ac(|uired perceptions of sight, lead to some very interesting and important speculations ; and, I think, have never yet been explained in a manner completely satisfactory. To treat of them in detail, does not fall under the plan of this work : but I shall have occasion to make a few remarks on them, in the chapter on Conception. In opposition to what I have here observed on the importance of Dr. Beid's speculations concerning our perceptive powers, I am THE POWEUS OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTION. O sensible it may be urged, that they amount merely to a negative discovery ; and it is possible, that some may even be forward to remark, that it was unnecessary to employ so much labour and ingenuity as he has done, to overthrow an hypothesis of which a plain account would have been a sufficient refutation. To such persons, I would beg leave to suggest, that, although in consequence of the juster views in pneumatology, v, hich now begin to prevail, (chiefly, I believe, in consequence of Dr. Reid's writings,) the ideal system may appear to many readers uni)hilosophical and puerile ; yet the case was very different when this author entered upon his mquiries : and I may even venture to add, that few positive dis- coveries in the whole history of science, can be mentioned, which found a juster claim to literary reputation, tlian to have detected, so clearly and unanswerably, the fallacy of an hypothesis, which has descended to us from the earliest ages of philosophy ; and which, in modern time, has not only served to Berkeley and Hume as the basis of their sceptical systems, but was adopted as an indisputable truth by Locke, by Clarke, and by Newton. IV. Of the Origin of our Knowledge. — The philosophers who endeavoured to explain the operations of the human mind by the theory of ideas, and who took for granted, that in every exertion of thought there exists in the mind some object distinct from the thinking substance, were naturally led to inquire whence these ideas derive their origin ; in particular, whether they are conveyed to the mind from without by means of the senses, or form part of its original furniture? With respect to this question, the opinions of the ancients were various ; but as the influence of these opinions on the prevailing systems of the present age is not very considerable, it is not neces- sary, for any of the purposes I have in view in this work, to con- sider them particularly. The moderns, too, have been much divided on the subject ; some holding with Des Cartes, that the mind is furnished with certain innate ideas ; others, with Mr. Locke, that all our ideas may be traced from sensation and reflection ; and many, (especially among the later metaphysicians in France,) that they may be all traced from sensation alone. Of these theories, that of Mr. Locke deserves more particularly our attention ; as it has served as the basis of most of the meta- physical systems which have appeared since his time ; and as the difference between it and the theory which derives all our ideas from sensation alone, is rather apparent than real. In order to convey a just notion of Mr. Locke's doctrine con- cerning the origin of our ideas, it is necessary to remark, that he refers to sensation, all the ideas which we are supposed to receive by the external senses ; our ideas, for example, of colours, of sounds, of hardness, of extension, of motion ; and, in short, of all the qualities and modes of matter ; to reflection, the ideas of our own mental operations which we derive from consciousness ; our ideas, E 2 i^ llii It w 52 TART I. CHAP. I. for example, of memory, of imagination, of volition, of pleasure, and of pain. These two sources, according to him, furnish us with all our simple ideas, and the only power which the mind possesses over them, is to perform certain operations, in the way of compo- sition, abstraction, generalization, &c. on the materials which it thus collects in the course of its experience. The laudable desire of Mr. Locke, to introduce precision and perspicuity into meta- physical speculations, and his anxiety to guard the mind against error in general, naturally prepossessed him in favour of a doctrine which, when compared with those of his predecessors, was intelli- gible and simple ; and which, by suggesting a method, apparently easy and palpable, of analysing our knowledge into its elementary principles, seemed to furnish an antidote against those prejudices which had been favoured by tlie hypothesis of innate ideas. It is now a considerable time since this fundamental principle of Mr. Locke's system began to lose its authority in England ; and the sceptical conclusions, which it had been employed to support by some later writers, furnished its opponents with very plausible arguments against it. The late learned Mr. Harris, in particular, frequently mentions this doctrine of Mr. Locke, and always in terms of high indignation. " Mark," (says he, in one passage,) " the order of things, according to the account of our later meta- physicians. First, comes that huge body, the sensible world. Then this, and its attributes beget sensible ideas. Then, out of sensible ideas, by a kind of lopping and pruning, are made ideas intelligible, whether specific or general. Thus, should they admit that mind was coeval with body ; yet, till the body gave it ideas, and awak- ened its dormant powers, it could at best have been nothing more than a sort of dead capacity ; for innate ideas it could not possibly have any." And in another passage : " For my own part, when I read the detail about sensation and reflection, and am taught the process at large how my ideas are all generated, I seem to view the human soul, in the light of a crucible, where truths are pro- duced by a kind of logical chemistry." If Dr. Reid's reasonings on the subject of ideas be admitted, all these speculations with respect to their origin fall to the ground ; and the question to which they relate is reduced merely to a ques- tion of fact ; concerning the occasions on which the mind is first led to form those simple notions into which our thoughts may be analysed, and which may be considered as the principles or elements of human knowledge. With respect to many of these notions, this inquiry involves no difficulty. No one, for example, can be at a loss to ascertain the occasions on which the notions of colours and sounds are first formed by the mind: for these notions are confined to individuals who are possessed of particular senses, and cannot, by any combination of words, be conveyed to those who never enjoyed the use of them. The history of our notions of extension and figure, (which may be suggested to the mind by the exercise either THE POWERS OP EXTERNAL PERCEPTION. r>3 of sight or of touch,) is not altogether so obvious ; and accordingly it has been the subject of various controversies. To trace the origin of these, and of our other simple notions with respect to the qualities of matter ; or, in other words, to describe the occasions on which, by the laws of our nature, they are suggested to the mind, is one of the leading objects of Dr. Reid's inquiry, in his analysis of our external senses ; in which he carefully avoids every hypothesis with respect to the inexplicable phenomena of percep- tion and of thought, and confines himself scrupulously to a literal statement of facts. — Similar inquiries to these, may be proposed, concerning the occasions on which we form the notions of time, of motion, of number, of causation, and an infinite variety of others. Thus, it has been observed by different authors, that every percep- tion of change suggests to the mind the notion of a cause, without which that change could not have happened. Dr. Reid remarks, tlmt, without the faculty of memory, our perceptive powers could never have led us to form the idea of motion. I shall afterwards show, in the sciiuol of this work, that without the same faculty of memory, v»e never could have formed the noWow oUime ; and that without the faculty of abstraction, we could not have formed the notion o^ number. — Such inquiries v/ith respect to the origin of our knowledge, are curious and important; and if conducted with judg- ment, they may lead to the most certain conclusions ; as tliey aim at nothing more than to ascertain facts, which, although not obvious to sujRTiicial observers, may yet be discovered by patient investigation. Frouj the remarks which have been just made on our notions of time, of motion, and of number, it is evident that the inquiry con- cerning the origin of human knowledge cannot possibly be discussed at the commoicement of such a work as this; but that it must be resumed in ditixrent parts of it, as those facu hies of the mind come under our view, with which the formation of our different simple notions is connected. With respect to the general question. Whether all our knowledge may be ultimately traced from our sensations ? I shall only observe at present, that the opinion we form concerning it, is of much less consequence than is commonly supposed. That the mind cannot, without the grossest absurdity, be considered in the light of a receptacle which is gradually furnished from without, by materials introduced by the channel of the senses; nor in that of a tabula rasa ui)on which copies or resemblances of things external are imprinted ; T have already shown at sufficient length. Although, therefore, we should acquiesce in the conclusion, that, without our organs of sense the n]ind must have remained destitute of knowledge, this conces- sion could have no tendency whatever to favour the principles of materialism ; as it implies nothing more than that the impressions made on our senses by external objects, furnish the occasions on which the mind, by the laws of its constitution, is led to perceive the qualities of the material world, and to exert all the different modifications of thought of which it is capable. !/■ m u i ■ii m ilti 54 PART I. CHAP. I, From tlie very slight view of the subject, however, which has been already given, it is sufficiently evident, that this doctrine, which refers the origin of all our knowledge to the occasions fur- nished by sense, must be received with many limitations. That those ideas, which Mr. Locke calls ideas of reflection (or, in other words, the notions which we form of the subjects of our own con- sciousness), are not suggested to the mind immediately by the sen- sations arising from the use of our organs of perception, is granted on all hands ; and, therefore, the amount of the doctrine now men- tioned, is nothing more than this : that the^r*^ occasions on which our various intellectual faculties are exercised, are furnished by the impressions made on our organs of sense ; and consequently, that, without these impressions, it would have been impossible for us to arrive at the knowledge of our faculties. Agreeably to this explanation of the doctrine, it may undoubtedly be said with plausibility, (and, I am inclined to believe, with truth,) that the occasions on which all our notions are formed, are furnished either immediately or ultimately by sense ; but, if I am not much mis- taken, this is not the meaning which is commonly annexed to the doctrine, either by its advocates or their opponents. One thing at least is obvious, that, in this sense, it does not lead to those conse- quences which have interested one party of philosophers in its defence, and another in its refutation. There is another very important consideration which deserves our attention in this argument ; that, even on the supposition that certain impressions on our organs of sense are necessary to awaken the mind to a consciousness of its own existence, and to give rise to the exercise of its various faculties; yet all this might have happened without our having any knowledge of the qualities, or even of the existence, of the material world. ^^ To facilitate the admission of this proposition, let us suppose a being formed in every other respect like man ; but possessed of no senses, except- ing those of hearing and smelling. I make choice of these two senses, because it is obvious, that by means of them alone we never could have arrived at the knowledge of the primary qualities of matter, or even of the existence of things external. All that we could possibly have inferred from our occasional sensations of smell and souni], would have been that there existed some unknown cause by which they were produced. Let us suppose then a particular sensation to be excited in the mind of sr.ch a being. The moment this happens, he must neces- sarily acquire the knowledge of two facts at once : that of the existence of the sensation ; and that of his own existence^ as a sen- tient being. After the sensation is at an end, he can remember he felt it; he can conceive that he feels it again. If he has felt a variety of diilerent sensations, he can compare them together in respect of th • pleasure or the pain they have afforded him ; and will naturally desire the return of the agreeable sensations, and be afraid of the return of those which were painful. If the sensations of THE POWERS OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTION. 55 smell and sound are both excited in his mind at the same time, he can attend to either of them he chooses, and withdraw his attention from the other ; or he can withdraw his attention from both, and fix it on some sensation he has felt formerly. In this manner, he might be led, merely by sensations existing in his mind, and conveying to him no information concerning matter, to exercisemany of his most important faculties; and amidst all these different modifications and operations of his mind, he would feel, with irresistible convic- tion, that they all belong to one and the same sentient and intelli- gent being ; or, in other words, that they are all modifications and operations of himself. I say nothing, at present, of the various snuple notions, (or simple ideas, as they are commonly called,) which would arise in his mind ; for example, the ideas of number, of duration, of cause and effect, of personal identity ; all of which,' though perfectly unlike his sensations, could not fail to be suggested by means of them. [Such a being, then, might know all that we know of mind at present ; and as his language would be appro- priated to witW 50/e/y, and wo^ borrowed hy analogy from material plienomena, he would even possess important advantages over us in conducting the study of pneumatology.] From these observations it sufficiently appears, what is the real amount of the celebrated doctrine, which refers the origin of all our knowledge to our sensations; and that, even granting it to be true, (which, for my own part, I am disposed to do, in the sense in which I have now explained it), it would by no means follow from it, that our notions of tlie operations of mind, nor even many of those notions which are commonly suggested to us, in the first instance, by the perception of external objects, are necessarily subse- quent to our knowledge of the qualities, or even of the existence of matter. ' The remarks which I have offered on this doctrine, will not ap- pear superfluous to those who recollect that, although it has, for many years past, been a subject of controversy in England, it continues still to be imphcitly adopted by the best philosophical writers m France; and that [it has been employed by some of them to support the system of materialism : and by others to show, that the intellectual distinctions between man and brutes arise' entirely from the differences in their animal organization, and in their powers of external perception.] it II 66 m Imi l'\ CHAPTER II. OF ATTENTION. I The Connexion between Attejitlon and Memory.— WuEy we arc deeply engaged in conversation, or occupied with any speculation that is interesting to the mind, the surrounding objects either do not produce in us the perceptions they are fitted to excite ; or these perceptions are instantly forgotten. A clock, for example, may strike in the same room with us, without our being able, next moment, to recollect whether we heard it or not. In these, and similar cases, I believe, it is commonly taken for orranted, that we really do not perceive the external object. Irom some analogous facts, however, I am inclined to suspect that this opinion is not well founded. V^ A person who fa Is asleep at church, and is suddenly awaked, is unable to recollect the last words spoken by the preacher; or even to recollect that he was speaking at all. And yet, that sleep does not suspend entirely the powers of perception, may be inferred from this, that it the preacher were to make a sudden pause in his discourse, every person in the congregation who was asleep, would instantly awake. In this casts therefore, it appears, that a peison may he conscious of a perception, without being able afterwards to recollect it. t0r >Iany other instances of the same general fact might be produce]. When we read a book, (especially in a language which IS not perfectly familiar to us), we must perceive successively every ditferent letter, and must afterwards combine these letters into syllables and words, before we comprehend the meaning of a sen- tence. This process, however passes through the mind, without leavin;j: any trace in the memory. . . ,i [It has been proved by optical writers, that, in perceiving the distances of visible objects from the eye, there is k judgment of the understandinir antecedent to the perception.] In some cases this jud'-raent is founded on a variety of circumstances combined toge- ther • the conformation of the organ necessary for distinct vision ; the inclination of the optic axes; the distinctness or indistinctness of the minute parts of the object ; the distances of the intervening objects from each other, and from the eye ; and, perhaps on other circumstances besides these ; and yet, in consequence of our fami- liarity with such processes from our earliest infancy, the perception seems to be instantaneous; and it requires much reasoning, to con- vince persons unaccustomed to philosophical speculations, that the fact is otherwise. Another instance of a still more familiar nature, may be of use for the farther illustration of the same subject. It is well known, that our thoughts do not succeed each other at random, but accord- ino- to certain laws of association, which modern philosophers have OF ATTENTION. 67 been at much pains to investigate. It frequently, however, hap- pens, particularly when the mind is animated by conversation, that it makes a sudden transition from one subject to another, which, at first view, appears to be very remote from it ; and that it requires a considerable degree of reflection, to enable the person himself by whom the transition was made, to ascertain what were the interme- diate ideas. A curious instance of such a sudden transition is men- tioned by Hobbes in his Leviathan. " In a company," (says he,) " in which the conversation turned on the civil war, what could be conceived more impertinent, than for a person to ask abruptly, What was the value of a Roman denarius ? On a little reflection, however, I was easily able to trace the train of thought which suggested the question: for the original subject of discourse naturally introduced the history of the king, and of the treachery of those who surrendered his person to his enemies ; this again introduced the treachery of Judas Iscariot, and the sum of money which he received for his reward.— And all this train of ideas," says Hobbes, "passed through the mind of the speaker in a twinkhng, in consequence of the velocity of thought." It is by no means improbable, that if the speaker himself had been interrogated about the connexion of ideas, which led him aside from the original topic of dl- course, he would have found himself, at first, at a loss for an answer. In tlie instances wliich have been last mentioned we have also a proof, tliat a perception, or an idea, which passes through the mind, without leaving any trace in the memory, may yet serve to intro- duce other ideas connected with it by the laws of association. Other proofs of this important fiict shall be mentioned afterwards. When a perception or an idea passes through the mind, without our being able to recollect it next moment, the vulgar themselves ascribe our want of memory to a want of attention. Thus, in the instance already mentioned, of the clock, a person, upon observing that the minute-hand had just pa^^sed twelve, would naturally say, that he did not attend to the clock when it was striking. There seems therefore, to be a certain effort of mind upon which, even in the judgment of the vulgar, memory in some measure depends ; and which they distinguish by the name of attention. The connexion between attention and memory has been remarked by many authors. " Nee dubium est," (says Quinctilian, speaking of memory,) " quin plurimum in hac parte valeat mentis intentio, et velut acies luminum a i)rospectu rerum quas intuetur non aversa."* The same observation has been made by Locke,t and by most of the writers on the subject of education. But although the connexion between attention and memory has been fre(iuently remarked in general terms, I do not recollect that * " There is no doubt that in attaining this object great effect ifi produced by close attention of the mind, as it were the sight, fixed on what it contemplates." t " Memorj depends much on attention and repetition." \4 • /*'' If II I ' :!■■. I'll! N r« hS PART I. CHAP. ir. the power of attention has been mentioned by any of the writers on pneumatology, in their enumeration of the facuhies of the mind ;* nor has it been considered by any one, so far as I know, as of suffi- cient importance to deserve a particular examination. Helvetius, indeed, in his very ingenious work, De V Esprit, has entitled one of his chapters, De rintgale Capacitt (T Attention ; but what he con- siders under this article, is chiefly that capacity of patient inquiry, (or as he calls it, une attention siuvie,) upon which philosophical genius seems in a great measure to depend. He has also remarked,f with the writers already mentioned, that the impression which any thing makes on the memory, depends much on the degree of atten- tion we give to it ; but he has taken no notice of that effort which is absolutely essential to the lowest degree of memory. It is this effort that I propose to consider at present : — not those different degrees of attention which imprint things more or less deeply on the mind, but that act or effort without which we have no recollec- tion or memory whatever. Witli respect to the nature of this effort, it is perhaps impossible for us to obtain much satisfaction. We often speak of greater and less degrees of attention ; and, I believe, in these cases, conceive the mind (if 1 may use the expression) to exert itself with different degrees of energy. I am doubtful, however, if this expression conveys any distinct meaning. For my own part, I am inclined to suppose, (though I would by no means be understood to speak with confidence,) that it is essential to memory, that the perception or the idea that we would wish to remember, should remain in the mind for a certain space of time, and should be contemplated by it exclusively of every thing else ; and that attention consists partly (perhaps entirely) in the effort of the mind to detain the idea or the perception, and to exclude the other objects that solicit its notice. Notwithstanding, however, the difficulty of ascertaining, in wliat this act of the mind consists, every person must be satisfied of its reality from his own consciousness ; and of its essential connexion with the power of memory. I have already mentioned several instances of ideas passing through the mind, without our being able * Some important observations on the subject of attention occur in different parts of Dr. Reid's wTitings; particularly in liis Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, and in his Essays on the Active Powers of Man, Essay II. chap. iii. §. i. edit. 1843. — To this ingenious author we are indebted for the remark, that attention to things external, is properly called observation ; and attention to the subjects of our consciousness, re/lection. He has also explained the causes of the |>eculiar difficulties which accom- pany this last exertion of the mind, and which form the chief obstacles to the progress of pneumatology. I shall have occasion, in another part of this work, to treat of habits of inattention in general, and to suggest some practical hints with respect to the culture both of the powers of observjition and reflection. Tlie view which I propose to take of attention at present, is extremely limited ; anjl is intended merely to comprehend such general principles as are necessary to prepare the reader for the chapters which are to follow. f " C'est I'attention, plus ou moins grandc, qui grave plus ou moins profondement lea objets dans la memoire." — [It is attention, more or less close, which impresses objects more or less deeply on the nu'mor\ .] Ox- ATTiiNTION. 59 to recollect them next moment. These instances were produced, merely to illustrate the meaning I annex to the word attention ; and to recall to the recollection of the reader, a few striking cases, in which the possibility of our carr}'ing on a process of thought, which we are unable to attend to at the time, or to remember afterwards, is acknowledged in the received systems of philosophy. I shall now mention some other phenomena, which appear to me to be very similar to these, and to be explicable in the same manner; although they have commonly been referred to very different principles. The wonderful effect of practice in the formation of habits, has been often, and justly taken notice of, as one of the most curious circumstances in the human constitution. A mechanical operation, for example, which we at first performed with the utmost difficulty, comes, in time, to be so familiar to us, that we are able to perform it without the smallest danger of mistake ; even while the attention appears to be completely engaged with other subjects. The truth seems to be, that in consequence of the association of ideas, the different steps of the process present themselves successively to the thouglits, without any recollection on our part, and with a degree of rapidity proportioned to the length of our experience, so as to save us entirely the trouble of hesitation and reflection, by giving us every moment a precise and steady notion of the effect to be produced.* In the case of some operations which are very familiar to us, we find ourselves unable to attend to, or to recollect, the acts of the will by vv hich they are preceded ; and accordingly some philoso- phers of great eminence have called in question the existence of such volitions ; and have represented our habitual actions as invo- luntary and mechanical. But surely the circumstance of our inability to recollect our volitions does not authorise us to dispute their possibility ; any more than our inahility to attend to the pro- cess of the mind, in estimating the distance of an object from the eye, authorizes us to affirm that the perception is instantaneous. Nor does it add any force to the objection to urge, that there are instances in whicli we find it difficult, or perhaps impossible, to clieck our habitual actions by a contrary volition. For it must be remem- bered, that this contrary volition does not remain with us steadily during the whole operation ; but is merely a general intention or resolution, which is banished from the mind, as soon as the occasion presents itself with which the habitual train of our thoughts and volition is associated. t * I do not mean by this obsenation, to call in question the effects which the practice of the mechanical arts has on the muscles of the body. These are as indisputable as its effects on the mind. A man who has been accustomed to write with his right hand can write better with his left hand, than another who never practised the art at all ; but he cannot write so well with his left hand as with his right. — The effects of practice there- fore, it should sconi, are produced partly on the mind, and partly on the body. t The solution of this difficulty, which is given by Dr. Porterfield, is somewhat curi- i ij f* >> 60 PART I. CHAP. n. Itiiiav inileed be said, that these observations only prove the possibility that our habitual actions may be voluntary. -1^"^ it ^liis be admitcecl, nothing more can well be required : for surely, if these phenomena are clearly explicable from the known and acknow- ledo-ed laws of the human mind, it would be unphdosophical to devise a new principle, on purpose to account for them, llie doctrine, therefore, which I have laid down with respect to the nature of habits, is by no means founded on hypothesis, as has been objected to me by some of my friends; but on the contrary, the charge of hypothesis falls on those who attempt to explain them, by savin^'- that they are mechanical or automatic; a doctrine which, if it IS at all intelligible, must be understood as implying the existence of some law of our constitution, which has been hitherto unobserved by philosophers : and to which, I believe, it will be dithcult to find any thinj? analogous in our constitution. II Of Habits in which both mind and body are concerned.— in the fore-oin- observations, I have had in view a favourite doctrine of Dr. Hartley's, which has been maintained also of late by a much higher authority, I mean Dr. Reid. ^ " Habit," (says this ingenious author, Essays on the Active Powers of ]VIan, Essay III., Part I. chap. iii. i i. edit. 1843,) '- difters from Instinct, not in its nature, but in its origin ; the last being natural, the first acquired. Both operate without will or intention, without thought, and therefore maybe called mechanical principles." in another passage, (p. 130) he expresses himself thus : " I conceive it to be a part of our constitution, that what we have been accustomed to do, we acquire not only a facility but a prone- ness to do on like occasions ; so that it requires a particular wil or etfbrt to forbear it, but to do it requires, very often, no will at all. The same doctrine is laid down still more explicitly by Dr. Hartley ' " Suppose," says he, " a person who has a perfectly voluntary command over his fingers, to begin to learn to play on the harpsi- cliord. Tlie first step is to move his fingers from key to key, witli a slow motion, looking at the notes, and exerting an express act ot volition in every motion. By degrees the motions cling to one another, and to the impressions of the notes, m the wav ol associa- tion, so often mentioned, the acts of volition growmg less and less express all the time, till at last they become evanescent and imper- ceptible. For an expert performer will play from notes, or ideas laid up in the memorv, and at the same time carry on quite a I- ' ous " Such is the power of custom aud habit, that many actions, >vh.ch are no doubt voluntary, aud proceed from our mind, are in certain circumstances rendered nccessar>' so reappear altogether mechanical, and independent of our nv ills ; ^>"t '* ^l;>es not fron thence follow, that our mind is not concerned in such motions, but only that i has mpLTupon itself a law, whereby it regulates and governs them to the greatest ad- vmta'-e In all this, there is notlung of intrinsical necessity ; the mind is at absolute hbcrt? to act as it pleaso ; but being a wise agent it cannot choose but to act in con- fSy to this law, by reason of the utility and advantage that anse from this wav of acting."— Treatise on the Eye, vol. ii. p. 17. OF ATTENTION. G\ different train of thoughts in his mind ; or even hold a conversation with another. Whence we may conclude, that there is no inter- vention of the idea, or state of mind, called the will." (Vol. i. pp. 108, 109.) Cases of this sort. Hartley calls " transitions of volun- tary actions into automatic ones." I cannot help thinking it more philosophical to suppose, that those actions which are originally voluntary, always continue so ; although in the case of operations which are become habitual in consequence of long practice, we may not be able to recollect every different volition. K^ Thus in the case of a performer on the harp- sichord, I apprehend, that there is an act of the will preceding every motion of every finger, although he may not be able to recol- lect these volitions afterwards : and although he may, during the time of his performance, be employed in carrying on a separate train of thought. For, it must be remarked, that the most rapid performer can, when he pleases, jilay so slowly, as to be able to attend to, and to recollect, every separate act of his will in the various movements of his fingers ; and he can gradually accelerate the rate of his execution, till he is unable to recollect these acts. Now, in this instance, one of two suppositions must be made ; the one is, that the operations in the two cases are carried on precisely in the same manner, and differ only in the degree of rapidity ; and that when this rapidity exceeds a certain rate, the acts of the will are too momentary to leave any impression on the memory. — The other is, that when the rapidity exceeds a certain rate, the operation is taken entirely out of our hands ; and is car- ried on by some unknown power, of the nature of which we are as ignorant, as of the cause of the circulation of the blood, or of the motion of the intestines.* The last supposition seems to me to be somewhat similar to that of a man, who should maintain, that, although a body projected with a moderate velocity, is seen to pass through all the intermediate spaces in moving from one place to another, yet we are not entitled to conclude, that this happens when the body moves so quickly as to become invisible to the eve. The former supposition is supported by the analogy of many other facts in our constitution. Of some of these, I have already taken notice; and it would be easy to add to the number. K^ ^n expert accountant, for example, can sum up, almost with a single glance * This seems to have been the opinion of Bishop Berkely, whose doctrine concern- ing the nature of our habitual actions, coincides with that of the two philosophers already quoted. *' It must l>e owned, we are not conscious of the systole and diastole of the heart, or the niotion of the diaphragm. It may not, nevertheless, be thence inferred, that unknowing nature can act regularly as well as ourselves. The true inference is, that the self-thinking individual, or human person, is not the real author of those natural motions. And, in fact, no man blames himself, if they are WTong, or values himself, if they are right. The same may be said of the fingers of a musician, which some object to be moved by habit, which understands not ; it being evident that what is done by rule, must proceed from something that understands the rule ; there- fore, if not from the musician himself, from some other active intelligence ; the same, perhaps, which governs bees and spiders, and moves the limbs of those who walk in their gleep." — See a Treatise, entitled " Siris," p. 123, second edition. i II m\ ■,iii ml iitt< t a. 62 PART I. CHAP. U. of his eye, a long column of figures. He can tdl the sum with unerring certainty ; while, at the same time, he is unable to recol- lect any one of the figures of which that sura is composed ; and yet nobody doubts, that each of these figures has passed through his mind, or supposes, that when the rapidity of the process becomes so great that he is unable to recollect the various steps of it, he obtains the result by a sort of inspiration. This last supposition would be perfectly analogous to Dr. Hartley's doctrine concerning the nature of our habitual exertions. The only plausible objection which, I think, can be offered to the principles I have endeavoured to establish on this subject, is founded ou the astonishing, and almost incredible rapidity, they necessarily suppose in our intellectual operations. When a person, for example, reads aloud ; there must, according to this doctrine, be a separate volition preceding the articulation of every letter; and it has been found, by actual trial,* that it is possible to pro- nounce about two thousand letters in a mimite. [Is it reasonable to suppose, that the mind is capable of so many different acts in an interval of time so very inconsiderable?] (1.) With respect to this objection, it maybe observed, in the frst place, that all arguments against the foregoing doctrine with respect to our habitual exertions, in so far as they are founded on the inconceivable rapidity which they suppose in our intellectual operations, apply equally to the common doctrine concerning our perception of distance by the eye. But this is not all. To what does the supposition amount, which is considered as so incredible ? Only to this, that the mind is so formed, as to be able to carry on certain intellectual processes, in intervals of time too short to be estimated by our faculties ; a supposition which, so far from being extravagant, is supported by the analogy of many of our most cer- tain conclusions in natural philosophy. l^W The discoveries made by the mici'oscape^ have laid open to our senses a world of wonders, the existence of which hardly any man would have admitted upon inferior evidence ; and have gradually prepared the way for those physical speculations, which explain some of the most extraordinary phenomena of nature, by means of modifications of matter far too subtile for the examination of our organs. Why then should it be considered as unphilosophical, after having demonstrated the exist- ence of various intellectual processes which escape our attention * Incredibili velocitatc peragimtur et repetuntur musculorum contract iones. Docent cursus, prasertim quatlrupedum ; vel lingua, quae quadringinta vocabula, forte bis mille literas, cxprimit, spatio temporis quod minutum vocarc solemus, quannis ad multas literas exprimcndas plures musculorum coiitractiones requirantiur. — Con:>pectus Medicina; Theoretic.T, Auct. Jac. Gregorj;. Edit, altera, p. 171. [The contractions of the muscles take place and are repeated with incredible quick- ness. We may collect this from the speed of animals, especially quadrupeds ; or from the motions of the tongue, which perhaps pronounces in a minute, four iiundrcd words, consisting of two thousand letters, although various letters require several contractions of the muscles, or, although to the expression of many letters, niore contractions of the muscles are required.^Gregory's " View of the Tlieory of the Healing Art."] i^' OF ATTENTION. 63 in consequence of their rapidity, to carry the supposition a little farther, in order to bring under the known laws of the human constitution a class of mental operations, which must otherwise remain perfectly inexplicable? Surely, our ideas of time are merely relative, as well as our ideas of extension ; nor is there any good reason for doubting, that, if our powers of attention and memory were more perfect than they are, so as to give us the same advantage in examininji^ rapid events, which the microscoj^e gives for examining minute portions of extension, they would enlarge our views with respect to the intellectual world, no less than that instrument has with respect to the material. (2.) It may contribute to remove, still more completely, some of the scruples which are naturally suggested by the foregoing doc- trine, to remark, that, [as the great use of attention and memory is to enable us to treasure up the results of our experience and reflec- tion for the future regulation of our conduct, it would have answered no purpose for the Author of our nature to have extended their province to those intervals of time, which we have no occasion to estimate in the common business of life.] All the intellectual processes I have mentioned are subservient to some particular end, either of perception or of action ; and it would have been perfectly superfluous, if, after this end were gained, the steps which are instrumental in bringing it about, were all treasured up in the memory. Such a constitution of our nature would have had no other effect but to store the mind w^th a variety of useless particulars. After all I have said, it will perhaps be still thought, that some of the reasonings I have offered are too hypothetical ; and it is even [>ossible, that some may be disposed rather to dispute the common theory of vision, than admit the conclusions I have endeavoured to establish. To such readers the following considerations may be of use, as they afford a more palpable instance, than any I have yet mentioned, of the rapidity with which the thoughts may be trained by practice, to shift from one thing to another. 1^* \\ hen an equilibrist balances a rod upon his finger, not only the attention of his mind, but the observation of his eye, is constantly requisite. It is evident that the part of his body which supports the object is never wholly at rest ; otherwise the object would no more stand upon it, than if placed in the same position upon a table. The equilibrist, therefore, must watch, in the very begin- ning, every inclination of the object from the proper position, in order to counteract this inclination by a contrary movement. In this manner, the object has never time to fall in any one direction, and is supported in a way somewhat analogous to that in which a top is supported on a pivot, by being made to spin upon an axis. — That a person should be able to do this in the case of a single object, is curious ; but that he should be able to balance in the game way, two, or three, upon different parts of his body, and at the same time balance himself on a small cord or wire, is indeed I. 64 PART I. CHAP. II. II ! ! wonderful. Nor is it possible to conceive that, in such an instance, the mind, at one and the same moment, attends to these different equilibriums ; for it is not merely the attention which is requisite, but the eye. We must therefore conclude, that both of these are directed successively to the different equilibriums, hut change from one object to another with such velocity, that the effect, with respect to the experiment, is the same as if they were directed to all the objects constantly. It is worth while to remark farther, with respect to [this last illus- tration, that it affords direct evidence of the possihility of our exerting acts of the will, which we are unable to recollect ;] for the movements of the equilibrist do not succeed each other in a regular order, like those of the harpsichord player, in performing a piece of music ; but must in every instance be regulated by accidents, which may vary in numberless respects, and which indeed must vary in numberless respects every time he repeats the experiment: and therefore, although, in the former case, we should suppose, with Hartley, " that the motions chng to one another, and to the impres- sions of the notes, in the way of association, without any interven- tion of the state of mind called Svill,'*' yet, in this instance, even the possibility of such a supposition is directly contradicted by the fact. l^ The dexterity of jugglers (which, by the way, merits a greater degree of attention from philosophers, than it has yet attracted,) aflbrds many curious illustrations of the same doctrine. The whole of this art seems to ine to be founded on this principle : that it is possible for a person, by long practice, to acquire a power, not only of carrying on certain intellectual processes more quickly than other men, (for all the feats of legerdemain suppose the exercise of observation, thought, and volition,) but of performing a variety of movements with tlie hand, be tore the eyes of a com- pany, in an interval of time too short to enable the spectators to exert that degree of attention wliich is necessary to lay a founda- tion for memory. (See note e.) As some philosophers have disputed the influence of the will in the case of habits, so others (particularly Stahl and his followers) have gone into the opposite extreme, by referring to the will all the vital motions. If it be admitted, say these philosophers, that there are instances in which we will an efi'ect, without being able to make it an object of attention, is it not possible that, what we commonly call the vital and involuntary motions, may be the consequences of our own thought and volition ? But there is surely a wide differ- ence between those cases, in which the mind was at first conscious of thought and volition, and gradually lost the power of attending to them, from the growing rapidity of the intellectual process ; and a case in which the effect itself is perfectly unknown to the bulk of mankind, even afler they arrive at maturity, and in which this effect has continued to take plaee with the most perfect regularity, M OF ATTENTION. 6^: ij from the very beginning of their animal existence, and long before the first dawn of either reflection or experience. Some of the followers of Stahl have stated the fact rather inac- curately, even with respect to our habitual exertions. Thus Dr. Porterfield, in his Treatise on the Eye, is at pains to prove, that the soul may think and will without knowledge or consciousness. But this, I own, is to me inconceivable. The true state of the fact, I apprehend, is, that the mind may think and will, without attending to its thoughts and volitions, so as to be able afterwards to recollect them. — Nor is this merely a verbal criticism ; for there is an import- ant difference between consciousness and attention, which it is very necessary to keep in view, in order to think upon this subject with any degree of precision. * The one is an involuntary state of the mind ; the other is a voluntary act : the one has no immediate con- nexion with memory ; but the other is so essentially subservient to it, that without some degree of it, the ideas and perceptions which pass through the mind, seem to leave no trace behind them. 1^^ When two persons are speaking to us at once, we can attend to either of them at pleasure, without being much disturbed by the other. If we attempt to listen to both, we can understand neither. The fact seems to be, that when we attend constantly to one of the speakers, the words spoken by the other make no impression on the memory, in consequence of our not attending to them ; and affect us as little as if they had not been uttered. This power, however, of the mind to attend to either speaker at pleasure, sup- poses that it is, at one and the same time, conscious of the sensa- tions which both produce. Another well-known fact may be of use in illustrating the same distinction. 1^^ A person who accidentally loses his sight, never fails to improve gradually in the sensibility of his touch. Now, there are only two ways of explaining this. The one is, that, in conse- quence of the loss of the one sense, some change takes place in the physical constitution of the body so as to improve a different organ of perception. The other, that the mind gradually acquires a power of attending to and remembering those slighter sensations of which it was formerly conscious, but which, from our habits of inattention, made no impression whatever on the memory. No one surely , can hesitate for a moment, in pronouncing which of these two suppo- sitions is the more philosophical. Having treated, at considerable length, of those habits in which both mind and body are concerned, I proceed to make a few remarks on some phenomena which are purely intellectual ; and which, I * The distinction between attention and consciousness is pointed out by Dr. Reid, in hig Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, Essay I, chap. v. § viii. 8vo, edit. 1843. " Attention is (1) a voluntary act ; it requiresi an active exertion to begin and to continue it ; and (2) it may be continued as long as we will ; but consciousness is involuntary, and of no continuance, changing with every thought." The same author has remarked, that these two operations of the mind have been frequently confounded by philosophers, and particularly by Mr. Locke. 1' i Kf 66 PART I. cn.vp. n. OF ATTENTION. 07 li m \ m m I think, are explicable on the same principles with those which have been now under our review. III. Phenomena or Habits purely intellectual.— -Bvery person who has studied the elements of geometry, must have observed many cases in which the truth of a theorem struck him the moment he heard the enunciation. I do not allude to those theorems the truth of which is obvious almost to sense ; such as, that any two sides of a triangle are greater than the third side ; or that one circle cannot cut another circle in more than two points; but to some pro- positions with respect to quantity, considered abstractedly (to some, for example, in the fifth book of Euclid), which almost every stu- dent would be ready to admit without a demonstration. These pro- positions, however, do by no means belong to the class of axioms ; for their evidence does not strike every person equally, but requires a certain degree of quickness to perceive it. At the same time, it frequently happens, that although we are convinced the proposi- tion is true, we cannot state immediately to others upon what our conviction is founded. In such cases, I think it higlily probable, that before we give our assent to the theorem, a process of thought* has passed through the mind, but has passed through it so quickly, that we cannot, without difficulty, arrest our ideas in their rapid succession, and state them to others in their proper and logical order. It is some confirmation of this theory, that there are no propositions of which it is more difficult to give a legitimate proof from first principles, than of those which are only removed a few stej)s from the class of axioms ; and that those men who are the most remark- able for their quick perception of mathematical truth, are seldom clear and methodical in communicating their know ledge to others. A man of a moderate degree of quickness, the very first time he is made acquainted with the fundamental principles of the method of fluxions, or of the method of prime and ultimate ratios, is almost instantaneously satisfied of their truth ; yet how difficult is it to demonstrate these principles rigorously I What I have now said with respect to mathematics, may be applied in a great measure to the other branches of knowledge. How many questions daily occur to us, in morals, in politics, and in common life ; in considering which, we almost instantaneously see where the truth lies, although we are not in a condition, all at once, to explain the grounds of our conviction ! Indeed, I apprehend, there are few, even among those who have devoted themselves to study, but who have not been habituated to communicate their knowledge to others, who are able to exhibit, in their natural order, the different steps of any investigation by which they have been led to form a particular conclusion. The common observation, therefore, that an obscure elocution always indicates an imperfect * Of the nature of these processes of thought, I shall treat fully in another part of my work, under the article of Reasoning. 1 have expressed myself concerning them, in this chapter, in as general teiins as possible. knowledge of the subject ; although it may perhaps be true with respect to men wlio have cultivated the art of speaking, is by no means to be relied on as a general rule, in judging of the talents of those whose speculations have been carried on with a view merely to their own private satisfaction. In the course of my own experience, I have heard of more than one instance, of men who, without any mathematical education, were able, on a little reflection, to give a solution of any simple algebraical problem ; and who, at the same time, were perfectly incapable of explaining by what steps they obtained the result. In these cases, we have a direct proof of the possibility of investigating even truths which are pretty remote, by an intellectual process, which, as soon as it is finished, vanishes almost entirely from the memory. It is probable that something of the same kind takes place much more frequently in the other branches of knowledge, in which our reasonings consist commonly but of a few steps. Indeed I am inclined to think, that it is in this way that by far the greater part of our speculative conclusions are formed. There is no talent, I apprehend, so essential to a public speaker, as to be able to state clearly every different step of those trains of thought by which he himself was led to the conclusions he wishes to establish. Much mav be here done by study and experience. Even in those cases in which the truth of a proposition seems to strike us instantaneously, although we may not be able, at first, to discover the media of proof, we seldom fail in the discovery by perseverance. — Nothing contributes so much to form this talent as the study of metaphysics ; not the absurd metaphysics of the schools, but that study which has the operations of the mind for its object. By liabituating us to reflect on the subjects of our consciousness, it enables us to retard, in a considerable degree, the current of thought : to arrest many of those ideas, which would otherwise escape our notice ; and to render the arguments which we employ for the conviction of others, an exact transcript of those trains of inquiry and reasoning, which originally led us to form our opinions. These observations lead me to take notice of an important dis- tinction between the intellectual habits of men of speculation and of action. The latter, w ho are under a necessity of thinking and deciding on the spur of the occasion, are led to cuhivate, as much as possible, a quickness in their mental operations ; and sometimes acquire it in so great a degree, that their judgment seems to be almost intuitive. To those, on the other hand, who have not merely to form opinions for themselves, but to communicate them to others, it is necessary to retard the train of thought as it passes in the mind, so as to be able afterwards to recollect everj^ different step of the process; a habit which, in some cases, has such an influence on the intellectual powers, that there are men who, even in their pri- vate speculations, not only make use of words as an instrument of thought, but form these words into regular sentences. F 2 IS i III I ,i ^' i 63 PART I. CHAP. II. I It may perhaps appear, at first, a paradoxical observation, that one great employment of philosophers, in a refined age, is to bring to li^ht and arrange, those rapid and confused trains of thought, whicli appear from the structure of languages, and from the monu- ments of ancient laws and governments, to have passed through the mind*; of men in the most remote and unenlightened periods. In proof however, of this, it is sufficient to mention, the systematical analoW which we find, to a certain degree, running through the structure of the most imperfect tongues, (for example, in the for- mation of the different parts of the verbs,) and those general prin- ciples, which the philosophical lawyer traces amidst an apparent chaos of precedents and statutes. In the language, too, of the rudest tribe, we find words transferred from one subject to another, which indicate, in the mind of the individual who first made the transference, some perception of resemblance or of analogy, buch transferences can hardly be ascribed to accident, but may be con- sidered as proofs that the analogies which the philosopher after- wards points out between the objects which are distinguished by the same name, had been perceived by the inventors of language, al- thouo-h it is more than probable that they never expressed them in word's, nor could even have explained them if they had been questioned on the subject. .... Nor will this appear a bold or incredible supposition, it we re- flect on the sagacity and ingenuity which savages, and even peasants, discover, in overcoming the difficulties which occur in their situation. They do not, indeed, engage in long processes of abstract reasoning, for which they have no inclination, and which it is impossible to carry on without the use of a cultivated and a copious language ; but when pressed by present circumstances, they combine means to accomplish particular ends, in a manner which indicates the exercise both of invention and of reasoning. It w probable that such processes are carried on in their minds, with much less assistance from language, than a philosopher would derive on a similar occasion ; and it is almost certain, that they would find themselves perfectly capable of communicating to others the steps by which they were led to their conclusions. In consequence of these circumstances, the attainments of the human mind, in its ruder state, perish with the individual, without being recorded in writing, or perhaps expressed in words ; and we are lefl to infer them indirectly from the structure of language, or from the monuments of ancient customs and institutions. [When a train of thought leads to any interesting conclusion, or excites any pleasant feeling, it becomes peculiarly difficult to arrest our fleeting ideas; because the mind, when once it has felt the plcasure,has little inclination to retrace the steps by which it arrived at it. This is one great cause of the difficulty attending philosophi- cal criticism.] When a critic explains to us, why we are pleased ' with any particular beauty, or ofiended with any defect, it is OV ATTENTION. 69 i-i evident, that if his theory be just, the circumstances which he points out as the foundation of our pleasure or uneasiness, must have occurred to our minds before we were pleased with the beauty, or oftended with the defect. In such cases, it sometimes happens, when a critic has been fortunate in his theory, that we recognize at first sight our old ideas, and without any farther consideration, are ready to bear testimony to the truth, from our own consciousness. So very difficult, however, is it to attend to the ideas which excite such feelings, that it oflen appears to be doubtful, whether a theory be right or wrong ; and that where there is every reason to believe that the pleasure is produced in all men in the same way, different critics adopt different theories with respect to its cause. It is long practice alone, joined to what is commonly called a metaphysical turn of mind (by which I think is chiefly to be understood, a capacity of reflecting on the subjects of our consciousness), that can render such efforts of attention easy. Exquisite sensibility, so far from being useful in this species of criticism, both gives a dis- relish for the study, and disqualifies for pursuing it. Before we leave the subject of attention, it is proper to take notice of a question which has been stated with respect to it; whether we have the power of attending to more than one thing at one and the same instant ; or, \h other words, whether we can attend at one and the same instant, to objects which we can attend to separately?* This question has, if I am not mistaken, been already decided by several philosophers in the negative ; and I acknowledge for my own part, that although their opinion has not only been called in question by others, but even treated with some degree of contempt as altogether hypothetical, it appears to me to be the most reasonable and philosophical that we can form on the subject. There is indeed a great variety of cases, in which the mind apparently exerts different acts of attention at once ; but from the instances which have already been mentioned, of the astonishing rapidity of thought, it is obvious, that all this may be explained, without supposing these acts to be co-existent ; and I may even venture to add, it may all be explained in the most satisfactory manner, without ascribing to our intellectual operations, a greater degree of rapidity than that with which we know from the fact that they are sometimes carried on. [The effect of practice mmcre'dsing this capacity of apparently attending to different things at once, renders this explanation of the phenomenon in question, more probable than any other.] The case of the equilibrist and rope-dancer already mentioned, is particularly favourable to this explanation ; as it affords direct evidence of the possibility of the mind's exerting different succes- sive acts in an interval of time so short as to produce the same sensible effect, as if they had been exerted at one and the same ♦ I have added tliis explanation to obviate the question, What is meant by one object ? / *■ h 'd i'^ k'^ h CUAP. II. 70 PART I. moment. In tliis case, indeed, the rapidity of tliouglit is so remark- able, that if* the different acts of the mind were not all necessarily accompanied with different movements of the eye, there can be no reason for doubting that the philosophers, whose doctrine I am now controverting, would have asserted, that they are all mathe- matically co-existent. Upon a question, however, of this sort, which does not admit of a perfectly direct appeal to the fact, I would by no means be under- stood to decide with confidence : and, therefore, I should wish the conclusions I am now to stute, to be received as only conditionally established. They are necessary and obvious consequences of the general principle, " that the mind can only attend to one thing at once;'* but must stand or fall with the truth of that supposition. B^ [It is commonly understood, I believe, that, in a conctrt of music, a good ear can attend to the different parts of tlie music separately, or can attend to them all at once, and feel the full effect of the harmony. If the doctrine, however, which I have endea- voured to establish, be admitted, it will follow, that in the latter case, the mind is constantly varying its attention from the one part of the music to the other, and that its operations are so rapid, as to give us no perception of an interval of time.] The same doctrine leads to some curious conclusions with respect to vision. Suppose the eye to be fixed in a particular position, and the picture of an object to be painted on the retina. Does the mind perceive the complete figure of the object at once, or is this perception the result of the various perceptions we have of the different points in the outline? With respect to this question, the principles already stated lead me to conclude, that the mind does at one and the same time perceive every point in the outline of the object, (provided the whole of it be painted on the retina at the same instant), for perception, like consciousness, is an involuntary operation. As no two points, however, of the outline are in the same direction, every point, by itself, constitutes just as distinct an object of attention to the mind, as if it were separated by an interval of empty space from all the rest. If the doctrine therefore formerly stated be just, it is impossible for the mind to attend to more than one of these points at once ; and as the perception of the figure of the object, implies a knowledge of the relative situation of the different points with respect to each other, we must conclude, that the perception of figure by the eye, is the result of a number of different acts of attention. These acts of attention, however, are performed with such rapidity, that the effect, with respect to us, is the same as if the perception were instantaneous. In farther confirmation of this reasoning, it may be remarked, that if the perception of visible figure were an immediate conse- quence of the picture on the retina, we should have, at the first glance, as distinct an idea of a figure of a thousand sides, as of a triangle or a square. The truth is, that when the figure is very OF ATTENTION. 71 simple, the process of the mind is so rapid, that the perception seems to be instantaneous; but when the sides are multiplied beyond a certain number, the interval of time necessary for these different acts of attention becomes perceptible. It may perhaps be asked, what 1 mean by a point, in the outhne of a figure, and what it is that constitutes this point one object of attention? The answer, I apprehend, is, that this point is the minimum vmbile. If the point be less, we cannot perceive it : if it be greater, it is not all seen in one direction. If these observations be admitted, it will follow, that, without the faculty of memory, we could have had no perception of visible figure, j^ CHAPTER III. OF CONCEPTION. ^i I. — [By conception, I mean that power of the mind, which enables it to form a notion of an absent object of perception ; or of a sensation which it has formerly felt.] I do not contend that this is exclusively the proper meaning of the word, but I think that the faculty which I have now defined, deserves to be distinguished by an appropriated name. Conception is often confounded with other powers. i^° When a painter makes a picture of a friend, who is absent or dead, he is commonly said to paint from memory : and the expression is sufli- ciently correct for common conversation. But in an analysis of the mind, there is ground for a distinction. The power of conception enables him to make the features of his friend an object of thought, so as to copy the resemblance ; the power of memory recognises these features as a former object of perception. Every act of memory includes an idea of the past; conception implies no idea of time whatever*. According to this view of the matter, the word conception cor- responds to what was called by the schoolmen simple apprehension ; with this difference only, that they included, under this name, our sipprehension of general propositions ; whereas I should wish to limit the application of the word concejHion to our sensations, and the objects of our perceptions. Dr. Reid, in his Inquiry, substi- tutcs the word conception instead of the simple apprehension of the schools, and employs it in the same extensive signification. I think it may contribute to make our ideas more distinct, to restrict its meaning :— and for such a restriction, we have the authority of philosophers in a case perfectly analogous. In ordinary language, * Shakespeare calls this power " the mind's eye." Hamlet.—" My father ? Mcthinks I see my father. Horatio.— "Where, my Lord.^ Hamlet.—" In my mind's eye, Horatio."— Act. i. Scene 4. I i 72 PART I. CHAP. III. •!l '4 lit |!|| i-t I we apply the same word perception^ to the knowledge which we have by our senses of external objects, and to our knowledge of speculative truth : and yet an author would be justly censured, who should treat of these two operations of the mind, under the same article of perception. I apprehend there is as wide a difference between the conception of a truth, and the conception of an absent object of sense, as between the perception of a tree, and the per- ception of a mathematical theorem. I have therefore taken the liberty to distinguish also the two former operations of the mind : [and under the article of conception^ shall confine myself to that faculty whose province it is to enable us to form a notion of our past sensations, or of the objects of sense that we have formerly perceived.^ ' Conception is frequently used as synonymous with imagination. Dr. Reid says, that " imagination, in its proper sense, signifies a lively conception of objects of sight." " This is a talent," he remarks, " of importance to poets and orators ; and deserves a proper name, on account of its connexion with their arts." He adds, that " imagination is distinguished from conception, as a part from a whole." I shall not inquire, at present, into the proper English meaning of the words conception and imagination. In a study such as this, so far removed from the common purposes of speech, some latitude may perhaps be allowed in the use of words ; provided only we define accurately those ice employ^ and adhere to our own definitions. The business of conception, according to the account I have given of it, is to present us with an exact transcript of what we have felt or perceived. But we have, moreover, a power of modifying our conceptions, by combining the parts of different ones together, so as to form new wholes of our own creation. I shall employ the word imagination to express this power ; and, I apprehend, that this is the proper sense of the word ; if imagination be the power which gives birth to the productions of the poet and the painter. This is not a simple faculty of the mind. It presupposes abstrac- tion, to separate from each other qualities and circumstances which have been perceived in conjunction; and also judgment and taste to direct us in forming the combinations. If they are made wholly at random, they are proofs of insanity*. * In common discourse, we often use the phrase of thinking upon an object to express what I here call, the conception of it. In the following passage, Shakespeare uses the former of these phrases, and the words imagination and apprehension as synonymous with each other. Who can hold a fire in his hand, By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, By bare imagination of a feast ? Or wallow naked in December's snow, By thinking on fantastic summer's heai ? Oh no ! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse. K. Richard II. Act i. Scene G. OF CONCEPTION. 73 The lirst remarkable fact which strikes us with respect to con- ception is, that we can conceive the objects of some senses much more easily than those of others. Thus we can conceive an absent visible object, such as a building that is familiar to us, much more 'easily than a particular sound, a particular taste, or a particular pain, which we have formerly felt. It is probable, however, that this power might be improved in the case of some of our senses. Few people, I believe, are able to form a very distinct conception of sounds ; and yet it is certain, that, by practice, a person may acquire a power of amusing himself with reading written music. And in the case of poetical numbers, it is universally known, that a reader may enjoy the harmony of the verse, without articulating the words, even in a whisper. [In such cases, I take for granted, that our pleasure arises from a very strong conception of the sounds which we have been accustomed to associate with particular written characters.] [The peculiarity in the case of visible objects^ seems to arise from this ; that when we think of a sound or of a taste, the object of our conception is one single detached sensation; whereas every visible object is complex ; and the conception which we form of it as a whole, is aided by the association of ideas.^ To perceive the force of this observation, it is necessary to recollect what was for- merly said on the subject of attention. As we cannot at one instant attend to every point of the picture of an object on the retina, so, I apprehend, we cannot at one instant form a concep- tion of the whole of any visible object ; but that our conception of the object, as a whole, is the result of many conceptions. The association of ideas connects the different parts together; and presents them to the mind in their proper arrangement ; and the various relations which these parts bear to one another in point of situation, contribute greatly to strengthen the associations. It is some confirmation of this theory, that it is more easy to remember a succession of sounds, than any particular sound which we have heard detached and unconnected. The power of conceiving visible objects, like all other powers that depend on the association of ideas, may be wonderfully im- proved by habit. ^^ A person accustomed to drawing^ retains a much more perfect notion of a building or of a landscape which he has seen, than any one who has never practised that art. A por- trait painter traces the form of the human body from memory, with as little exertion of attention, as he employs in writing the letters which compose his name. In the power of conceiving colours, too, there are striking diffe- rences among individuals : and indeed, I am inclined to suspect, that, in the greater number of instances, the supposed defects of sight in this respect, ought to be ascribed rather to a defect in the power of conception. One thing is certain, that we often see men who are perfectly sensible of the difference between two colours 74 PART I. CHAP. iir. when they are presented to them, who cannot give names to these colours, with confidence, when they see them apart; and are perhaps apt to confound the one with the other. Such men, it should seem, feel the sensation of colour like other men, when the object is present, but are incapable (probably in consequence of some early habit of inattention) to conceive the sensation distinctly when the object is removed. Without this power of conception, it is evidently impossible for them, however lively their sensations may be, to give a name to any colour ; for the application of the name sup- poses not only a capacity of receiving the sensation, l)ut a power of comparing it with one formerly felt. At the same time, I would not be understood by these observations to deny, that there are cases, in which there is a natural defect of the organ in the percep- tion of colour. In some cases, perhaps the sensation is not felt at all; and in others, the faiiitness of the sensation may be one cause of those habits of inattention, from which the incapacity of concep- tion has arisen. A talent for lively description, at least in the case of sensible objects, depends chiefly on the degree in which the describer possesses tlie power of conception. We may remark, even in common conversation, a striking difference among individuals in this respect. One man, in attempting to convey a notion of any object he has seen, seems to place it before him, and to paint from actual perception; another, although not deficient in a ready elocu- tion, finds himself, in such a situation, confused and embarrassed among a number of particulars imperfectly apprehended, which crowd into his mind, without any just order and connexion. Nor is it merely to the accuracy of our descriptions that this power is sub- servient : it contributes more than any thing else to render them striking and expressive to others, by guiding us to a selection of sucli circumstances as are most prominent and characteristical : insomuch that I think it may reasonably be doubted, if a person would not write a happier description of an object from the con- ception than from the actual perception of it. It has been often remarked, that the perfection of description does not consist in a minute specification of circumstances, but in a judicious selection of them ; and that the best rule for making the selection is, to attend to the particulars that make the deepest impression on our own minds. When the object is actually before us, it is extremelv i difficult to compare the impressions which different circumstances produce ; and the very thought of writing a description, would prevent the impressions which would otherwise take place. When we afterwards conceive the object, the representation of it we form to ourselves, however lively, is merely an outline ; and is made up of those circumstances, which really struck us most at the moment, while others of less importance are obliterated. The impression] indeed, which a circumstance makes on the mind, will vary con- siderably with the degree of a person's taste ; but 1 am inclined to OP CONCEPTION. /O think, that a man of lively conceptions, who paints^rom these, while his mind is yet warm from the original scene, can hardly fail to succeed in descriptive composition. II. Agreements and differences between Conception and Imagination, — ^The facts and observations which I have now mentioned, are applicable to conception, as distinguished from imagination. The two powers, however, are very nearly allied; and are frequently so blended, that it is difficult to say, to which of the two, some parti- cular operations of the mind are to be referred. There are also many general facts which hold equally with respect to both. The observations which follow, if they are well founded, are of this number, and might have been introduced with equal propriety under either article. I mention them here, as I shall have occasion to refer to them in the course of the following work, in treating of some subjects, which will naturally occur to our examination, be- fore we have another opportunity of considering this part of our constitution. It is a common, I believe I may say a universal doctrine among ' logicians, that conception (or imagination, which is often used as synonymous with it) is attended with no belief of the existence of its object. " Perception," says Dr. Reid, " is attended with a ^ belief of the present existence of its object : memory, with a belief of its past existence ; but imagination is attended with no belief at all ; and was therefore called by the school- men, apprehcnsio simplex*,*' It is with great diffidence, that I presume to call in question a principle, which has been so generally received; yet there are several circumstances which lead me to doubt of it. If it were a specifical distinction between perception and imagination, that the former is always attended with belief, and the latter with none ; then the more lively our imagination were of any object, and the more completely that object occupied the attention, the less would we be apt to believe its existence ; for it is reasonable to think, that when any of our powers is employed separately from the rest, and there is nothing to withdraw the attention from it, the laws which regulate its operation will be most obvious to our observa- tion, and will be most completely discriminated from those which are characteristical of the other powers of the mind. So very diflferent, however, is the fact, that it is matter of common remark, that when imagination is very lively, we are apt to ascribe to its ob- jects a real existence, as in the case o^ dreaming or oi madness ; and we may add, in the case of those who, in spite of their own general belief of the absurdity of the vulgar stories of apparitions, dare not trust themselves alone with their own imaginations in the dark. That invagination is in these instances attended with belief, we have all the evidence that the nature of the thing admits of; for we feel and act in the same manner as we should do, if we believed * ♦' Simple ai»prchcnsioii." — Essay I. On the Intellectual Powers, Chap. i. §. xi. et seq. 76 PART I. CHAP. DT. that the objects of our attention were real ; which is the only proof that metaphysicians produce, or can produce, of the belief which accompanies perception. In these cases, the fact that I wish to establish is so striking, that it has never been called in question ; but in most cases, the impression which the objects of imagination make on tlie mind is so momentary, and is so immediately corrected by the surrounding objects of perception, that it has not time to influence our conduct. Hence we are apt to conclude on a superficial view, that imagina- tion is attended with no belief; and the conclusion is surely just in most cases, if by belief we mean a permanent conviction which influences our conduct. But if the word be used in the strict logical sense, I am inclined to think, after the most careful attention to what I experience in myself, that the exercise both of conception and imagination is always accompanied with a belief, that their objects exist*. ^ J^" When a painter conceives the face and figure of an absent friend, in order to draw his picture, he heWeves {imagines or fancies) for the moment that his friend is before him. The belief, indeed, is only momentary; for it is extremely difficult, in our waking hours, to keep up a steady and undivided attention to any object we conceive or imagine ; and as soon as the conception or the ima- * As the foregoing reasoning, thougli satisfactory to myself, has not appeared equally so to some of my friends ; I should wish the reader to consider the remarks which I now offer, as amounting rather to a query, than to a decided opinion. May I take the liberty of adding, that one of the arguments which I have stated, in opposition to the common doctrine concerning imagitiation, appears to me to he autho- rized, in some measure, by the follo\^ing reasoning of Dr. Reid's on a different subject ? In considering those sudden bursts of passion, which lead us to WTeak our vengeance upon inanimate objects, he endeavours to show, that we have, in such cases, a momentary belief that the object is alive. " I confess," says he, " it seems to be impossible, that there should be resentment against a thing, which at that very moment, is considered as inammate ; and consequently incapable either of intending hurt, or of being punished. There must, therefore, I conceive, be some momentary notion or conception, that the ob- ject of our resentment is capable of punishment." In another passage, the same author remarks, that *' men may be governed, in their practice, by a belief, which, in speculation, they reject." " I knew a man," says he " who was as much convinced as any man, of the folly of the popular belief of apparitions in the dark : yet he could not sleep in a room alone, nor go alone into a room in the dark. Can it \)€ said, that his fear did not imply a l)e- lief of danger? This is impossible. 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 fast as to govern his con- duct, in opposition to his speculative belief as a philosopher, and a man of sense. " There are few persons who can look down from the battlement of a verv high tower without fear ; while their reason convinces them, that they are in no more' danger than when standing upon the ground." These facts are easily explicable, on the supposition, that whenever the objects of imagination engross the attention wholly (which they may do, in opposition to any specu- lative opinion with respect to their non-existence), they produce a temjwrarv belief of their reality. Indeed, in the last passage. Dr. Reid seems to admit this to be the case ; for, to say that a man who has a dread of apparitions, believes himself to l)e in danger when left alone in the dark, is to say, in other words, that he beUeves (for the time) that the objects of his imagination are real. [Is not the imagination or the mind dis- ordered in such case ?] OF CONCEPTION. 77 gination is over, the belief which attended it is at an end. We lind that we can recall and dismiss the objects of these powers at pleasure ; and therefore we learn to consider them as creations of mind, which have no separate and independent existence. The compatibility of such a speculative disbelief, as I have here supposed, of the existence of an object, with a contrary momentary belief, may perhaps be more readily admitted, if the following ex- periment be considered with attention. j^'' Suppose a lighted candle to be so placed before a concave mirror, that the image of the flame may be seen between the mirror and the eye of the observer. In this case, a person who is ac- quainted with the principles of optics, or who has seen the expe- riment made before, has so strong a speculative conviction of the non-existence of the object in that place, where he sees its image, that he would not hesitate to put his finger to the apparent flame, without any apprehension of injury. Suppose, however, that in such a case it were possible for the observer to banish completely from his thoughts all the circum- stances of the experiment, and to confine his attention wholly to his perception ; would he not believe the image to be a reality ; and would he not expect the same consequences from touching it, as from touching a real body in a state of inflammation ? If these questions be answered in the affirmative, it will follow ; that the effect of the perception, while it engages the attention completely to itself, is to produce belief; and that the speculative disbelief, according to which our conduct in ordinary cases is regulated, is the result of a recollection of the various circumstances with which the experiment is accompanied. If, in such a case as I have now supposed, the appearance ex- hibited to us is of such a nature, as to threaten us with any imme- diate danger, the effect is the same as if we were to banish from our thoughts the circumstances of the experiment, and to limit our attention solely to what we perceive : for here the belief, which is the first effect of the perception, alarms our fears, and influences our conduct, before reflection has time to operate. In a very in- genious optical deception, which was lately exhibited in this city, the image of a flower was presented to the spectator ; and when he was about to lay hold of it with his hand, a stroke was aimed at him by the image of a dagger. If a person who has seen this experiment is asked, in his cooler moments, whether or not he be- lieves the dagger which he saw to be real, he will readily answer in the negative ; and yet the accurate statement of the fact un- doubtedly is, that the first and the proper effect of the perception is belief; and that the disbelief he feels, is the effect of subsequent reflection. The speculative disbelief which we feel with respect to the illu- sions of imagination, I conceive to be analogous to our speculative disbefief of the existence of the object exhibited to the eye in this I I r H. ! i I ) ) 78 PART I. CHAP. III. OF CONCEPTIOX. optical deception ; as our belief that the illusions of imagination are real, wiiile that faculty occupies the mind exclusively, is analo- gous to the belief produced by the optical deception while the attention is limited to our perception, and is withdrawn from the circumstances in which the experiment is made.* These observations lead me to take notice of a circumstance with respect to the belief accompanying perception, whicii it aj)j)ears to me necessary to state, in order to render Dr. Ueid*s doctrine on that subject completely satisfactory. He has shown, that certain sensations are, by a law of our nature, accompanied witli an irre- sistible belief of the existence of certain qualities of external objects. But this law extends no farther than to the present exist- ence of the quality ; that is, to its existence while we feel the corresponding sensation. Whence is it, then, that we ascribe to the (|uality, an existence independent of our perception? I apprehend we learn to do this by experience alone. We find that we cannot, as in the case of imagination, dismiss or recall the perception of an external object. If 1 open my eyes, I cannot prevent myself from seeing the prospect which is before me. I learn, therefore to ascribe to the objects of my senses, not only an existence at the time 1 per- ceive them, but an independent and a permanent existence. It is a strong confirmation of this doctrine, that in sleep, when (as I shall endeavour afterwards to show) the infiuence of the will over the train of our thoughts is suspended, and when, of conse- quence, the time of their continuance in the mind is not regulated by us, we ascribe to the objects of imagination an independent and permanent existence, as we do when awake to the objects of ])cr- ception, The same thing happens in those kinds of madness, in which a particular idea takes possession of the attention, end occu- pies it to the exclusion of every thing else. Indeed, [madness seems in many cases to arise entirely from a suspension of the inHuence of the will over the succession of our thoughts; in con- sequence of which, the objects of imagination appear to have an existence independent of our volition ; and are therefore, agreeably to the foregoing doctrine, mistaken for realities.] (Vide note in page 76.) Numberless other illustrations of the same general fact occur to me ; but the following is, I think, one of the most striking. I mention it, in preference to the rest, as it appears to me to connect the doctrine in question with some principles which are now uni- versally admitted among philosophers. The distinction between the original and the acquired perceptions of sight, is familiarly known to every one who has the slightest ac- quaintance with the elements of optics. That this sense, prior to * It may appear to some readers rather trifling to add, and yet to others tlie remark may not be altogether superfluous, that it is not my intention to insinuate by ihe fore- going iUustrations, that the relation between perception and imagination has the nios.t distant analogy to that between the perception of the object, and the perception of it» optical image. 79 ex^nence conveys to vs the notion of extension in two dimensions only, and that it gives m no information concerning the distances at which ohjects are placed jrom the eye, are propositions which nubo.lv I presume in the present state of science, will be disposed to con- trovert. In what manner we are enabled, by a comparison between the perceptions of sight and those of touch, to extend the province of the former sense to a variety of qualities originally perceived by the latter sense only, optical writers have explained at creat len-tli- but It IS not necessary for my present purpose to enter into'any particular details with respect to their reasonings on the subject. it IS sufficient for me to remark, that, according to the received doctrine, the original perceptions of sight become, in conseciuence of experience, signs of the tangible qualities of external objects, and of the distances at which they are placed from the organ ; and that, although the knowledge we obtain, in this manner, of these quali- ties and distances, seems, from early and constant habits, to be an instantaneous perception ; yet, in many cases, it implies an exercise of the judgment, being founded on a comparison of a variety of aitterent circumstances. •' From these principles it is an obvious consequence, that the knowledge we obtain, by the eye, of the tangible quahties of bodies involves the exercise of conception, according to the definition of that power which has already been given (§. i. of this chap.) In ordinary discourse, indeed, we ascribe this knowledge, on account of the iiistantaneousness with which it is obtained, to the power of jwrception ; but if the common doctrine on the subject be just, it IS the result of a complex operation of the mind; comprehending, firet, the perception of those qualities, which are the proper and original objects of sight ; and, secondly, the conception of those tangible qualities of which the original perceptions of sight are found from experience to be the signs. The notions, therefore, we form, by means of the eye, of the tangible qualities of bodies, knd of the distances of these objects from the organ, are mere concep- tions; strongly, and indeed indissolubly, associated, by early and constant habit, with the original perceptions of si-'ht When we open our eyes on a magnificent prolpect, the various distances at which all its different parts are placed from the eve and the immense extent of the whole scene before us, seem to 'be perceived as immediately, and as instantaneously, by the mind, as the coloured surface which is painted on the retina. The truth ' however, unquestionably is, that this variety of distance, and thi^ immensity of extent, are not ohjects of sense, but of conception ; and the notions we form of them when our eyes are open, differ from ■ those we should form of them with our eyes shut, only in this, that they are kept steadily m the view of the mind, by being strongly associated with the sensations of colour, and with the orio-inal per- ceptions of sight. ^ This observation will be the more readily 1 \ \\ J ' I ^1 i !| \\\m 80 PART I. CUAP. III. admitted, if it be considered, that, by a skilful imitation of a natural landscape, in a common show-box, the mind may be led to form the same notions of variety of distance, and even of immense extent, as if the original scene were presented to our senses: and that, although, in this case, we have a speculative conviction that the sphere of our vision only extends to a few inches; yet so strong is the association between the original perceptions of sight, and the conceptions which they habitually produce, that it is not possible for us, by any effort of our will, to prevent these conceptions from taking place. From these observations it appears, that when the conceptions of the mind are rendered steady and permanent, by being strongly associated with any sensible impression, they command our belief no less than our actual perceptions ; and, therefore, if it were pos- sible for us, with our eyes shut, to keep up, for a length of time, the conception of any sensible object, we should, as long as this effort continued, believe that the object was present to our senses. It appears to me to be no slight confirmation of these remarks, that although, in the dark, the illusions of imagination are much more liable to be mistaken for realities, than when their momentary effects on the belief are continually checked and corrected by the objects which the light of day presents to our perceptions ; yet, even total darkness is not so alarming to a person impressed with the vulgar stories of apparitions, as a faint and doubtful twilight, which affords to the conceptions an opportunity of fixing and pro- longing their existence, by attaching themselves to something which is obscurely exhibited to the eye. In like manner, when we look through a fog, we are frequently apt to mistake a crow for a man ; and the conception we have, upon such an occasion, of the human figure, is much more distinct and much more steady, than it would be possible for us to form, if we had no sensible object before us ; insomuch that when, on a more attentive observation, the crow shrinks to its own dimensions, we find it impossible, by any effort, to conjure up the phantom which a moment before we seemed to perceive. If these observations are admitted, the effects which exhibitions of fictitious distress produce on the mind, will appear less wonder- ful, than they are supposed to be. During the representation of a tragedy, I acknowledge, that we have a general conviction that the whole is a fiction ; but, I believe, it will be found, that the violent emotions which are sometimes produced by the distresses of the stage, take their rise, in most cases, from a momentary belief, that the distresses are real. I say, in most cases ; because, I acknow- ledge, that, independently of any such belief, there is something contagious in a faithful expression of any of the passions. The emotions produced by tragedy are, upon this supposition, somewhat analogous to the dread we feel when we look down from OF CONCEPTION. !/ 81 the battlement of a tower.* In both cases, we have a general conviction that there .9 no ground for the feelings we experience but the niomentary influences of imagination are so powerful as to produce these feelings, before reflection has time ti come to our CHAPTER IV. OF ABSTRACTION. I. Gmeral Observations on this Faculty of tlie Mind.— The. oria-in ot appellatives, or, in other words, the origin of those classes nf objects which, in the schools, are called^ A and ^"L. £ been considered by some philosophers as one of the most diflicult pro" blems m metaphysics. The account of it which is given by Mr Smith, in his Dissertation on the Origin of Languagis, appears to me to be equally simple and satisfactory. ^ -ippears to "The assignation," says he, « of particular names, to denote r l7 *•■ K ^r u '' *''*■'* 'I' 'y institution of nouns substantive rZr # ^ T 1 '^' ^""^ '!^^ '^""''^ the formation of language. The par icular cave, whose covering sheltered the savage from the weather; the particular tree, whose fruit relieved his hunger; the particular fountain, whose water allayed his thirst would first be denominated by the words, cave, tree, founta „ 1; by whatever other appellations he might think proper.TtC pri- mitive jargon, to mark them. Afterwards, when the m;re enSre^ experience of this savage had led him to observe, and WsneceTI^ occasions obliged him to make mention of, other caves, and S trees and other fountains ; he would naturally bestow 'upon ich of those new objects, the same name by which'he had been accuT r^i *" ^u^'^' ^^! *™"*'" "^i^^ ^^ ""^ fir«t acquainted wkh" And thus those words, which were originally the proper nlml of Lt^tftm'^Sd: ■• J '' '''- i-nWbecom^e ?he =;i * With respect to the dread which we feel in looking down from the hattlpm.«* f tower, ,t ,8 curious to remark the effects of habit in gradually So>^L it ?J"* ""^ * ner ,n which habit operates in this case, seems to be by S u a com,^ i""^"" our thoughts, so as to enable us to A.ithdraw our attention frfm ?he precinW W """'" and direct it to any other object at pleasure. It is thus thTthe ma^onPrd ^hl f' not only can take precautions for their own safety, but rem2 cSet^v J.«'f'^ '''. themselves m situations where other men, enerossed with fL?r ^^ • ' ^?^'"' ""^ would experience a total suspension of their faculS Am 'stron^^ pies tlje mmd produces, for the moment, the same effeTSTab.t A '"" alanncd ^ith the apprehension of fire, has been known to esrane fZ,\i, . ^^'T by'th^AbSTe SmL"!-' '""^'' "' ""= ""-' '" «"> ^""""t- of.--, is g-ven " Un enfant a,.pelle du non, .Varbrc Ic premier arbre que nou, lui montrons. ta !■! X ? 82 PART I. CIIAI'. IV. " It is this application," he continues, " of the name of an in- dividual to a great number of objects, whose resemblance naturally recalls the idea of that individual, and of the name which expresses it, that seems originally to have given occasion to the formation of those classes, and assortments, which, in the schools, are called genera and ^ecies ; and of which the ingenious and eloquent Kousseau finds himself so much at a loss to account for the origin. What constitutes a 5pec2C5, is merely a number of objects, bearing a certain degree of resemblance to one another ; and, on that account, denominated by a single appellation, which may be applied to ex- press any one of them."* This view of the natural progress of the mind, in forming classi- fications of external objects, receives some illustration from a fact mentioned by Captain Cook in his account of a small island called Wateeoo, which he visited in sailing from New Zealand to the Friendly Islands. " The inhabitants," says he, " were afraid to come near our cows and horses, nor did they form the least con- ception of their nature. But the sheep and goats did not surpass the limits of their ideas ; for they gave us to understand that they knew them to be birds. It will appear," he adds, " rather incre- dible, that human ignorance could ever make so strange a mistake, there not being the most distant similitude between a sheep or goat, and any winged animal. But these people seemed to know nothing of the existence of any other land animals, besides hogs, dogs, and birds. Our sheep and goats, they could see, were very different creatures from the two first, and therefore they inferred that they must belong to the latter class, in which they knew that there is a considerable variety of species." I would add to Cook's very judi- cious remarks, that the mistake of these islanders probably did not arise from their considering a sheep or a goat as bearing a more striking resemblance to a bird, than to the two classes of quadrupeds with which they were acquainted ; but to the want of a generic word, such as quadruped, comprehending these two species ; which men in their situation would no more be led to form, than a person who had only seen one individual of each species, would think of an appellative to express both, instead of applying a proper name to each. In consequence of the variety of birds, it appears, that they had a generic name comprehending all of them, to which it was not unnatural for them to refer any new animal they met with. The classification of different objects supposes a power of attend- second ar])re qu'il voit ensuite liii rappelle la nieme idee ; il liii donne le memo noni ; de meme a un troisieinc, l\ im quatritme, et voila le mot A*arbre donne d'abord a un individu, qui devient pour hit \\y\ nom de classe ou de genre, une idee abstraite qiu comprend tons les arbres en general." [A child calls the first tree which we show him a tree. The next tree which he sees recalls the same idea to him : he gives it the same name. So it is \\ith a third and a fourth ; and so the name tree, given at first to an individual, becomes with him the name oi' a class or genus, an abstract idea comprehending all trees whatever.] * Dissertation on the Orialn of Languages, annexed to Mr. Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments. OF ABSTRACTION. 83 mg to some of their qualities or attributes, without attending to the rest ; for no two objects are to be found without some specific difference ; and no assortment or arrangement can be formed amono- thmgs not perfectly alike, but by losing sight of their distinguish*! mnr peculiarities, and limiting the attention to those attributes which belong to them m common. [Indeed, without this power of attend- ing separately to things which our senses present to us in a state of union, we never could have had any idea of numher ; for, before we can consider different objects as forming a multitude, it is necessary that we should be able to apply to all of them one common name- or, m other words, that we should reduce them all to the same genus.] The various objects, for example, animate and inanimate which are, at this moment, before me, 1 may class and number in a variety of different ways, according to the view of them that I choose to take. I may reckon successively the number of sheep of cows, of horses, of elms, of oaks, of beeches ; or I may first reckon the number of animals, and then the number of trees ; or I may at once reckon the number of all the organized substances which my senses present to me. But whatever be the principle on which my c assification proceeds, it is evident that the objects numbered together, must be considered in those respects only in which they agree with each other ; and that, if I had no power of separatino- the combinations of sense, I never could have conceived them ^s forming a plurality. pefinition of Ah^ir^Giion.—[ This power of considering certain qua- lities or attributes of an object apart from the rest; or, as I would rather choose to define it, the power which the understanding has of separating the combinations which are presented to it, is distin- guished by logicians by the name of abstraction.] It has been supposed, by some philosophers, Locke particularly, (with what probability I shall not now inquire,) to form the characteristical attribute of a rational nature. That it is one of the most important ot all our faculties, and very intimately connected with the exercise of our reasoning powers, is beyond dispute. And, I flatter myself It will appear from the sequel of this chapter, how much the proper management of it conduces to the success of our philosophical pursuits, and of our general conduct in life. The subserviency of abstraction to the power of reasoning and also, its subserviency to the exertions of a poetical or creative imagination, shall be afterwards fully illustrated. At present it is sufhcient for my purpose to remark, that as abstraction is the ground-work of classification, without this faculty of the mind we ! should have been perfectly incapable of general speculation, and ail our knowledge must necessarily have been limited to individuals • and that some of the most useful branches of science, particularly , the different branches of mathematics, in which the very subjects of our reasoning are abstractions of the understanding, could never have possibly had an existence. With respect to the subserviency I \'^ 84 PART I. CUAP. IV of this faculty to poetical imagination, it is no less obvious, that, as the poet is supplied with all his materials by experience, and as his province is limited to combine and modify things which really exist, so as to produce new wholes of his own ; so every exertion which he thus makes of his powers, presupposes the exercise of abstraction in decomposing and separating actual combinations. And it was on this account that, in the chapter on conception, I was led to make a distinction between that faculty, which is evidently simple and uncompounded, and the power of imagination, which (at least in the sense in which I employ the word in these inquiries) is the result of a combination of various other powers. [I have introduced these remarks, in order to point out a differ- ence between the ( 1 ) abstractions which are subservient to reasoning, and (2) those which are subservient to imagination. And, if 1 am not mistaken, it is a distinction which has not been sufficiently attended to by some writers of eminence.] In every instance in which ima- gination is employed in forming new wholes, by decompounding and combining the perceptions of sense, it is evidently necessary that the poet or the painter should be able to state to himself the circumstances abstracted, as separate objects of conception. But this is by no means requisite in every case in which abstraction is subservient to the power of reasoning ; for it frequently happens, that we can reason concerning one quality or property of an object abstracted from the rest, while, at the same time, we find it impos- sible to conceive it separately. Thus, I can reason concerning extension and figure, without any reference to colour ; although it may be doubted, if a person possessed of sight can make extension and figure steady objects of conception, without connecting with them one colour or another. Nor is this always owing (as it is in the instance now mentioned) merely to the association of ideas ; for there are cases, in which we can reason concerning things separately, which it is impossible for us to suppose any being so constituted as to conceive apart. Thus, we can reason concerning length, abstracted from any other dimension ; although, surely, no understanding can make length, without breadth, an object of conception. And, by the way, this leads me to take notice of an error, which mathematical teachers are apt to commit, in explaining the first principles of geometry. By dwelling long on Euclid's first definitions, they lead the student to suppose that they relate to notions which are extremely mysterious; and to strain his powers in fruitless attempts to conceive, what cannot possibly be made an object of conception. If these definitions were omitted, or very slightly touched upon, and the attention at once directed to geometrical reasonings, the student would immediately perceive, that although the lines in the diagrams are really extended in two dimensions, yet that the demonstrations relate only to one of them ; and that the human understanding has the faculty of reasoning concerning things separately, which are always presented to us, OF ABSTRACTION. 85 both by our powers of perception and conception, in a state of union, buch abstractions, in truth, are familiar to the most illite rate of inankmd ; and it is in this very way that they are insensibW formed When a tradesman speaks of the length of a room, in c'ontradistmction to its breadth ; or when he speaks of the distance between any two objects, he forms exactly the same abstraction which IS referred to by Euclid in his second definition, and which most of his commentators have thought it necessary to illustrate bv prohx metaphysical disquisitions. ^ I shall only observe flirther, with respect to the nature and pro- vince of this faculty of the mind, that notwithstanding its essential subserviency to every act of classification, yet it might have been exercised, although we had only been acquainted with one indivi- dual object. KT Although, for example, we had never seen but one rose we might still have been able to attend to its colour, without thinking of Its other properties. This has led some philosophers to suppose, that another faculty besides abstraction, to which thev have given the name of generalization, is necessary to account for the formation of genera and species ; and they have endeavoured to show, that although generalization without abstraction is impos- sible, yet that we might have been so formed as to be able to abstract without being capable of generalizing. The grounds of this opinion It IS not necessary for me to examine, for any of the purposes which I have at present in view. II. Of the objects of our Thoughts, tchen we employ general terms — l^rom the account which was given in a former chapter of the common theories of perception, it appears to have been a prevailincr opinion among philosophers, that the qualities of external objects are perceived by means of images or species transmitted to the mind by the organs of sense ; an opinion of which I already endeavoured to trace the origin, from certain natural prejudices suff^ested bvthe phenomena of the material world. The same train of' thinking has led them to suppose that, in the case of all our other intellectual operations there exist in the mind certain ideas distinct from the mmd Itself; and that these ideas are the objects about which our thoughts are employed. S^ When I recollect, for example, the ap- pearance of an absent friend, it is supposed that the immediate object of my thoughts is an idea of my friend, which I at fir^^t received by my senses, and which I have been enabled to retain in the mind by the faculty of memory. When I form to myself any imaginary combination by an effort of poetical invention, it is sup- posed, m like manner, that the parts which I combine, existed previously m the mind, and furnish the materials on which it is the provmce of imagination to operate. It is to Dr. Reid we owe the * important remark that all these notions are whoHy hypothetical ; that It IS impossible to produce a shadow of evidence in support of them ; and that even although we were to admit their truth, thoy would not render the phenomena in question more intellio-ihle 11 r;^i i If 86 PART I. CHAP. IV. OF ABSTRACTION. According to his principles, therefore, we have no ground for supposing, that, in any one operation of the mind, there exists in it an object distinct from the mind itself; and all the common expressions which involve such a supposition, are to be considered as unmeaning circumlocutions, which serve only to disguise from us the real history of the intellectual phenomena.* "We are at a loss to know,'* says this excellent philosopher, " how we perceive 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 per- cipient ; and feeling is an operation so familiar, that we think it needs no explanation, but may serve to explain other operations. " But this feeling, or immediate perception, is as difficult to be comprehended, as the things which we pretend to explain by it. Two things may be in contact, without any feeling or perception ; there must, therefore, be in the percipient, a power to feel, or to perceive. How this power is produced, and how it operates, is quite beyond the reach of our knowledge. As little can we know, * In order to i)revent misapprehensions of Dr. Reid's meaning in his reasoning against the ideal theorj', it may be necessary to explain, a little more fidly than I have done in the text, in what sense he calls in question the existence of ideas : for the mean- i.ic: whicii tliis word is employed to convey in jKipular disconrse, differs widely from that v.hich is annexed to it by the phiU)sophers whose opinion he controverts. This expla- nation I shall give in his own words : — " In popular language, idea signifies the same thing as conception, apprehension, notion. To have an i.iea of anything, is to conceive it. To have a distinct ideossibly doubt whether he has ideas. •' According to the philosophical meaning of tlie wonl idea, it does not signify that act of the mind which we call thought, or conception, bttt some object of thought. Of these objects of thought, called ideas, different sects of philoso])hers have given very different accounts. ♦' Some have held them to be self-existent — Descartes ; others, to be in the Divine mind — Malebranche; others, in our own minds — Hook. And others, in the brain, or sonsorium — Newton." — Essay II. chap. xiv. §. xiii. " The Peripatetic system of species and phantasms, as well as the Platonic system of idciis, is grounded upon tliis principle, that in every kind of thouj^ht, there must be some object that really exists ; in ever} operation of the mind, something to work u]hm\. Whether this inunediate oliject l)e called an idea witli Plato, or a phantasm or species with Aristotle ; whether it be eternal and uncreated, or produced by the impressions of external objects, is of no consequejice in the present argument." — Il)id. Essay IV. chaj). ii. §. XI. edit. 1843. " So much is this opinion fixed in the minds of philosophers, that, I doubt not Imt it will apiKjar to most, a very strange paradox, or rather a contradiction, that men should think without ideas. But this appearance of contradiction arises from the ambiguity of the word idea. If the idea of a thing means only the thought of it, which is the most common meaning of the word, to think without ideas, is to think without thought; which is undoubtedly a contradiction. Hut an itlea, acconUng to the definition given of it by philosophers, is not thought, but :ui object of thought, \>hich really exists, .and is- I»erceived," &c. — Ibid. Essay IV. chap. ii. §. xii. edit. 1843. I have only to add, that when, in this work, I make use of the word idea in stating i'»y own o])inions, I employ it unifonnly in the jKipular sense, and not in the philosophical souse, as jkuv explained; it would lie better, perhaps, to avoid it altogether: but I have found it difficidt to d«» so, without adopting nnusujil tuodts of expression. 1 flatter niv- solf that I ha\o used it with iluo caution. 87 * tact with* us' ''TJtCl.^ """*''*' *" '""'"Ss present, and in con- idct with us. J\ either can any man pretend to prove that thp Being who gave us the power to perceive things present Lav not give us the power to perceive things distant, tS rememW things past, and to conceive things that never exist^ " 7v ' , ?P Intellectual Powers Essav IT i.I,nr • s i- .^^^ "" *■*« uo. i uwers, jLssay 11. cliap. xiv. &. xiv. edit I84.S "> In another part of this work. Dr. Reid has occS on to trace the ong^^i of the prejudice which has led philosophers to Lnpose tW of So '1 TT?""' i, *''^ understaniing, thlre must bTan o£ of thought which really exists while we think of it. hI remarks on this subject, which are highly ingenious and satiStory are .ratedV-laLVro^^^^^^^ distinct from he thmkmg being; it naturally occurred as a vprv ciinous question, AVhat is thelnmediate objLt of o^' attention when we are engaged in any general speculatioi ; or, in other 'Ss' ^r W,*''" «»;"'•<; of the idea corrV>ding'to a genia e^^^^^^^ my When I think of any particular oLject which I have former W perceived, such as a particular friend, t particular trelor a mr ticular mountain I can comprehend what is meant by ^'p^'tLe oi by''The"i^'e7.r^'"'^^°t•='^^ ''"''*^'«'-*'f-« the expfaiia^of gTve, by the ideal heory of that act of the mind which we formprlv SSr""B' r ff-tly satisfactory, is at kasHof Xo ^ uninteuigii) e. JJut what account shall we give, upon the nn.. 2 ' 1 *^"' ^'r*"^' "'■ '^^ ''^i'^''' of my thouglVwhenlemT; he words friend, tree, mountain, as generic teras For th7 aU he things I have ever perceived arefndividuals; andconLuemlv that the ideas denoted by general words (if such ideas exltta^' not copied from any originals that have fallen under my o£rva tion, IS not only self-evident, but almost an identical pZositoT peiiod, the Pythagoreans, taught, that although these univer'al deas are not copied from any objects perceivable by sense yet tha they have an existence independent of the human minfl!nJ jnore to be confounded witirthe understandi^of ihleyTr: the proper objects, than material things are to be confoum 17^^? our powers of external perception: tilt as alK ind^Xals wwS comjiose a genus must possess something in common and al it "nSreW t*ta '"' ""^ ^'""^ "^ ''""' genu"s.'aSa" di ! im^uisnable by the same name, this common tiling forms thp p« * In this very impeifccf sketch of the oninions of ihn .„.-« 4 opmions 01 the ancients concerning nnivcrsals, ^1)1 88 PART I. CHAP. IV. (i On most of those points, the philosophi/ of Aristotle seems to hare coincided very nearly with that of Plato. The language, however, which these philosophers employed on this subject was different, and gave to their doctrines the appearance of a wider diversity than probably existed between their opinions. Wliile Plato was led by his passion for the marvellous and the mysterious, to insist on the incomprehensible union of the same idea or essence, with a number of individuals, without multiplication or division ;* Aristotle, more cautious, and aiming at greater perspicuity, con- tented himself with saying, that all individuals are composed of matter and form ; and that it is in consequence of possessing a common form, that different individuals belong to the same genus. But they both agreed, that as the matter, or the individual natures of objects, were perceived by sense ; so the general idea, or essence, or form, was perceived by the intellect ; and that, as the attention of the vulgar was chiefly engrossed with the former, so the latter furnished to the philosopher the materials of his speculations. The chief difference between the opinions of Plato and Aristotle on the subject of ideas, related to the mode of their existence. That the matter of which all things are made, existed from eternity, was a principle which both admitted ; but Plato farther taught, that of every species of things, there is an idea of form which also existed from eternity ; and that this idea is the exemplar or model accord- ing to which the individuals of the species were made ; whereas Aristotle held, that, although matter may exist without form, yet that forms could not exist without matter. f T have substituted, instead of the word idea, the word essence, as better fitted to convey to a modern reader the true import of Plato's expressions. The word essentia is said to have been first employed by Cicero ; and it was afterwards adopted by the schoolmen in the same sense in which the Platonists used the word idea. Sec Dr. Reid's Essays ou the Intellectual Powers, Essay V. chap. v. §. in. edit. 1843. * " The idea of a thing," says Plato, " is that which makes one of the many ; which, preserving the unity and integrity of its own nature, runs through and mixes with things infinite in number ; and yet, however multiform it may appear, is always the same : so that by it we find out and discriminate the thing, whatever shapes it n»ay assume, and under w hatever disguise it may conceal itself." IMato in Fhilebo ; quoted by the author of the Origin and Progress of Language, vol. i. p. 100, 2nd edit. t In this account of the difference between Plato and Aristotle on the subject of ideas, I have chiefly followed Bruckcr, whose very laborious researches with respect to this article of the history of philosophy, are well known. In stating the distinction, however, I have confined myself to as general terms as jwssible ; as the subject is involved in much obscurity, and has divided the opinions of very eminent >vriters. The reader will find the result of Brucker's inquiries, in liis own words, in note r. Tlie authority of Brucker, in this instance, has the more weight with mc, as it coincides in the most material respects with that of Dr. Reid. See his Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, and the conclusion of his Inquiry into the Human Mind. Edit. 1843. A very different account of Aristotle's doctrine, in those particulars in which it is com- monly supposed to differ from that of Plato, is given by two modern writers of great learning, whose opinions are justly entitled to much respect, from their famiUar acquaint- ance with Aristotle's laiter commentators of the ^Vlexandrian school. See Origin and Progress of Language, vol. i., and Harris's Hermes. It is of no consequence, for any of the piu^wses which I have at present in view, what opinion we form on this much controverted point of philosophical history. In so far as the ideal thoorj- was an attempt to explain the manner in which our gonenl % i'1 OF ABSTRACTION. 89 The doctrine of the Stoics concerning universal, differed widelv froni those both of Plato and Aristotle, and seems to have ai)'- proachcd to a speculation which is commonly supposed to be of a more recent origin, and which an eminent philosopher of the present age has ranked among the discoveries which do the greatest honour to modern genius. (Treatise of Human Nature book i part i. sect. 7.) Whether this doctrine of the Stoics coincided entirely with that of the Nommalists (whose opinions I shall afterwards endeavour to explam), or whether it did not resemble more a doctrine maintained by another set of schoolmen called Conceptualists, I shall not in- quire. The determination of this question is interesting only to men of erudition ; for the knowledge we possess of this part of the btoical phdosophy is too imperfect to assist us in the farther pro- secution of the argument, or even to diminish the merit of those philosophers who have, in modern times, been led to similar con- clusions. (See note g.) As it is not my object, in this work, to enter into historical details any farther than is necessary for illustrating the subjects of which I treat, I shall pass over the various attempts which were made by the Eclectic philosophers (a sect which arose at Alexandria about the beginning of the third century), to reconcile the doctrines of 1 lato and Aristotle, concerning ideas. The endless difficulties, It would appear, to which their speculations led, induced at last the more cautious and modest inquirers to banish them entirely from Dialectics, and to content themselves with studyino- the arrangements or classifications of universals, which the ancient philosophers had made, without engaging in any metaphysical disquisitions concerning their nature. Porphyry,' in particular, although he tells us that he has speculated much on this subject' yet, in his Introduction to Aristotle's Categories, waves the con- sideration of it as obscure and intricate. On such questions as these : '* Whether genera and species exist in nature, or are only conceptions of the human mind ; and (on the supposition that they exist m nature) whether they are inherent in the objects of sense or disjoined from them?" he declines giving any determination. ' Ihis passage m Porphyry's Introduction is an object of curiosity; as, by a singular concurrence of circumstances, it served to per- petuate the memory of a controversy from which it was the author's intention to divert the inquiries of his readers. Amidst the dis- orders produced by the irruptions of the barbarians, the knowledge J^ I tongue was almost entirely lost; and the studies of philosophers were confined to Latin versions of Aristotle's Dia- lectics, and of Porphyry's Introduction concerning the Categories. With men who had a relish for such disquisitions, it is probable speculations are carried on, it is agreed on all hands, that the doctrines of Plato and Anstotle were essentially the same ; and, accordingly, what I have said on that subject, comcides entirely with a passa-c which the reader wiU find in " Origin and Progress of Language," vol. i. p. 38, 2nd edit. ^ ^ i|,' 90 PART I. CHAP. IV'. that the passage already quoted from Porphyry, would have a tendency ratlier to excite than to damp curiosity ; and accordingly we have reason to believe, that the controversy to which it relates continued, during the dark ages, to form a favourite subject of discussion. The opinion which was prevalent was, (to use the scholastic language of the times,) that universals do not exist before things, nor after things, but in things ; that is, (if I may be allowed to attempt a commentary upon expressions to which I do not pre- tend to be able to annex very precise notions,) universal ideas have not (as Plato thought) an existence separable from individual objects ; and therefore, they could not have existed prior to them in the order of time ; nor yet, (according to the doctrine of the Stoics,) are they mere conceptions of the mind, formed in conse- quence of an examination and comparison of particulars ; but these ideas or forms are from eternity united inseparably with that matter of which things consist ; or, as the Aristotelians sometimes express themselves, the forms of things are from eternity immersed in matter. The reader will, I hope, forgive me for entering into these details, not only on account of their connexion with the observations which are to follow ; but as they relate to a controversy which, for many ages, employed all the ingenuity and learning in Europe; and which, therefore, however frivolous in itself, deserves the attention of philosophers, as one of the most curious events which occurs in the history of the human mind. Such appears to have been the prevailing opinion concerning the nature of universals, till the eleventh century ; when a new doc- trine, or (as some authors think) a doctrine borrowed from the school of Zeno, was proposed by Roscelinus ; (see note h.) and soon after very widely propagated over Europe by the abilities and eloquence of one of his scholars, the celebrated Peter Abelard. [According to these philosophers, there are no existences in nature corresponding to general terms : and the objects of our attention in all our general speculations are not ideas, but words.] [In consequence of this new doctrine, the schoolmen gradually formed themselves into two sects : one of which attached itself to the opinions of Roscelinus and Abelard : while the other adhered to the principles of Aristotle. Of these sects, the former are known in literary history by the name of the Xominalists ; the latter bv that of the Bealists,] As it is with the doctrine of the Nominalists that my own opinion on this subject coincides; and as I propose to deduce from it some consequences, which appear to me important, I shall endea- vour to state it as clearly and precisely as 1 am able : pursuing, however, rather the train of my own thoughts, than guided by the reasons of any particular author. I formerly explahied in what manner the words which, in the infancy of language, were proper names, became gradually appel- latives; in consequence of which extension of their si^niiication. OF ABSTRACTION. QJ they would express, when applied to individuals, those qualities only which are common to the whole genus. Now, it is evident, that, with respect to individuals of the same genus, there are two classes of truths ; the one, particular truths relating to each indi- vidual apart, and deduced from a consideration of its peculiar and distinguishing properties ; the other, general truths, deduced from a consideration of their common qualities ; and equally applicable to all of them. Such truths may be conveniently expressed, by means of general terms; so as to form propositions, comprehending under them as many particular truths, as there are individuals compre- hended under the general terms. It is farther evident, that there are two ways in which such general truths may be obtained ; either by fixing the attention on one individual, in such a manner that our reasoning may involve no circumstances but those which are common to the whole genus ; or, (laying aside entirely the con- sideration of things,) by means of the general terms with which language supplies us. In either of these cases, our investigations must necessarily lead us to general conclusions. In the first case ; our attention being limited to those circumstances, in which the subject of our reasoning resembles all other individuals of the same genus, whatever we demonstrate with respect to this subject must be true of every other to which the same attributes belong. In the second case ; the subject of our reasoning being expressed by a generic word, which apphes in common to a number of indivi- duals, the conclusion we form must be as extensive in its application, as the name of the subject is in its meaning. [The former process is analogous to the practice of geometers, who, in tlieir most general reasonings, direct the attention to a particular diagram : the latter, to that of algebraists, who carry on their investigations by means of symbols.*] In cases of this last sort, it may frequently happen, from the association of ideas, that a general word may recall some one individual to which it is applicable: but this is so far from being necessary to the accuracy of our reasoning, that, excepting in some cases, in which it may be useful to check us in the abuse of general terms, it always has a tendency, more or less, to mislead us from the truth. As the decision of a judge must necessarily be impartial, when he is only acquainted with the relations in which the parties stand to each other, and when their names are supplied by letters of the alphabet, or by the fictitious names of Titius, Caius, and Sempronius ; so, in every process of reasoning, the conclusion we form is most likely to be logically just, when the * These two methods of obtaining general truths proceed on the same principles ; and are, in fact, much less different from each other, than they appear to be at tirst view. When we carry on a process of general reasoning, by fixing our attention on a particular individual of a genus, this individual is to be considered merely as a sign or representative, and differs from any other sign only in this, that it bears* a certain re- semblance to the things it denotes. The straight lines which are emi)loyed in the fifth book of Eucliil to represent magnitudes hi general, differ from the algebraical expres- sions of these magnitudes, in the same resijccts in whicli picture-writing differs from arhitrarv characters. i P2 PART I. CHAP. IV. OF ABSTRACTION. 93 ( attention is confined solely to signs ; and when the imagination does not present to it those individual objects which may warp the judgment by casual associations. To these remarks, it may not be improper to add, that, although m our speculations concerning individuals, it is possible to carry on processes of reasoning, by fixing our attention on the objects themselves, without the use of language; yet it is also in our power to accomplish the same end, by substituting for these objects, words, or other arbitrary signs. The difference between the employment of language in such cases, and in our speculations concerning classes or genera, is, that in the former case the use of words is, in a great measure, optional ; whereas, in the latter, it is essentially necessary. This observation deserves our attention the more, th:jt, if I am not mistaken, it has contributed to mislead some of the Realists ; by giving rise to an idea, that the use of language, in thmking about universals, however convenient, is not more neces- sary than in thinking about individuals. [According to this view of the process of the mind, in carrying on general speculations, that idea which the ancient philosophers considered as the essence of an individual, is nothing more than the i)articular quality or qualities in which it resembles other indi- viduals of the same class ; and in consequence of which, a generic name is applied to it.] It is the possession of this quality, that entitles the mdividual to the generic appellation: and which, therefore, may be said to be essential to its classification with that particular genus ; but as all classifications are to a certain de^^ree arbitrary, it does not necessarily follow, that it is more essential to Its existence as an individual, than various other qualities which we are accustomed to regard as accidental. In other words, (if I may borrow the language of modern philosophy), this quality forms Its nominal, but not its real essence. These observations will, I trust, be sufficient for the satisfaction ot such of my readers as are at all conversant with philosophical inquiries. For the sake of others, to whom this disquisition may be new, I have added the following illustrations. . Defect of Sylloyistic reasoning.— I shall have occasion to examine in another part of my work, how far it is true, (as is commonly believed ) that every process of reasoning may be resolved into a series of syllogisms ; and to point out some limitations, with which 1 apprehend it is necessary that this opinion should be received! As it would lead me, however, too far from my present subject, to anticipate any part of the doctrine which I an! then to propose, I shall m the following remarks, proceed on the supposition, that the syllogistic theory is well founded ; a supposition which, althouorh not strictly agreeable to truth, is yet sufficiently accurate for the use which I am now to make of it. Take then, any step of one of i!.uclid s demonstrations ; for example, the first step of his first pro- position, and state it in the form of a syllojrism :— « All strni.»ht lines, drawn from the centre of a circle to the circumference, are equal to one another." " But A B, and C D, are straight lines, drawn from the centre of a circle to the circumference. Therefore* A B is equal to CD." It is perfectly manifest, that, in order to feel the force of this conclusion, it is by no means necessary, that I should annex any particular notions to the letters A B, or C D, or that I should comprehend what is meant by equality, or by a circle, its centre, and its circumference. Every person must be satis- fied, that the truth of the conclusion is necessarily implied in that of the two premises ; whatever the particular things may be to which these premises may relate. In the following syllogism, too: --" All men must die : — Peter is a man ; — therefore Peter must <^ie ;" — the evidence of the conclusion does not in the least depend on the particular notions I annex to the words man and Peter ; but would be equally complete, if we were to substitute instead of them, two letters of the alphabet, or any other insignificant charac- ters. " All X's must die ;— Z is an X ; therefore Z must die ;"— is a syllogism which forces the assent no less than the former. It is farther obvious, that this syllogism would be equally conclusive, if, instead of the word die, I were to substitute any other verb that the language contains ; and, that, in order to perceive the justnesc of the inference, it is not even necessary that I should understand its meaning. In general, it might be easily shown, that all the rules of logic, with respect to syllogisms, might be demonstrated, without having recourse to any thing but letters of the alphabet ; in the same man- ner, (and I may add, on the very same principles,) on which the algebraist demonstrates, by means of these letters, the various rules for transposing the terms of an equation. From what has been said, it follows, that [the assent we give to the conclusion of a syllogism does not result from any examination of the notions expressed by the different propositions of which it is composed, but is an immediate consequence of the relations in which the words stand to each other.] The truth is, that in every syllogism, the inference is only a particular instance of the general axiom, that whatever is true universally of any sign, must also be true of every individual which that sign can be employed to express. Admitting, therefore, that every process of reasoning may be re- solved into a series of syllogisms, it follows, that this operation of the mind furnishes no proof of the existence of any thing corre- sponding to general terms, distinct from the individuals to which these terms are applicable. These remarks, I am very sensible, do, by no means, exhaust the subject ; for there are various modes of reasoning, to which the syllogistic theory does not apply. But, in all of them, without exception, it will be found on examination, that [the evidence of our conclusions appears immediately from the consideration of the words in which the premises are expressed ; without any reference *.'i f'< 94 PART I. CHAP. IV. to the things which they denote.] The imperfect account which is given of deductive evidence, in the received systems of logic, makes it impossible for me, in this place, to prosecute the subject any farther. After all that I have said on the use of language as an instrument of reasoning, I can easily foresee a variety of objections, which may occur to the doctrine I have been endeavouring to establish. But, without entering into a particular examination of these objections, I believe I may venture to affirm, that most, if not all, of them take their rise from confounding reasoning, or deduction, properly so called, with certain other intellectual processes, which it is necessary for us to employ in the investigation of truth. That it is frequently of essential importance to us, in our speculations, to withdraw our attention from words, and to direct it to the things they denote, I am very ready to acknowledge. All that I assert is, that, in so far as our speculations consist of that process of the mind which is properly called reasoning, they may be carried on by words alone ; or, which comes to the same thing, tliat every process of reasonino- is perfectly analogous to an algebraical operation. What I mean by " the other intellectual processes distinct from reasoning, which it is necessary for us sometimes to employ in the investigation of truth," will, I hope, appear clearly from the following remarks. In algebraical investigations, it is well known, that the practical application of a general expression, is frequently limited by the conditions which the hypothesis involves ; and that, in consequence of a want of attention to this circumstance, some mathematicians of the first eminence have been led to adopt the most paradoxical and absurd conclusions. Without this cautious exercise of the judgment, in the interpretation of the algebraical language, no dexterity in the use of the calculus will be sufficient to preserve us from error. Even in algebra, therefore, there is an application of the intellectual powers perfectly distinct from any process of reasoning ; and which is absolutely necessary for conducting us to the truth. In geometry, we are not liable to adopt the same paradoxical conclusions, as in algebra; because the diagrams, to which our attention is directed, serve as a continual check on our reasonino* powers. These diagrams exhibit to our very senses, a variety of relations among the quantities under consideration, which the language of algebra is too general to express ; in consequence of which, we are not conscious of any effort of the judgment distinct from a process of reasoning. As every geometrical investigation, however, may be expressed algebraically, it is manifest, tlat in geometry, as well as in algebra, there is an exercise of the intel- lectual powers, distinct from the logical process ; although, in the former science, it is rendered so easy, by the use of dia^-rams, as to escape our attention. ^ The same source of error and of absurdity, which exists in alo-e- '' OF AUSTRACTION. 95 bra, is to be found, in a much greater degree, in the other branches of knowledge. Abstracting entirely from the ambiguity of language, and supposing also our reasonings to be logically accurate, it would still be necessary for us, from time to time, in all our speculations, to lay aside the use of words, and to have recourse to particular e.xamples, or illustrations, in order to correct and to limit our gene- ral conclusions. To a want of attention to this circumstance, a number of the speculative absurdities which are current in the world, might, I am pei*suaded, be easily traced. Besides, however, this source of error, which is in some degree common to all the sciences, there is a great variety of others, from which mathematics are entirely exempted; and which perpetually tend to lead us astray in our pliilosophical inquiries. Of these, the most important is, that ambiguity in the signification of words, viYnch. renders it so difficult to avoid employing the same expressions in different senses, in the course of the same process of reasoning. This source of mistake, indeed, is apt, in a much greater degree, to affect our conclusions in metaphysics, morals, and politics, than in the different branches of natural philosophy ; but if we except mathematics, there is no science whatever, in which it has not a very sensible influence. In algebra, we may proceed with perfect safety through the longest investigations, without carrying our attention beyond the signs, till we arrive at the last result. But in the other sciences, excepting in those cases in which we have fixed the meanins: of all our terms bv accurate definitions, and have rendered the use of these terms perfectly famiHar to us by very long habit, it is but seldom tliat we can proceed in this manner without danger of error. In many cases, it is necessary for us to keep up, during the whole of our investigations, a scrupulous and constant attention to the signification of our expressions ; and, in most cases, this caution in the use of words, is a much more difficult effort of the mind, than the logical process. But still this furnishes no exception to the general doctrine already delivered ; for the attention we find it necessary to give to the import of our words, aiises only from the accidental circumstances of their ambiguity, and has no essential connexion with that process of the mind, which is ])roperly called reasoning ; and which consists in the inference of a conclusion from premises. In all the sciences, this process of the mind is perfectly analogous to an algebraical operation ; or, in other words, (when the meaning of our expressions is once fixed by defi- nitions,) it may be carried on entirely by the use of signs, without attending, during the time of the process, to the things signified. The conclusion to which the foregoing observations lead, appears to me to be decisive of the question, with respect to the objects of our thoughts when we employ general terms ; for if it be granted, that words, even when employed without any reference to their particular signification, form an instrument of thought sufficient for all the purposes of reasoning ; the only shadow of an argument in U 96 PART I. CHAP. IV. proof of the common doctrine on the subject, (I mean that which is founded on the impossibility of explaining this process of the mind on any other hypothesis,) falls to the ground. Nothing less, surely, than a conviction of this impossibility, could have so long reconciled philosophers to an hypothesis unsupported by any direct evidence ; and acknowledged, even by its warmest defenders, to involve much difficulty and mystery. It does not fall within my plan to enter, in this part of my wort, into a particular consideration of the practical consequences which follow from the foregoing doctrine. I cannot, however, help remark- ing, the importance of cultivating, on the one hand, a talent for ready and various illustration ; and, on the other, a habit of reason- ing by means of general terms. The former talent is necessary, not only for correcting and limiting our general conclusions, but for enabling us to apply our knowledge, when occasion requires, to its real practical use. The latter serves the double purpose, of pre- venting our attention from being distracted during the course of our reasonings, by ideas which are foreign to the poTnt in question, and of diverting the attention from those conceptions of particular objects and particular events which might disturb the judgment, by the ideas and feelings which are apt to be associated with them', in consequence of our own casual experience. This last observation points out to us, also, one principal foun- dation of the art of the orator. As his object is not so much to inform and to satisfy the understandings of his hearers, as to force their immediate assent; it is frequently of use to him to clothe his reasonings in that specific and figurative language, which may either awaken in their minds associations favourable to his purpose, or may divert their attention from a logical examination of his arl'u- ment. A process of reasoning so expressed, affords at once\n exercise to the judgment, to the imagination, and to the passions ; and IS apt, even when loose and inconsequential, to impose on the best understandings. [It appears farther, from the remarks which have been made, that the perfection of philosophical language, considered either ( 1 ) as an instrument of thouglit, or (2) as a medium of communication with others, consists in the use of expressions which Jrom their generality, have no tendency to awaken the powers of conception, and imao^in- ation ; or, in other words, it consists in its approaching, as nearly as possible, in its nature, to the language of algebra.^ And hence the effects which long habitsof philosophical speculation have in weaken- ing, by disuse, those faculties of the mind, which are necessary for the exertions of the poet and the orator; and of gradually formino- a style of composition, which they who read merely for amuseinen*t are apt to censure for a want of vivacity and of ornament. III. Remarks on the Opinions of some modern Philosophers on the subject of the foregoing Section. --After the death of Abelard, through whose abilities and eloquence the sect of Nominalists had enjoyed OF ABSTRACTION. 97 for a few years, a very splendid triumph, the system of the Realists began to revive ; and it was soon so completely re-established in the schools, as to prevail, with little or no opposition, till the four- teenth century. What the circumstances were, which led Philo- sophers to abandon a doctrine, which seems so strongly to recom mend itself by its simplicity, it is not very easy to conceive. Probably the heretical opinions, which had subjected both Abelard and Roscelinus to the censure of the church, might create a preju- dice also against their philosophical principles ; and probably too the manner m which these principles were stated and defended' was not the clearest, nor the most satisfactory.* The principal cause however I am disposed to think, of the decHne of the sect of Nominalists, was their want of some palpable example, by means of which they might illustrate their doctrine. It is by the use which algebraists make of the letters of the alphabet in carrying on their operations, that Leibnitz and Berkeley have been most suc- cessful m explaining the use of language as an instrument of thought : and, as in the twelfth century the algebraical art was entirely unknown, Roscelinus and Abelard must have been reduced to the necessity of conveying their leading idea by general circum- locutions ; and must have found considerable difficulty in stating it m a manner satisfactory to themselves ; a consideration, which if It accounts for the slow progress which this doctrine made in the world, places in the more striking light the genius of those men whose sagacity led them, under so great disadvantages, to approach to a conclusion so just and philosophical in itself, and so opposite to the prevailing opinions of their age. In the fourteenth century, this sect seems to have been almost completely extinct : their doctrine being equally reprobated by the two great parties which then divided the schools, the followers of Duns Scotus and of Thomas Aquinas. These, although they dif- fered m their manner of explaining the nature of universals, and opposed each other's opinions with much asperity, yet united in rejecting the doctrine of the Nominalists, not only as absurd, but as -eadmg to the most dangerous consequences. At last, William Occam, a native of England, and a scholar of Duns Scotus, revived the ancient controversy, and, with equal ability and success, vindi- cated the long-abandoned philosophy of Roscelinus. From this time the dispute was carried on with great warmth in the univer- sities of France, of Germany, and of England, more particularly in the two former countries, where the sovereigns were led, by some political views, to interest themselves deeply in the contest, and even to employ the ^civil power in supporting their favourite opi- nions. The emperor Lewis of Bavaria, in return for the assistance which, in hL^ disputes with the Pope,t Occam had given to him by vp1i?1»^« argument which the Nominalists employed against the existence of uni- vcrsals, was : Entia non sunt multiplicanda prater necessitatera." [The number of thmgs should not be mcreased unnecessarily.] t Occam, we are told, was accustomed to say to the Emperor: "Tu me defendas H •'; I I n I i I 9g PART I. t;"Ai'- IV. his writings, sided with the Nominalists. Lewis the Eleventh of France, on the other hand, attached himself to the R^ahsts. and made their antagonists the objects of a cruel persocution.— (Mosheim's Ecclesiastical History.) The Protestant Reformation, at length, mvolved men of leammg in discussions of a more interesting nature; but even the zeal ol theological controversy could hardly exceed that with which the Nominalists and Realists had, for some time before, maintained their respective doctrines. " Clamores primum ad ravim, says an author who had himself been an eye-witness of these literary dis- Dutes " hinc improbitas, sannae, min«, convitia, dum luctantur, et uterq'ue alterum tentat prosternere : consumtis verbis venitur ad puKnos, ad veram luctam ex ficta et simulata. Qum etiam, quae contin.'ent in patestra, illic non desunt, colaphi, alapse, consputio, calces,''morsus, etiam qu* jam supra leges palaestnEfustesferrum saucii multi, nonnunquam occisi."-(Ludovicus Vives.*) That this account is not exaggerated, we have the testimony of no less an author than Erasmus, who mentions it as a common occurrence: " Eos usque ad pallorem, usque ad convitia, usque ad sputa, non- nunquam et usque ad pugnos invicem digladiari, alios utNominales, alios ut Reales, loqui."t . i » i.i i The dispute to which the foregoing observations relate, althongli for some time after the Reformation interrupted by theological dis- nuisitions, has been since occasionally revived by different writers, and, singular as it may appear, it has not yet been brought to a conclusiSn in which all parties are agreed. The names, mdeed, of Nominalists and Realists exist no longer; but the point m dispute between these two celebrated sects, coincides preci^ly with a ques- tion which has been agitated in our own times, and which has led to one of the most beautiful speculations of modem philosophy. Of the advocates who have appeared for the doctrine of the Nominalists, since the revival of letters, the most distinguished are Hobbes, Berkeley, and Hume. The first has, in various parte of his works, reprobated the hypothesis of the Realiste.and has stated itadio, et ego te defen.lam calarao." [Let you dcfen.l me with your sword, and I wiU defend vou with mv iien.l— Bruclier, vol. iii. p. »J«- . ,i,„.,. *TfU clamour even to hoarseness, then grossness, msul tmg grmiaccs. threat. ah«silel«.™a«, whilst they stnigglc, and attempt to prostrate each other, \\hen wo d haveTon^their worst/they have recourse to fists, and actual «re.tla,g m place of runterfeit So that what takes place in the wrestlmg-schools are no excluded, they buffet cuff spit at each other, kick and bite: they even go beyond «l,at js allowed m such ronflids! and make use of clubs and weapons, so that many are wounded and some ■'Tmy'frJieed in their contests to paleness, to scolding, to s|jilting, ay. .hey even attack each other with their fists; some speak the Unguage of NommaUsts, some of "'^The Nomimilists procured the death of John Iluss, who was a Realist ; and in their I .J, to S King of France, do not pretend to deny that he fell a rietim to the re- i:.t^ment of S «ct The Realists, on Ae other hand, obtnind. in the year 1479. the MDtment of their see ^ ^^ ^j^^ ^^ j,^^ Nominalists. ^t""Z tending sts clried'heir futy so far as to charge each other with • the .in iglSfstThe Holy Ghost.' "-Mosheim's Ecclesiastic^ H,,.ory. OF ABSTRACTION. 99 the opmions of then- antagonists with that acuteness, simplicity, and precision, which distmguish all his writings,* -The second considering (and, in my opinion, justly) the doctrin;s of the ancie°ts concerning universals, m support of which so much ingenuity had been employed by the Realists, as the great source of mystery ^d error in the abstract sciences, was at pains to overthrow it com- pletely, by some very ngenious and ^,riginal speculations of his own. Mr. Hume'st view of the subjectfas he himself acknow! edges, does not differ materially from that of Berkeley ; whom bv the way, he seems to have regarded as the author of in opinion, of I.« )>fV^ r ^ an expositor and defender, and which, since he days of Roscelmus and Abelard, has been familiarly known in all the universities of Europe.^ Notwithstanding, however, the great merit of these writers in defendmg and illustrating the system of the Nominalists, none of them seem to me to have been fully aware of the important conse- quences to which it leads. The Abbe de Condillac was, I beHeve the first (if we except, perhaps, Leibnitz), who perceived that if this system be true a talent for reasoning must consist, in a great measure in a skilful use of language as an instrument of thought. The most valuable of his remarks on this subject are contained in " CouTd'Etldf"' ^'^'^' '"'•''='' fo'-'nsthefourth volume of his .V * I?*" ""i™"^''!' of »"« ""me to many things, hath been the cause that men ,hi„v inhn^T TT'^'t are universal; and so seriously contend, that besidtpe?e^S John and all the rest of the men that are, have beei, or shal be, in Se world tCe IS yet somethmg else that we call Man, viz., Man in general ; dece ring thml^Wes h^ taking he universal or general appellation for the thin| it sigi^ifieti, For tf X shouM desu^ the painter to make him the picture of a manf which is as much Js to Iv of a ZJPh rr^' '", •T'"'*. "" ?T' *"" "«" "-e painter should ch^se whatlkn he pleaselh to draw, which must needs be some of them that are, or have been or mafbe none of which are universal. But when he would have him o draw the pe?L?of the W, or any particular person, he Mmiteth the painter, to that one pemn'^he^le* h IIll./^i fi^"*?"*' *•"' *^•"• '\'"'«'i»8 -niversal but names, Thich ^e t Wore ?^e hlr T' """"^ "', ■""" *."" ""' »"^'^"' ''"' leave them to te applied by the he^r ; whereas a smgular name is Umited and restrained to one of the maSy tWnS It signifieth ; as when we say, this man, pointing to him, or giving Mm his pXr n3 or uy some such other way."— Hobbes' Tripos, chap. v. sect 6 ' wi!' 1^ ,'u ''' "'"'"^ fl"**""" has l^en "artcd concerning abstract or general ideiK Whether they be general or particular in the mind's conception of them ." A S S «.pher has .hspuled the received opinion in this particular; and has assCTtirthaHi general ideas are nothing but particular ones annc«d to a cer^n term whfch rivestLl .more extensive signification, «,d makes them recaU, upon occS 'other inSur winch are similar to them. As I look upon this to be one of the grea est and mos valu able disco«nes that have been made of tate years in the republic oHettere I S hi"" endeavour to confirn, it by some arguments; which I hope'^«iII pu fteyond alfdouM and controyersy."-Treati8e of Human Nature, book .. part i. sect 7 «.t pi.-'>""' ,'^' \f ^^^^ ^^^^ " partisan of this sect. In a dissertation " De Stilo Phdo«,|.h>co Mani Nizolii. [Concerning the Philosophical St^te of Marcus Nizohus.] rius Nizohus pubUshed a book at Panna, in the year 1553, ent° tied "De Yens Pnncipiis et v^era Ratione Pliilosophan PART I. CHAP. IV. OF ABSTRACTION. 107 \ immediate effect. But in matters that are by no means familiar, or are treJHted in an uncommon manner, and in such as are of an abstruse and intricate nature, the case is widely different." Ihe instances in which we are chiefly liable to be imposed on by words without meaning are, (according to Dr. Campbell), the three following : First, Where there is an exuberance of metaphor. Secondly, When the terms most frequently occurring, denote things which are of a complicated nature, and to which the mind is not sufficiently familiarised. Such are the words, government, church, state, constitution, polity, power, commerce, legislature, jurisdictioQ, proportion, symmetry, elegance. Thirdly, When the terms employed are very abstract, and con- sequently of very extensive signification.* For an illustration of these remaj-ks, I must refer the reader to the ingenious work which I just now quoted. To the observations of these eminent writers I shall take the liberty of adding, that we are doubly liable to the mistakes they mention, when we make use of a language which is not perfectly familiar to us. Nothing, indeed, I apprehend, can show more clearly tlie use we make of words in reasoning than this, that an observation which, when expressed in our own language, seems trite or ifrivolous, often acquires the appearance of depth and origi- nality, by being translated into another. For my own part, at least', I am conscious of having been frequently led, in this way, to form an exaggerated idea of the merits of ancient and of foreign authors ; and it has happened to me more than once, that a sen- tence, v/hich seemed at first to contain something highly ingenious and prc»found, when translated into words famihar to me, appeared obvioutjly to be a trite or a nugatory proposition. The effect produced by an artificial and inverted style in our own languat^e, is similar to what we experience when we read a compositioirin a foreign one. The eye is too much dazzled to seo distinctly. " Aliud styli genus," says Bacon, "totum in eo est, ut verba sint aculeata, sententiae concisae, oratio denique potius pressa quam fusa, quo fit, ut omnia, per hujusmodi artificium, niagis inge- niosa videantur quam re vera sint. Tale invenitur in Seneca effusius, in Tacito et Plinio secundo moderatius."t * "The more general any word is in its signification, it is the more liable to l)c abused bv an improper or unmeaning application. A very general term is applicable alike to a" multitude of different iudividuals, a particular temi is applicable but to a few. When the rightful applications of a word are extremely numerous, they cannot all be so strongly fixed by habit, but that, for greater security, we must i>erpetually recur in our minds from the sign to the notion we have of the thing signified ; and, for the reason afore-nientioned, it is in such instances ditficult precisely to ascertain this notion. Thus, the latitude of a word, though different from its ambiguity, hath often a similar effect." — Philosophy of Rhetoric, vol. ii. p. 122. t Another sort of style is altogether such, that the words are pointed ,sentences, con- cise .the stylo, rather compress than diffuse, by which contrivance ever\thing appears more ingenious than it really is. Such may be observed more remarkably in Seneca, more Tnoderately in Tacitus, and Pliny the younger. The deranged collocation of the words in Latin composition, aids powerfully the imposition we have now been considering, and renders that language an inconvenient medium of philosophical communication, as well as an inconvenient instrument of accurate thought. Indeed, in all languages in which this latitude in the arrangement of words is admitted, the associations among words must be looser than where one invariable order is followed ; and of consequence, on the principles of Hume and Campbell, the mistakes which are committed in reasonings expressed in such languages will not be so readily detected. The errors in reasoning to which we are exposed, in consequence of the use of words as an instrument of thought, will appear the less surprising, when we consider that all the languages whicli have hitherto existed in the world, have derived their origin from popular use ; and that their application to philosopliical purposes was altogether out of the view of those men who first employed them. Whether it might not be possible to invent a language which would at once facilitate philosophical communication, and form a more convenient instrument of reasoning and of invention than those we possess at present, is a question of very diflicult dis- cussion, and upon which I shall not presume to offer an opinion. The failure of Wilkins's very ingenious attempt towards a real character and a philosophical language, is not perhaps decisive against such a project ; for, not to mention some radical defects in his plan, the views of that very eminent philosopher do not seem to have extended much farther than to promote and extend the literary intercourse among different nations. Leibnitz, so far as I know, is the only author who has hitherto conceived the possibility of aiding the powers of invention and of reasoning, by the use of a more convenient instrument of thought ; but he has nowhere explained his ideas on this very interesting subject. It is only from a conversation of his with Mr. Boyle and Mr. Oldenburgh, when he was in England in 1673, and from some imperfect hints in different parts of his works, (see note l.) that we find it had engaged his attention. In the course of this conversation he observed, that Wilkins had mistaken the true end of a real character, which was not merely to enable different nations to correspond easily together, but to assist the reason, the invention, and the memory. In his' writings, too, he somewhere speaks of an alphabet of human thoughts, which he had been employed in forming, and which, probably, (as Fontenelle has remarked,) had some relation to his universal language.* _, — , .. „., „ ..ivo9i^ui3 jju^ic cfc u. vyiuciiuourg qu ii ne crovoit; pas que res grands hommcs eussent encore frapj)e au but. lis pouvoient bien faire que des nations qui ne s'cntendoient pas eussent aisement commerce, mais ils n'avoient pas attrapc Ics ventablcs caracteres reels, qui etoient ['instrument le plus fin dont resj)rit Immam se pAt servir, et qui devoient extn-mcment faciliter et le raisonnement, et la 'M I t ]08 PART I. CHAP. iV. [The new nomenclature which has l>een introduced into chemistry, seems to me to furnish a striking illustration of the effect of appro- priated and well-defined expressions, in aiding the intellectual powers : and the period is probably not far distant, when similar innovations will be attempted in some of the other sciences.] V. Of the Purposes to which the Powers of Abstraction and Gene- ralization are subservient. —\\t has been already shown, that without the use of signs, all our knowledge must necessarily have been limited to individuals, and that we should have been perfectly incapable both of classification and general reasoning. Some authors have maintained, that without the power of generalization, (which 1 have endeavoured to show means nothing more than the capacity of employing general terms,) it would have Ijeen impossible for us to have carried on any species of reasoning whatever. But I cannot help thinking that this opinion is erroneous ; or, at least, that it is very imperfectly stated. The truth is, it appears to me to be just in one sense of the word reasoning, but false in another ; and I even suspect it is false in that sense of the word in which it is most commonly employed. Before, therefore, it is laid down as a general proposition, the meaning we are to annex to this very vague and ambiguous term, should be ascertained with precision. It has been remarked by several writers, that the expectation which we feel of the continuance of the laws of nature, is not founded upon reasoning ; and different theories have of late been proposed to account for its origin. Mr. Hume resolves it into the association of ideas. Dr. Reid, on the other hand, maintains, that it is an original principle of our constitution, which does not admit of any explanation : and which, therefore, is to be ranked among those general and ultimate facts, beyond which philosophy is unable to proceed.* Without this principle of expectation, it would be impossible for us to accommodate our conduct to the established memoire, et Vinvention des choscs. lis devoient ressembler, autant qu'il etoit possible, aiix caracteres ey are the same thing; and Caisar is as nuich known by the one distinction as the other. The amount then is only this : that the conqueror of Pompey conquered Pompey ; or somebody concjuered Pompey ; or rather, since Pompey is as little known now as Ca'sar, somebody conquered somebody. Such a poor business is this boasted immortality ; and such, as has been here described, is the thing called jrlory amon,' us !" — Religion of Nat. Del. p. 117. 6 J . CHAP. IV. I 112 PART I. relate merely to individuals), words are the sole objects about which our thoughts are employed. Accordmg as these words are comprehensive or limited in their signification, the conclusions we forniwiil be more or less general; but this accidental circumstance does not in the least affect the nature of the intellectual process ; so that it may be laid down as a proposition which holds without any exception, that, in every case in which we extend our speculations beyond individuals, language is not only a useful auxiliary, but is the sole instrument by which they are carried on.] ^ , ^ ^ Those remarks naturally lead me to take notice of what torms the characteristical distinction between the speculations of the philo- sopher and of the vulgar. It is not that the former is accustomed to carry on his processes of reasoning to a greater extent than the latter- but that the conclusions he is accustomed to form, are far more comprehensive, in consequence of the habitual employment of more comprehensive terms. Among the most unenlightened of mankind, we often meet with individuals who possess the reasoning faculty in a very eminent degree ; but as this faculty is employed merely about particulars, it never can conduct them to general truths ; and, of consequence, whether their pursuits m life lead them to speculation or to action, it can only fit them for distinguishing themselves in some very limited and subordinate sphere. The phi- losopher, whose mind has been familiarised by education, and by his own reflections, to the correct use of more comprehensive terms, is enabled, without perhaps a greater degree of intellectual exertion than is necessary for managing the details of ordinary business, to arrive at general theorems ; which, when illustrated to the lower classes of men, in their particular applications, seem to indicate a fertility of invention, little short of supernatural.* The analogy of the algebraical art may be of use in illustrating these observations. The difference, in fact, between the investiga- tions we carry on by its assistance, and other processes of reasoning, is more inconsiderable than is commonly imagined ; and if I am not mistaken, amounts only to this, that the former are expressed in an appropriated language, with which we are not accustomed to associate particular notions. Hence they exhibit the efhcacy of signs as an instrument of thought in a more distinct and palpable manner, than the speculations we carry on by words, which are continually awakening the power of conception. , ^ ^ . [When the celebrated Vieta showed algebraists that, by substi- tuting in their investigations letters of the alphabet, instead of known * " General reasonings seem intricate, merely because they are general, nor is it easy for the bulk of mankind to distinguish, in a great number of particul^, that common circumstance in which they all agree, or to extract it pure and unimxt, from the other superfluous circumstances. Every judgment or conclusion with them is particular Thev cannot enlarge their view to those universal propositions, which comprehend under them an infinite number of individuals, and include a whole science in a single theorem Their eye is confounded >vith such an extensive prospect ; and the conclu- sions derived from it, even though clearly expressed, seem intricate and obscure.' — llume*s Politicid Discourses. OF ABSTRACTION. J 13 quantities they might render the solution of every problem sub servient to the discovery of a irpnAral *^»*i, i ij l^'^""*?"^ ^^'^' the fliffip.iltv ^f oi k ^ 1 ^^^^^^^ truth, he did not increase tl e ditticulty of algebraical reasonings : he only enlarged the si-! nific^tion of the terms of which they were expressed 1 And if fn eaehmg that science, it is found expedient L^cus oni sfudent " ol ve problems by means of the particular numbers wh ^arfd en itin IcTusr^^^^ T""''"''' '-'''' '''^'^' - specioutSS at er ^ut b?~ h ""'' P'-^cesses are less intricate than the dttei, but because their scope and utility are more obvious and because it is more easy to illustrate, by examples than by 3; the dito^ee between a particular conclusion and a genei J theorem and n tl iT' ^f ''"?" '^'^ intellectual processes of theTuTar twi lti7f WT " Pr^-1 V'^^^- to that bet^^^n fl e ino states of the algebraical art before and after the time of Vieta • loiX '""" " "^•\''*^ "^^^ "^ ^^- ^^•^"-"^ scien es!S to anesortof'ri'"'?^^^'^^'™ r'^' correctness and dexterity, ^tle same sort of advantage over the uncultivated sagacity of the bulk ::fetic:f ii^^^^^^^ -^^-^ ^^^^^^ p-sL Lr ^^ ot the utility of language, which appears to me to be peculiarlv £f2^'"f^^"^' as it shows r/iat the same facultfes 3 ^vltllout the use of signs, must necessarily have been limited to tl e consideration of individual objects and Wieular ev" a^^ t means of signs, fitted to embrace, without effort, those co npreheif siye theorems, to the discovery of which, in deta 1, t^e unrref^'or of the whole human race would have been un^al S^^^ advantage our animal strength acquires by the use of me^lkal ongmes, exhibits but a faint image of that increase of o™r Sec tual capacity which we owe to language. It is this increase of onr iiatura powers of comprehension, which seems to be t^^^^^^ foundation of the pleasure we receive from the discove /of 3a heorems. Such a discovery gives us at once the commfnfof an infini e variety of particular truths, and communicateTto the mind a sentiment of its own power, not unlike to what we feel when we contemplate the magnitude of those physical effects of wh ch Zl have acquired the command by our nUanicaf connivances ;t may perhaps appear, at first, to be a farther consequence of the principles I have been endeavouring to establish, that 1hrdi£ltv : 1 114 PART I. CHAP. IV. of philosopliical reflection. To assist and direct us m making this acquisition, ought to form the most important branch of a rational logic; a science of far more extensive utihty and of which the principles lie much deeper in the philosophy of the human ramd, than the trifling art which is commonly dignified with that name. The branch in particular to which the foregoing observations more immediately relate, must for ever remain m its mfancy till a most difficult and important desideratum in the history of the mmd is supplied, by an explanation of tlie gradual steps by which it acquires the use of the various classes of words which compose the language of a cultivated and enliglitened people. Of some of the errors of reasoning to which we are exposed by an incautious use of words, I took notice in the preceding section ; and I shall have occasion afterwards to treat the same subject more in detail in a subsequent part of my work. ,.,,.« » ^. ^ * 4%^ VI Of the Errors to which we are liable in Speculation, and in the conduct of Affairs, in consequence of a rash Application of oenrral Principles.— It appears sufficiently from the reasonings which 1 offered in the preceding section, how important are the advantages which the philosopher acquires, by quitting the study of particulars, and directing his attention to general principles. 1 flatter myselt il a])pears farther, from the same reasonings, that it is m consequence of the use of language alone that the human mind is rendered capable of these comprehensive speculations. In order, however, to proceed whh safety in the use of general principles, much caution and address are necessary, both m esta- blishing their truth, and in applying them to practice. \\ itliout a proper attention to the circumstances by which their application to particular cases must be modiffcd, they will be a perpetual source bf mistake, and of disappointment, in the conduct of affairs, how- ever rio^idly justthev may be in themselves, and however accurately we mav reison from'them. If our general principles happen to be fa^e, they will involve us in errors, not only of conduct but ot speculation ; and our errors will be the more numerous, the more comprehensive the principles are on which we jiroceed. Tr illustrate these observations fully, would lead to a minuteness of disquisition inconsistent with my general plan; and I shall therefore, at present, conffne myself to such remarks as appear to be of most essential importance. And, in the first place, [it is evidently impossible to establish solid general principles, without the previous study of particulars: in other words, it is necessary to begin with the examination of indi- vidual objects, and individual events; in order to lay a ground- work for'accurate classification, and for a just investigation of the laws of nature.] It is in this way only that we can expect to arrive at o-eneral principles, which may be safely relied on, as guides to the'^knowledo'e of particular truths : and unless our principles admit of such a practical application, however beautiful they mayaj)pear or ABSTRACTION. 115 to be in theory, they are of far less value than the limited acquisi- tions of the vulgar The truth of these remarks is now so univer- sally admitted, and is indeed so obvious in itself, that it would be superfluous to multiply words in supporting them ; and I should scarcely have thought of stating them in this chapter, if some of J^LT'^i ^^^^V^^^^^ philosophers of antiquity had not been led to dispute them, m consequence of the mistaken opinions which they entertained concerning the nature of universals. Forgetting that gcfierajind species are mere arbitrary creations which the human mind fonns, by withdrawing the attention from the distinguishing qua 1 les of objects, and giving a common name to their resemblini qualities, they conceive universals to be real existences, or (as they expressed It) to be the essences of individuals; and flatbed them^ selves with the belief, that by directing their attention to these essences in the first instance, they might be enabled to penetrate the secrets of the universe, without submitting to the study of nature in detail. These errors, which were common to the Plato- ni^ts and the Peripatetics, and which both of them seem to have adopted from the Pythagorean school, contributed, perhaps more than anything else, to retard the progress of the ancients in physical knowledge. The learned Mr. Harris is almost the only^author ot the present age who has ventured to defend this plan of philo- SwTl '" ^P^'^'r ^? t'*^^' ^^"^'^ ^'^' ^'^'^ '^ successfully followed by the disciples of Lord Bacon. ^ "The Platonists," says he, "considering science as something ascertained definite, and steady, would admit nothing to be it! object ^"ch was vague indefinite, and passing. For this reason they excluded all individuals or objects of sense, and (as Ammonius expresses it) raised themselves in their contemplations from being-s particular to beings universal, and which, from their own nature w^ere eternal and definite."-" Consonant to this was the advice of 1 lato, with respect to the progress of our speculations and in- quiries, to descend from those higher genera, which include many subordinate species, down to the lowest rank of species, those which include only individuals. But here it was his opinion, that our inquinc. should stop, and, as to i.-dividuals, kt them wholly alone; because of tlies^ there could not possibly be any science/' V H arris's Three Treatises, pp. 34 1 , :342. ) :; ^"ch," continues this author, " was the method of ancient pmiosop.iy Ihe fasliion, at jnesent, ajipears to be somewhat altered, and the business of j)hilosoi>Jiers to bo little else, than the ejecting from every quarter, into voluminous records, an infinite riumber of sensible, particular, and unconnected facts, the chief ehect of which is to excite our admiration." In another part of hjs works the same author observes, that " the mind, truly wise q.ittiii^the study of particulars, as knowing their multitude to be infinite and incomprehensible, turns its intellectual eye io what IS general and comprehensive, and through generals learns I 2 I * ■ I 116 PART 1. CHAP. IV. to see, and recognise whatever exists.*' (Harris's Three Treatises, p. 227.) If we abstract from tliese obvious errors of the ancient plviloso- phers, with respect to the proper order to be observed in our in- tjuiries, and only suppose them to end where the Platonists said that they should begin, the magnificent encomiums they bestowed on tlie utility of those comprehensive truths which form the object of science, (making allowance for the obscure and mysterious terms in which they expressed them), can scarcely be regarded as extra- vagant. It is probable that from a few accidental instancon of successful investigation, thev had been struck with the wonderful effect of general prhiciples in increasing the intellectual power of the human mind ; and, misled by that impatience in the study of particulars, which is so often connected with the consciousness of superior ability, they laboured to persuade themselves, that, by a life devoted to abstract meditation, such principles might be ren- dered as immediate objects of intellectual perception, as the indivi- duals which compose the material world are of our external senses. By connecting this opinion with their other doctrines concerning nniversals, they were unfortunately enabled to exhibit it in so mysterious a form, as not only to impose on themselves, but to perplex the understandings of all the learned in Europe, for a long succession of ages. The conclusion to which we are led by the foregoing observations is, that the foundation of all human knowledge must be laid in the examination of particular objects and particular facts; and that it is only as far as our general principles are resolvable into these primary elements, that they possess either truth or utility. It must not, however, be understood to be implied in this conclusion, that all our knowledge must ultimately rest on our own proper expe- rience. If this were the case, the progress of science, and the pro- gress of human improvement, must have been wonderfully retarded; for, if it had been necessary for each individual to form a classifica- tion of objects, in consequence of observations and abstractions of his ow.n, and to infer from the actual examination of particular facts, the general truths on which his conduct proceeds; human afiairs would at this day remain nearly in the same state to which they were brought by the experience of the first generation. In fact, this is very nearly the situation of the species in all those parts of the world, in which the existence of the race depends on the separate efforts which each individual makes, in procuring for him- self the necessaries of life ; and in which, of consequence, the habits and acquirements of each individual must be the result of his own |)ersonal experience. In a cultivated society, one of the first acqui- sitions which children make, is the use of language ; by which means they are familiarised, from their earliest years, to the consideration of classes of objects, and of general truths ; and before that time of life at which the savage is possessed of the knowledge necessarvfor OK AUSTUAOTION, in his own preservation, are enabled to appropriate to themselves the accumulated discoveries of ages. Notwithstanding, however, the stationary condition in which the .race must, of necessity, continue, prior to the separation of arts and professions ; the natural disposition of the mind to ascend from particular truths to general conclusions, could not fail to lead indi- viduals, even m the rudest state of society, to collect the results ot their experience, for their own instruction and that of others [But, without the use of general terms, the only possible way of communicating such conclusions, would be by means of some par- ticular example, of which the general application was striking and obvious. In other words, the wisdom of such ages will necessarily be expressed in the form o^ fables or parables, or in the still simpler form of proverbial instances ; and not in the scientific form of general niaxims.] In this way, undoubtedly, much useful instruction both ot a prudential and moral kind, might be conveyed : at the same time. It IS obvious, that while general truths continue to be ex- pressed merely by particular exemphfications, they would afford little or no opportunity to one generation to improve on the specu- lations of another ; as no effort of the understanding could com- bine them together, or employ them as premises, in order to obtain other conclusions more remote and comprehensive. For this pur- pose, it is absolutely necessary that the scope or moral of the fable should be separated entirely from its accessory circumstances and stated in the form of a general proposition. ' From what has now been said, it appears how much the progress of human reason, which necessarily accompanies the progress of society, is owing to the introduction of general terms, and to the use of general propositions. In consequence of the gradual improve- ments which take jdace in language as an instrument of thought, the classifications both of things and facts with which the infant faculties of each successive race are conversant, are more just and more comprehensive than those of their predecessors: the discoveries which, in one age, were confined to the studious and enlightened few, becoming in the next, the established creed of the learned • and in the third, forming part of the elementary principles of edu- cation. Indeed, among those who enjoy the advantages of early instruction, some of the most remote and wonderful conclusions of the human intellect, are, even in infancy, as completely familiarised to the mind, as the most obvious phenomena which the material world exhibits to their senses. If these remarks be just, they open an unbounded prospect of intellectual improvement to future ages ; as they point out a pro- vision made by nature to facilitate and abridge, more and more the process of study, in proportion as the truths to be acquired increase in number. Nor is this prospect derived from theory alone. It is encouraged by the past history of all the sciences ; m a more particular manner, by that of mathematics and physics] ' I. CHAP. IV. I 118 J^ART I. in whicjli the state of discovery, and the prevaiHng methods of instruction, may, at all times, be easily compared together. In this last observation 1 have been anticipated by a late eminent mathe- matician, whose eloquent and philosophical statement of the argu- ment cannot fail to carry conviction to those who are qualified to judge of the facts on which his conclusion is founded. "To such of my readers as may be slow in admitting the possi- bility of this progressive improvement in the human race, allow me to state, as an example, the history of that science in which the advances of discovery are the most certain, and in which they may be measured with the greatest precision. Those elementary truths of "-eometry and of astronomy, which, in India and Egypt, formed an occult science, upon which an ambitious priesthood founded its influence, were become in the times of Archimedes and Hippar- chus, the subjects of common education in the public schools of Greece. In the last century, a few years of study were sufficient for comprehending all that Archimedes and Ilipparchus knew : and, at present, two years employed under an able teacher, carry the student beyond those conclusions which limited the incjuiries of Leibnitz and of Newton. Let any person reflect on these facts, let him follow the immense chain which connects the inquiries of Euler with those of a priest of Memphis ; let him observe, at each epoch, how genius outstrips the present age, and how it is over- taken by mediocrity in the next: he will perceive, that nature has furnished us with the means of abridging and facilitating our intel- lectual labour, and that there is no reason for apprehending that such simplifications can ever have an end. He will perceive, that at the moment when a multitude of particular solutions, and of insulated facts, begin to distract the attention, and to overcharge the memory, the former gradually lose themselves in one general method, and the latter unite in one general law, and that these generalisations continually succeeding one to another, like the suc- cessive multiplications of a number by itself, have no other limit, than that infinity which the human faculties are unable to compre- hend." See note m. VII. Continuation of the same subject. Differences in the Intel- lectual Characters of Individuals, arising fro7n their different Habits of Abstraction and Generalisation. — In mentioning as one of the principal eflects of civilisation, its tendency to familiarise the mind to general terras and to general propositions, I did not mean to say, that this influence extends equally to all the classes of men in society. On the contrary, it is evidently confined, in a great mea- sure, to those who receive a liberal education ; while the minds of the lower orders, like those of savages, are so habitually occupied about particular objects and particular events, that, although they are sometimes led, from imitation, to employ general expressions, the use which they make of them is much more the result of memory than judgment; and it is but seldom that they are able or ABSTRACTION, 119 11 invoke^^^'''"'^ ^'*"^' """^^ ^'*''''^'' ""^ reasoning in which they are It is hardly necessary for me to remark, that this observation njl.'n^l"^ ^"^ ^^' incapacity of the vulgar for general speculations,' (like all observations of a similar nature), must be received with some restrictions. In such a state of society as that in which we live, there is hardly any individual to be found to whom some general terms, and some general truths, are not perfectly familiar; and, therefore, the foregoing conclusions are to be considered as descriptive of those habits of thought alone, which are most pre- valent m their mind. To abridge the labour of reasoning, and of !!i!^r,T 7 t^"^^.^»"r *^^ attention to general principles, instead of particular truths is the professed aim of all philosophy ; and accord- ing as individuals have more or less of the philosophic spirit, their habitual speculations (whatever the nature of their pursuits may be) will relate to the former, or to the latter, of these objects. mere are therefore, among the men who are accustomed to the exercise of their intellectual powers, two classes, whose habits of thought are remarkably distinguished from each other; the one class comprehending what we commonly call men of business or more properly men of detail; the other, men of abstraction, o^, in other words, philosophers. The advantages which, in certain respects, the latter of these possess over the former, have been already pointed out ; but it must not be supposed, that these advantages are always purchased without some inconvenience. As the solidity of our general prin- cij3les depends on the accuracy of the particular observations into which they are ultimately resolvable, so their utility is to be esti- mated by the practical applications of which they admit : and it unfortunate y happens, that the same turn of mind which is favour- able to philosophical pursuits, unless it be kept under proper regulation, is extremely apt to disqualifv us for applyinc iur of'aS^ ^"^ "'''' '" ^^'^ ^''^''''''^ ""^ ^^^^^'*'' ^""^ in the conduct =nffi •''''!^T ^"^ perceive the truth of these remarks, it is almost sufficient to recollect, that as classification, and, of consequence general reasoning presuppose the exercise of abstraction ; a natural disposition to indulge in them, cannot fail to lead the mindtoover- nu.V^\^ 'P^r "^ ^^ff^^,^"/^es of things, in attending to their common qualities. To succeed, however, in practice, a familiar and circum- stantial acquaintance with the particular objects which fall under our observation, is indispensably necessary. f;o?"!:]^^K^•^'*^'^'?"^^"^'?^ principles are founded on classifica- tion, which iinply the exercise of abstraction ; it is necessary to 31 'r; V^^'\ ^'?';''^^ applications, merely as approxima- tions to the truth ; the defects of which must be supplied by habit, acquired by personal experience. V^ In considering, for example, the theory of the mechanical powers; it is usual to simplify the ' '!) ( 1-20 PART I. CHAP. IV objects of our conception, by abstracting from fnction, and from the weight of the different parts of whicii they are composed. Levers are considered as raathematical line?, perfectly intiexible ; and ropes, as mathematical lines, perfectly flexible ; — and by means of these, and similar abstractions, a subject, which is in itself ex- tremely complicated, is brought within the reach of elementary geometry. In the theory of politics, we find it necessary to abstract from many of the peculiarities which distinguish different forms of government from each other, and to reduce them to certain general classes, according to their prevailing tendency. Although all the governments we have ever seen, have had more or less of mixture in their composition, we reason concerning pure monarchies, pure aristocracies, and pure democracies, as if there really existed poli- tical establishments corresponding to our definitions. Without such a classification, it would be impossible for us to fix our attention, amidst the multiplicity of particulars which the subject presents to us, or to arrive at any general principles, which might serve to guide our inquiries in comparing difi'erent institutions together. |{?r It is for a similar reason, that the speculative /J7r//?^ reduces the infinite variety of soils to a few general descriptions ; the physician, the infinite variety of bodily constitutions to a iaw tem- peraments ; and the moralist, the infinite variety of human characters to a few of the ruling principles of action. Notwithstanding, however, the obvious advantages we derive from these classifications, and the general conclusions to which they lead, it is evidently impossible that principles, which derived their origin from efforts of abstraction, should apply literally to practice ; or, indeed, that they should afford us any considerable assistance in conduct, without a certain degree of practical and experimental skill. Hence it is that the mere theorist so frecpiently exposes himself, in real life, to the ridicule of men whom he despises, and, in the general estimation of the worM, falls below the level of the common drudges in business and the arts. The walk, indeed, of tiiese unenlightened practitioners, must necessardy be limited by their accidental opportunities of experience ; but, so far as they go, they operate with facility and success, while the merely speculative jihilosopher, although possessed of principles which enable him to ajiproximate to the truth in an infinite variety of untried cases, and althoujih he sees with pity the narrow views of the multitude, and the ludicrous ])retensions with which they frequently oppose their trifiing successes to his theoretical speculations, finds himself per- fectly at a loss, when he is called upon, by the simplest occurrences of ordinary life, to carry his principles into execution. Hence the origin of that maxim " which," as Mr. Hume remarks, " has been 80 industriously propagated by the dunces of every age, that a man of genius is unfit for business." in what consists practical or expenmental skill, it is not easv to pxpluin completely ; but among other things it obviously implies OF ABSTRACTION. 121 a talent for ramute and comprehensive and rapid observation • a memory at once retentive and ready, in order to present to 'us accurately and without reflection, our theoretical knowledyhic)i, partly on account of its importance, and partly on account of some peculiarities in its nature, seems to be entitled to a more particular consideration. The art I allude to, is that of legislation ; an art which differs from all others in some very essential respects, and to which, the reasonings in the last section must be applied with many restrictions. Before proceeding farther, it is necessary for me to premise, that it is chiefly in compliance with common language and common pre^ judices, that I am sometimes led, in the following observations, to contrast tiieory with experience. In the proper sense of the word theory, it is so far from standing in opposition to experience, that it implies a knowledge of principles, of which the most extensive experience alone could put us in possession. Prior to the time of Lord Bacon, indeed, an acquaintance with facts was not considered as essential to the formation of theories ; and from these ages lias descended to us, an indiscriminate prejudice against general prin- ciples, even in those cases in which they have been fairly obtained in the way of induction. [But not to dispute about words: there are plainly two sets of political rensoners ; one of which consider the actual institutions of mankind as the only safe foundation for our conclusions, and think every plan of legislation chimerical, which is not copied from one which has already been realised ; while the other apprehend that, in many cases, we may reason safely a priori from the known prin- ciples of human nature combined with the particular circumstances of the times.] The former are commonly understood as contending for experience in opposition to theory ; the latter are accused of trusting to theory unsupported by experience: but it ought to be remembered, that the political theorist, if he proceeds cautiously and philosophically, founds his conclusions ultimately on expe- rience, no less than the political empiric :—Kod order and trancjuillity of society, cannot be disputed ; and, as far as I myself am personally interested, I have no wish to vitiate the record which it exhibits of my opinions. On some points which are touched upni verj- slightly here, I have explamed myself more fiUly, in the fourth section of my biographical account of Mr. Smith, read before t be Uoyaf Society of Edinbnr^b in 17*0", and puDlished in the third volume of their Tioiisaclious. (Second Ldition. l'^i>2.) ' 1 OF ABSTRACTION. i2r- previously ascertained by observation, no less than if he inferred it without any reasoning, from his knowledge of a cycle. I here is, indeed, a certain degree of practical skill which habits of busmcss alone can give, and without which the most enlightened politician must always appear to disadvantage when he attempts to carry Ins plans into execution. And as this skill is often (in conse rience while it is seldom possessed by those men, who have most carefally s udied the theory of legislation; it has been very gene rally concluded, that politics is merely a matter of routiife, fn which philosophy IS rather an obstacle to success. The statesman wlK) has been formed among official details, is compared tHe practical engineer ; the speculative legislator, to the theoretical mechanician who has passed his life anfong books and diaoranis In order to ascertain how far this opinion is just, it may be'of use to compare the art of legislation with those pracical applications of mechanical principles, by which the opposers of politK eo"ls have so o ten endeavoured to illustrati their reasoninL^s whtl. ? ^^^^I'''''.^' \*'^"' '^ "^^y ^^ remarked, that the errors to which yye are liable, m the use of general mechanical principles are owing, m most instances, to the effect which habits of absiractfon are apt to have, m withdrawing the attention from those app£ tons of our knowledge, by which alone we can learn to Tor ect he imperfections of theory. Such errors, therefore, are, in a pecu li»r degree, incident to men who have been led by natural taste or by early habits to prefer the speculations of the "to fe' Sarits '-''' " '''' "^'^ ^' -^-^^ -' <^^~- In politics, too, one species of principles is often uiisapi.Iicd from an inattentjon to crcun.stances ; thosi whicl. are deduced fron,^ few examples of part.cular governments, and which are occasionall^ q.o ed as universal political axioms, which every wise legislator ought to assume as tlie groundwork of his reasodngst i! u 1 1" abuse of general principles should by no means be ascPil,.d, like tie £ lovTof H ' n'"'"'"" mechanician, to over-refincn^i.t, and the love ot theory; for it arises from weaknesses, which philosonhv a e" uonlls^d rV' • "" "•"^""^'"^"ed veneration for maiims which are supposed to have the sanct on of time in their fav,., • o„,i passive acquiescence in received opinion" '^^""'.and a Ihere is another class of principles, from which political conclu The rental Uw,w1m"""'''1''" °( *'"' ''"""*" constitution, and of inducion than an^nf ti ^ • f '«'«"" °f a "'"ch more extensive n fir » : f.\ ( \ ]26 PART I. CHAP. r/. OF ABSTHACTIO.V. jjli In applying, indeed, such principles to practice, it is necessary (as well as in mechanics) to pay attention to the peculiarities of the case ; but it is by no means necessary to pay the same scrupulous attention to minute circumstances, which is essential in the mecha- nical arts, or in the management of private business. There is even a danger of dwelling too much on details, and of rendering the mind incapable of those abstract and comprehensive views of human affairs, which can alone furnish the statesman with fixed and certain maxims for the regulation of his conduct. " When a man," says Mr. Hume, "deliberates concerning his conduct in any particular affair, and forms schemes in politics, trade, economy, or any business in life, he never ought to draw his arguments too fine, or connect too long a chain of consequences together. Something is sure to happen, that will disconcert his reasoning, and produce an event different from what he expected. But when we reason upon general subjects, one may justly affirm, that our sj)eculations can scarce ever be too fine, provided they are just; and that the difference betwixt a common man and a man of genius, is chieffy seen in the shallowness or depth of the principles upon which they proceed. — 'Tis certain that general principles, however intricate they may seem, must always, if they are just and sound, prevail in the general course of things, though they may fail in particular cases ; and it is the chief business of philosophers to regard the general course of things. I may add, that it is also the chief busi- ness of politicians ; especially in the domestic government of the state, where the public good, which is, or ought to be, their object, depends on the occurrence of a multitude of cases, not, as in foreign politics, upon accidents, and chances, and the caprices of a few per- sons." — (Political Discourses.) II. The difficulties which, in the mechanical arts, limit the appli- cation of general principles, remain invariably the same from age to age : and whatever observations we have made on them in the course of our past experience, lay a sure foundation for future prac- tical skill ; and supply, in so far as they reach, the defects of our theories. In the art of government, however, the practical diffi- culties which occur, are of a very ditforent nature. They do not present to the statesman, the same steady subject of examination, which the eflects of friction do to the engineer. They arise cliic fly from the passions and opinions of men, which are in a state of per- petual chan'ce : and, therefore, the address which is necessary to overcome liieui, depends less on the accuracy of our observations with respect to the past, than on the sagacity of our conjectures with respect to the future. In the present age, more particularly, when the rapid communication, and the universal diffusion of knowledge, by means of the press, render the situation of political societies esseritially different from what it ever was formerly, and secure infallibly, against every accident, the progress of human reason ; we may venture to predict, that they are to be the most 127 stances of their o^n t m- «^A- "^'^^'^ ^^^ Pe^Iiar circum- the future histoVof mSd '° ^"''g^tened anticipation of abiiJ-the^^rtlinTSr' S^^^ T ** * '^ power to brino- it to th» .LT ^ • ' ^ ^^"^ '* *J«'ays n our tlmt^e cT^htaSln£\.tT"""'Tl- ^ut it is very seldom not only becauseTis .1 Si!. U J ^"^ "seful conclusion in politics: binatio,Vof c^um ai a i n " .*^". "^''' '" ""^'""^ '^'^ «°"'- acquaintance SThSti^If/ '^ ^ *''/ '''T' ^"* ^'^'^"'^ ««■• inlrfect thanfctr' HLSrEvru ^^ '^ 7"''^'"°"-^ what is called matter nffJt ,7^ v • ^ ,- "'^ grater part of and, very freq "en v in tt " • •" '"'V ""^'''''^^ ^'«« ^''^n theory; , *c'j irequeniiy, m this science, when we thinli^ w« o^« ^ njg expenence to speculation, we a;e onlyUXsLZeTyZ cient t^rS:? ho^tSeh i!^^ tT^"' '* ^^ ^'^^^ -«- description, a jutidlSZtttTi 'r° "''"^"y- ''y " g^"«'-''I every such descrivthnmLfZTVf^ of any government. That appear from tlSno^g remrks^ """'""' ^" ''~-''^.-" tory o??a:kTd!7eroTntL^\t:r^^^^^^ ^PP--'^ '" »"« his- a certain degree of cons stencv and analoo-v Wi,lJ^ ^ ' general tendencv " Oh-p ,i«„ ^Kf ' - accorded m their L bona, at saltim apSt^r'set:" "r "^^ "^"^ ^--> " ^' bv the ."X'^^'Jly "'■/'"•Jying particular constitutions of ^ovemn.ent by tlie I.ein of systematical descriptions of them rsuch de^cZf fn ' for example, as are eiven of thnt I.f Vr, i !i i ^Vi "^ascriptions, Blackstone) arises ffomthl If ?^^ """^ ^^ Montesquieu and exnedient in m» • ? ^'a^'e circumstances, which render it we wi^h to acquir?l^;rnTa"n ii^rSrSp^^^^^^^^^ m if 'li ' I tetJtfuf.JclTm..^;:' '""""' '""" P'^'=«'=»' «^g«»cies. if not good, „.„.t at least CHAT. ir. i !!( Ill 128 PART I. the consideration of which, in detail, would distract the attention, and overload the memory. The systematical descriptions of politi- cians, Hke the general rules of grammarians, are in a higher degree useful, for arranging, and simplifying, the objects of our study; but in both cases, we must remember, that the knowledge we acquire in this manner, is to be received with great limitations, and that it is no more possible to convey, in a systematical form, a just and complete idea of a particular government, than it is to teach a language completely by means of general rules, without any prac- tical assistance from reading or conversation. 2. The nature and spirit of a government, as it is actually exer- cised at a particular j)eriod, cannot always be collected ; perhaps it can seldom be collected from an examination of written laws, or of the established forms of a constitution. These -may continue the same for a lon"^ course of ages, while the government niay be modi- fied in its exercise, to a great extent, by gradual and indescribable alterations in the ideas, manners, and character, of the people ; or, by a change in the relations which different orders of the community bear to each other. In every country whatever, beside the esta- blished laws, the political state of the people is affected by an infinite variety of circumstances, of which no words can convey a conception, and which are to be collected only from actual observation. Even in this way, it is not easy for a person who has received his educa- tion in one country, to study the government of another ; on account of the difficulty which he must necessarily experience, in entering into the associations which influence the mind under a different system of manners, and in ascertaining (especially upon political subjects) the complex ideas conveyed by a foreign language. In consequence of the causes which have now been mentioned, it sometimes happens, that there are essential circumstances in the actual state of a government, about which the constitutional laws are not only silent, but which are directly contrary to all the written laws, and to the spirit of the constitution as delineated by theoretical writers. IV. The art of government differs from the mechanical arts in tliis, that, in the former, it is much more difficult to refer effects to their causes, than in the latter; and, of consequence, it rarely happens, even when we have an opportunity of seeing a political experiment made, that we can draw from it any certain inference, with respect to the justness of the principles by which it was sug- gested. In those complicated machines, to which the structure of civil society has been frequently compared, as all the different parts of which they are composed are subjected to physical laws, the errors of the artist must necessarily become apparent in the last result ; but in the political system, as well as in the animal body, where the general constitution is sound and healtliy, there is a sort of vis medicatrix, which is sufficient for the cure of partial disorders ; and in the one case, as well as in the other, the errors of human art OF ABSTRACTION. 129 TJ:ZZ\Z^^^^^ ""f ^^^^^t^^^ "^y '^- wisdom of nature -hmtXek^^^^^^ ^^^^\T^ ^^^y "^^^^ of human conceptions we Wnt Tf '"'"'5 ^.^^"ndless than the exaggerated which\ suppose^^^^^^^^^ 'h' '^''''' of political 4dom, fessionaIhar«Go'^«^dfr\^^ experience and of pro- when he warsendit hin?t "^^^^^^"^,^0^ ^^enstierntohisson, tbe young Ln wasLZ^l^ ^^gress of a„,bassadors,and when for sU fn empW^^^^^^^^^ ^^ ^-^ own abilities P^rva sajnentlalSTlu^^^^^^^ ^>^^«' Q^«^ ical the remark mVann^ tf fir!f wu^ ' i ^^^^^^^'^ P^^'^^^^' of statesmen ^reZ7ue^^^^^^ consequence moreSv n '^""''i ^ '" ^^^^ ^^^^^«' ^"^' of individuals who occS^^^^^^ '^'''''''''' thanthos;of misconduct mvSvJf! -i^^'^"' ^? '^^^^^>'- ^he effects of and therefor^thTw^^^^^^^ *^ their proper source, it forms of L prudenl r^^^^^^^^ ^'' "T^ ''' '^'' J"^g~ which But in consid^TKhe .2^;^^^^ ^™P^"dence of private characters, trace events tn^?' "'' ""^ ^ ^''^^^ ^^*^on, it is so difficult to politica w 2m S^^^ to distinguish the effects S situation of tlTpeopTe that irJ "'"i '^" "l',"^"^ ''^^"^^ ^^ ^he case of a very lo^nt ad£tl- 'T^ ^ ^'^'•'^^^' excepting in the statesman from tS^ suc^^ M "i^P~^ '^' ^-^^"ts of a society too whlM? • ^ ^^'^"''^ ^^ ^'^ measures. In every goveient' eS 'thp T''^"'"'/ '^ '^'' ^^"^''^^ ^F"^ of S part ofThe noS?!^! TT ^^ ^^^nq^iWity and liberty, a great obstacles, Xh Tel^LLT^"^;."^ '^ ^^'^.'•^^"^^ many powerful its progr;ss '"'P^^'fection of human institutions opposes to me!ra"icl^a?tsTer:;r!! IT '' ^^"T' *^^*' ^^^^^^^ - the by repeaS trials Xout h ""'^ '^"'"'^^ ^' '"^'^^^^^^ ye\ in^he maTht'S^^^ ^'"^'"'^ P""^^P^^^' powers at work beside thf?nfl' t 'I '"^ ^'^^* ^ ^^"^^y of vain to ex,,ect the a^^^^^^^ ^V,^" statesman, that it is poss^le pi^Stt b?^ '^ carried toitsgreatest mems ofi'lTer'^^^ ^^^^^^^^^ i. "the most imperfect govern- thev sec irT f/ ^"rope, we have ai experimental proof that STnrn^'VhXf^^^^^ ''' r ^^P^^ fi'^'^ 'f tt tain effects of chK Ltl^^^^^ satisfied with a measfre^f S^^^ i^ '^''' *^f '^' ^"^ "^^ '^'^ the history of t^e worl/W ^^PP^^^^^^ which appears, from to the loty„ationT ' ^'"^''^ '^^'^ ^^^ commonly fallen With those w^ would carry their zeal against reformation so far, AVith how slight a degree of wisdom the world is governed ! " K ^'tI » Is 1 1 /; 11 130 PART I. CHAP. IV. it is impossible to argue ; and it ouly remains for us to regret, that the number of such reasoners has, in all ages of the world, been so great, and their influence on human affairs so extensive. " There are some men," says Dr. Johnson, " of narrow views, and grovelling conceptions, who, without the instigation of personal malice, treat every new attempt as wild and chimerical ; and look upon every endeavour to depart from the beaten track, as the rash etibrt of a warm imagination, or the glittering speculation of an exalted mind, that may please and dazzle for a time, but can produce no real or lasting advantage. " These men value themselves upon a perpetual scepticism ; upon believing nothing but their own senses ; upon calling for demon- stration ^where it cannot possibly be obtained; and, sometimes upon holding out against it when it is laid before them ; upon inventing arguments against the success of any new undertaking; and, where arguments cannot be found, upon treating it with contempt and ridicule. " Such have been the most formidable enemies of the great be- nefactors of the world ; for their notions and discourse are su agreeable to the lazy, the envious, and the timorous, that they sel- dom fail of becoming popular, and directing the opinions of man- kind." (Life of Drake, by Dr. Johnson.) With respect to this sceptical disposition, as applicable to the present state of society, it is of importance to add, that, in every government, the stability and the influence of established authority must depend on the coincidence between its measures and the tide of public opinion ; and that, in modern Europe, in consequence of the invention of printing, and the liberty of the press, public opinion has acquired an ascendant in human affairs, which is never possessed in those states of antiquity from which most of our poli- tical examples are drawn. The danger, indeed, of sudden and rash innovations cannot be too strongly inculcated ; and the views of those men who are forward to promote them, cannot be reprobated with too great severity. But it is possible also to fall into the opposite extreme ; and to bring upon society the very evils we are anxious to prevent, by an obstinate opposition to those gradual and necessary reformations which the genius of the* times demands. The violent revolutions which, at different periods, have convulsed modern Europe, have arisen, not from a spirit of innovation in sovereigns and statesmen ; but from their bigoted attachment to antiquated forms, and to principles borrowed from less enlightened ages. It is this reverence for abuses which have been sanctioned by time, accompanied with an inattention to the progress of public opinion, which has, in most instances, blinded the rulers of matn- kind, till government has lost all its efficiency ; and till the rage of innovation has become too general and too violent to be satisfied with changes, which, if proposed at an earlier period, would have united, in the support of established institutions, every friend to order, and to the prosperity of his country. or ABSTRACTION. 131 These observations I state with the greater confidence, that the substance of them is contained in the following aphorisms of Lord Bacon ; a philosopher who (if we except, perhaps, the late Mr. Turgot) seems, more than any other, to have formed enlightened views with respect to the possible attainments of mankiifd ; and whose fame cannot fail to increase as the world grows older, by being attached, not to a particular system of variable opinions, but to the general and infallible progress of human reason. " Quis novator tempus imitatur, quod novationes ita insinuat, ut sensus fallant ? " Novator maximus tempus; quidni igitur tempus imitemur? " Morosa morum retentio,res turbulenta est, aequo ac novitas. " Cum per se res mutentur in deterius, si cousilio in melius non mutentur, quis finis erit mali ?"* The general conclusion to which these observations lead is suffi- ciently obvious ; that [the perfection of political wisdom does not consist in an indiscriminate zeal against reformers, but in a gradual and prudent accommodation of established institutions to the varying opinions, manners, and circumstances of mankind. In the actual ap- plication, however, of this principle, many difficulties occur, which It requires a very rare combination of talents to surmount : more j)articularly in the present age ; when the press has, to so wonder- ful a degree, emancipated human reason from the tyrannv of ancient prejudices; and has roused a spirit of free discussion, unexampled in the history of former times.] That this sudden change in the state of the world should be accompanied with some temporary disorders is by no means sur- prising. While the multitude continue imperfectly enlightened, they will be occasionally misled by the artifices of demagogues ; and even good men, intoxicated with ideas of theoretical perfection, may be expected sometimes to sacrifice unintentionally, the tran- quillity of their contemporaries, to an over-ardent zeal for the good of posterity. Notwithstanding, however, these evils, which every friend to humanity must lament, I would willingly believe, that the final effects resulting from this spirit of reformation, cannot fail to be favourable to human happiness; and there are some peculiarities in the present condition of mankind, which appear to me to justify more sanguine hopes upon the subject, than it would have been reasonable for a philosopher to indulge at any former period. An attention to these peculiarities is absolutely necessary to enable us to form a competent judgment on the question to which the foregoing observations relate; and it leads to the illus- tration of a doctrine to which I have frequently referred in this * " What innovator imitates time, which so gently introduces innovations, that they escape notice ? " Time is the greatest innovator,— why then should we not imitate time ? *• Tlie sullen retention of customs is as great a source of disturbance as innovation is. ** When aifairs become spontaneously deteriorated, if they be not improved by wise nianagement, what end will there be of the evil ?" K 2 I il II 'I I 1 PART I. CHAP. IV. work ; the jijradual improvement in the condition of the species, which may be expected from the progress of reason and the diffu- sion of knowledge. Among the many circumstances favourable to human happiness in the present state of the world, the most important, perhaps, is, that the same events which have contributed to loosen the founda- tions of the ancient fabrics of despotism, have made it practicable, in a much greater degree than it ever was formerly, to reduce the principles of legislation to a science, and to anticipate the probable course of popular opinions. It is easy for the statesman to form to himself a distinct and steady idea of the ultimate objects at which a wise legislator ought to aim, and to foresee that modifica- tion of the social order, to which human affairs have, of them- selves, a tendency to approach ; and, therefore, his practical saga- city and address are limited to the care of accomplishing the im- portant ends which he has in view, as effectually and as rapidly as is consistent with the quiet of individuals, and with the rights arising from actual establishments. In order to lay a solid foundation for the science of politics, the first step ought to be, to ascertain that form of society which is perfectly agreeable to nature and to justice; and what are the principles of legislation necessary for maintaining it. Nor is the inquiry so difficult as might at first be apprehended ; for it might be easily shown, that the greater part of the political disorders which exist among mankind, do not arise from a want of foresight in politicians, which has rendered their laws too general, but from their having trusted too little to the operation of those simple in- stitutions which nature and justice recommend ; and, of conse- quence, that, as society advances to its perfection, the number of laws may be expected to diminish, instead of increasing, and the science of legislation to be gradually simplified. The Economical system, which, about thirty years ago, employed the speculations of some ingenious men in France, seems to me to have been the first attempt to ascertain this ideal perfection of the social order; and the light which, since that period, has been thrown on the subject, in different parts of Europe, is a proof of what the human mind is able to accomplish in such inquiries, when it has once received a proper direction. To all the various tenets of these writers, I would, by no means, be understood to subscribe ; nor do I consider their system as so perfect in every different part, as some of its more sanguine admirers have represented it to be. A few of the most important principles of political economy they have undoubtedly established with demonstrative evidence; but what the world is chiefly indebted to them for, is, the commence- ment which they have given to a new branch of science, and the plan of investigation which they have exhibited to their successors. A short account of what I conceive to be the scope of their specu- lations will justify these remarks, and will comprehend everything OF AUSTRACTION. T •■>Q J 'JO whicl. I Imve to offer at present, in answer to ti.e question by wl.ich they were suggested. Such an account I attempt with the greater satisfaction, that the leading views of the earliest and n.fsT en! -ghtcned patrons of the Economical system have, in my opinion been not more m srepresented by its opponents, than misapp^ hemled bv some who have adopted its conlsions! (See m« J? ' In the hrst p ace, then, I think it of importance to remark that the object of the Economical system o.Jght by no means to be o?t "e'utll" V"'T '* ''""""'"'y '^ "' ^'"^ -untry) :^h tha been oSTi f ^ .'"' "^^T'"'T"*' "'^''•'' '"'^P. at different times, been offered to the world ; and which have so often excited the just ndicu e of the more sober and reasonable inquirers. Of these plans, by far the greater nun.ber proceed on the supposition that the socal order .9 entirely the effect of human art • and that wherever tins order is imperfect, the evil may be traS^d to souS Z ofi*"'"^' •\""/''' I'f* "'■ *^' '-gi^l'itor; or to some inatten! of whl? ,'"''=' 7 '^ '"/'" <=«'"P«<=at^d «f-.cture of that n.achine of which he regulates the movements. The projects of reform hen.fore, which such plans involve, are, in general, well entS to all the ridicule and contempt they have met with ; inasmuch as they imi,ly an arrogant and presumptuous belief in their authors of the superiority of their own political sagacity, to the accumu-* Uted wisdom of former ages. I'he case is very ^different wTth the Economical System ; of which the leading views (so far as I am able o jud-e) proceed on the two following suppositions : First, that the social order is, in the most essential respects, the result of the wisilom of nature, and not of human contrivance ; and therefore hat the proper busin«.s of the politician, is not to divide his atten-' tion among all the different parts of a machine, which is by far too complicated for his comprehension ; but by protecting the rights of .nd.vidua s, and by allowing to each as complete a liberty as " compatible with the perfect security of the rights of his fellow- citizens; to remove every obstacle which the prejudices and vices of men have opposed to the establishment of that order which society has a tendency to assume. Secondly ; that, in proportion to the progress and the diffusion of knowledge, those prejudices on a skilful management of which all the old systems of policy proceeded, must gradually disappear; and, consequently,*^ that (Whatever maybe his jiredilection for ancient usages) the inevitable course of events imposes on the politician the necessity of forniinff ins measures on more solid and pennanciit principles, than thos,^ by which the world has hitherto been governed. Both of hese suppositions are of modern origin. The former, so far as I know was first stated and illustrated by the French Economists. The latter has been obviously suggested by that rapid improvement which has actually taken place in every country of Europe where the press has enjoyed a moderate degree of liberty [It may be farther remarked, with respect to the greater part of u I: ^ II CHAP. IV. Ill I I I 134 PART I. the plans proposed by Utopian projectors, tiiat they proceed on the supposition of a miraculous reformation in the moral character of a people, to be effected by some new system of education. All such plans (as Mr. Hume has justly observed) may be safely abandoned as impracticable and visionary.] But this objection does not apply to the Economical system ; the chief expedient of which, for pro- moting- moral improvement, is not that education which depends on the attention and care of our instructors; but an education which necessarily results from the political order of society. " How in- etfectual," (said the Roman poet,) " are the wisest laws, if they be not supported by good morals !" How ineffectual (say the Econo- mists) are all our efforts to preserve the morals of a people, if the laws which regulate tlie political order doom the one half of man- kind to indigence, to fraud, to servility, to ignorance, to supersti- tion ; and the other half to be the slaves of all the follies and vices which result from the insolence of rank, and the selfishness of opulence ! Suppose, for a moment, that the inordinate accumula- tion of wealth in the hands of individuals, which we everywhere meet with in modern Europe, were gradually diminished by abolishing the law of entails, and by establishing a perfect freedom of commerce and of industry ; it is almost self-evident, that this simple alteration in the order of society ; an alteration which hjis been often demonstrated to be the most effectual and the most infallible measure for promoting the wealth and population of a country ; would contribute more than all the labours of moralists, to secure the virtue and thehappinessof all the classes of mankind. It is worthy too of remark, that such a plan of reformation does not require, for its accomplishment, any new and complicated institu- tions ; and, therefore, does not proceed ujDon any exaggerated con- ception of the efficacy of human policy. On the contrary, it requires only (like most of the other expedients proposed by this system) the gradual abolition of those arbitrary and unjust arrange- ments, by which the order of nature is disturbed. Another mistaken idea concerning the Economical system is, that it is founded entirely upon theory, and unsupported by facts. That this may be the case with respect to some of its doctrines, I shall not dispute : but, in general, it may be safely affirmed, that they rest on a broader basis of facts, than any other political speculations which have been yet offered to the world ; for they are founded, not on a few examples collected from the small number of governments of which we possess an accurate knowledge; but on those laws of human nature, and those maxims of common sense, which are daily verified in the intercourse of private life. Of those who have speculated on the subject of legislation, by far the greater part seem to have considered it as a science sni generis ; the first principles of which can be obtained in no other way, than I y an examination of the conduct of mankind in their political I iipacity. The Economists, on the contrary, have searched for the OP ABSTRACTION. jg- causes of national prosperity, and national improvement in thn« arrangements, which our daily observations Z^ i^he)Z^^ to the prosperity and to the improvement of inLidur iS former resemble those philosophers of antiquity, XlZir^Jtf the phenomena of the heavens arp r^cmlof^/u i ^^^'^^^ VVIien a political writer, in order to expose the follv of th^ does not attempt to make Lis own shoesTut buys them of' t in its Kxient w^u X^^^^^^^^^^^^ '' shall be realized but it i« Bnr«1,r ,.„;.»! Il .^'S"t "I enthusiasm and absurdity ; but It .s surelj neither enthusiasm nor absurdity to affirm, that I I'l I'ii \k Ill 136 PART I. CHAP. IV, governments are more or less perfect, in proportion to the greater or smaller number of individuals to whom they afford the means of cultivating their intellectual and moral powers, and whom they admit to live together on a liberal footing of equality ; — or even to expect, that, in proportion to the progress of reason, governments will actually approach nearer and nearer to this description. To delineate that state of political society to which governments may be expected to approach nearer and nearer as the triumphs of philosophy extend, was, I apprehend, the leading object of the earliest and most enlightened i)iitrons of the Economical system. It is a state of society, which they by no means intended to recom- mend to particular communities, as the most eligible they could adopt at present ; but as an ideal order of things, to which they have a tendency of themselves to approach, and to which it ought to be the aim of the legislator to facilitate their progress. In the language of mathematicians, it forms a limit to the progressive improvement of the political order; and, in the mean time, it exhibits a standard of comparison, by which the excellence of particular institutions may be estimated. According to the view which has now been given of the Econo- mical system, its principles appear highly favourable to the tran- quillity of society ; inasmuch as, by inspiring us with a confidence in the triumph which truth and liberty must infallibly gain in the end over error and injustice, it has a tendency to discourage every plan of innovation which is to be supported by violence and blood- shed. And, accordingly, sucli has always been the language of those who were best accjuainted with the views of its authors. " If we attack oppressors, before we have taught the oppressed," (says one of the ablest of its present* supporters, M. Condorcet,) " we shall risk the loss of liberty, and rouse them to oppose the progress of reason. History affords proofs of this truth. How often, in spite of the efforts of the friends of freedom, has the event of a single battle reduced nations to the slavery of ages ! " And what is the kind of liberty enjoyed by those nations, which have recovered it by force of arms, and not by the influence of philosophy? Have not most of them confounded the forms of republicanism with the enjoyment of right, and the despotism of numbers with liberty ? How many laws contrary to the rights of nature have dishonoured the code of every people which has re- covered its freedom, during those ages in whicli reason was still in its infancy I ** Why not profit by this fatal experience, and wisely wait the progress of knowledge, in order to obtain freedom more effectual, more substantial, and more peaceful ? Why pursue it by blood and inevitable confusion, and trust that to chance, which time must certainly, and without bloodshed, bestow ? A fortunate struggle * Thi> passage was written in 1792, only two years before the persecution of hia eneniieb had «Irivt'n Condorcot to the misprahte alternative of self-dcstniction. OF ABSTRACTION. l.T may, mdeed, relieve us of many grievances under which we labour at present ; but if we wish to secure the perfection, and the perman- ence of freedom, we must patiently wait the period when men emancipated from their prejudices, and guided bv philosophy shall be rendered worthy of liberty, by comprehending its claims.'"* Nor is it the employment of violent and sanguinary means alone in order to accomplish political innovations, that this enlio-htened and humane philosophy has a tendency to discourage. By extend mg our views to the whole plan of civil *cietv,and showing us the mutual relations and dependencies of its most distant parts it cannot fail to check that indiscriminate zeal against established institutions, which arises from partial views of the social system • as well as to produce a certain degree of scepticism with respect to every change, the success of which is not insured by the pre- vailing ideas and manners of the age. Sanguine and inconsiderate projects of reformation are frequently the offspring of clear and argumentative and systematical understandings; but rarely of coini)rehensive minds. For checking them, indeed, nothing is so effectual as a general survey of the complicated structure of .society. Even although such a survey should be superficial, pro- vided It be conducted on an extensive scale, it is more useful, at least, for this purpose, than the most minute and successful inqui- ries, which are circumscribed within a narrow circle. If it should teach us nothing else, it will at least satisfy us of the extreme diffi- culty of predicting, with confidence, the remote effects of new arrangements ; and that the perfection of political wisdom consists not in encumbering the machine of government with new contriv- ances to obviate every partial inconvenience, but in removing gradually, and imperceptibly, the obstacles which disturb the order of nature, and, as Mr. Addison somewhere expresses it, " in o-raftino- upon her institutions." ^ ^ When the Economical system, indeed, is first presented to the mind, and when we compare the perfection which it exhibits, with the actual state of human affairs, it is by no means unnatural', that it should suggest plans of reformation too violent and sudden to be practicable. A more complete acquaintance, however, with the subject, will effectually cure these first impressions, by pointino- out to us the mischiefs to be apprehended from an injudicious coni^ bination of theoretical perfection with our established laws, preju- dices, and manners. As the various unnatural modes and habits of living, to which the bodily constitution is gradually reconciled by a course of luxurious indulgences, have such a tendency to correct each other's effects, as to render a partial return to a more simple regimen, a dangerous, and, sometimes, a fatal experiment ; so it is * To some of my readers it may appear trifling to remark, that, in availing mvself of an occasional coincidence of sentiment with a contemporary author, I would no't be understood to become responsible for the consistency of his personal conduct with his philosophical principles, nor to subscribe to any one of his opinions, but those to which 1 have expressed my assent by in<-nrpor.t' Natural and Essential Order of PoHt cal Xc^^^^^^^^^ treatise on "The attract some notice in this country, from he rrafsewhiS. Mr ^^'.^^f ^^^^P^^^^d to the perspicuity of his style, and the^chstinctneLXs a^^ng^^^^^^^^ *^" ^^^^^^^ ^ of '^::^:^t^:^^ enthusiast.A^^^^^^^^ to the doctrines no less ardent in ointZtiStT.hl *''.*".'7»'' distinguished themselves by enthnsiasm afford, aTaddiUoni'Tl uZt on of HrSl ""'71'^ f\^"' «""»«S' "■" '>«' ""'^ .olid foundation for po it cTeonstenCT is a wf ^f '^' i "I"=™"<». ">»» the most natural and easy of all transitions rfro^tit lilT "'■»'"''=,'•»''»•'. ^-d «••«« 'he most Uiose of «,olher.-(Note tu sZ.d EdiTion ) " ""^ "■""««"« "^"-e """-"e to wi V n ;l" ¥ '• \l n \\\ 140 PAUT I. CHAP. IV no fartlirr, or some unforeseen calamity has occurred, which has obliterated, for a time, all memory of former improvements, and has condemned mankind to retrace, step by step, the same path by which their forefathers had risen to greatness. In a word, on such a retrospective view of human affairs, man appears to be the mere sport of fortune and of accident, or rather, he appears to be doomed, by the condition of his nature, to run alternately the career of improvement and of degeneracy, and to realise the beautiful but melancholy fable of Sisyphus, by an eternal renovation of hope and of disappointment. [In opposition to these discouraging views of the state and pro- spects of man, it may be remarked in general, that in the course of these latter ages, a variety of events have happened in the history of the world, which render the condition of the human race essentially different from what it ever was among the nations of antirjuitij ; and which, of consequence, render all our reasonings concerning their future fortunes, in so far as they are founded merelv on their past experi(?nce, un philosophical and inconclusive.] The alterations whicli have taken place in the art of war, in consequence of the invention of fire-arms, and of the modern science of fortification, have given to civilized nations a security against the irruptions of barbarians, which they never before possessed. The more extended, and the more constant intercourse, which the improvements in commerce and in the art of navigation have opened, among the distant quarters of the globe, cannot fail to operate in undermining local and national prejudices, and in imparting to the whole specie's the intellectual acquisitions of each particular community. The accuniulated experience of ages has already taught the rulers of mankind, that the most fruitful and the mos't permanent sources of revenue are to be derived, not from conquered and tributary pro- vmces, but from the internal prosperity and wealth of their own subjects : and the same experience now begins to teach nations, that the increase of their own wealth, so far from depending on the poverty and depression of their neighbours, is intimately connected with their industry and opulence; and consequently, that those commercial jealousies, which have hitherto been so fertile a source of animosity among different states, are founded entirely on igno- rance and prejudice. Among all the circumstances, however, which distinguish the present state of mankind from tliat of ancient nations, the invention of printing is by far the most important ; and, indeed, this single event, independently of every other, is sufficient to change the whole course of human affairs. The influence which printing is likely to have on the future history of the world, has not, I think, been hitherto examined, by philosophers, with the attention which the importance of the subject deserves. One reason for this may, probably, have been, that, as the invention has never been made but once, it has been considered rather as the effect of a fortunate accident, than as the result of ,1 OF ABSTll ACTION-. HI those general causes on which the progress of society seems to depend. But it may be reasonably questioned how far this idea be just. For, although it should be allowed, that the invention of printing was accidental, with respect to the individual who made it. It may with truth be considered as the natural result of a state of the world, when a number of great and contiguous nations are all engaged in the study of literature, in the pursuit of science, and in the practice of the arts : insomuch, that 1 do not think it extrava- gant to affirm, that if this invention had not been made by the particular person to whom it is ascribed, the same art, or some analoi^ous art, answering a similar purpose, would have infallibly been invented by some other person, and at no very distant period. 1 he art of printing, therefore, is entitled to be considered as a step m the natural history of man. no less than the art of writing ; and they who are sceptical about the future progress of the race, merely in consequence of its past history, reason as unphilosophically as the member of a savage tribe, who, deriving his own acquaintance with former times from oral tradition only, should affect to call in question the efficacy of written records, in accelerating the progress of knowledge and of civilization. What will be the particular effects of this invention, (which has been, hitherto, much checked in its operation, by the restraints on the liberty of the press in the greater part of Europe,) it is beyond the reach of human sagacity to conjecture ; but, in general, we may venture to predict with confidence that, in every country it will gradually operate to widen the circle of science and civilization ; to distribute more equally, among all the members of the community , tne advantages of the political union; and to enlarge the basis of equitable governments, by increasing the number of those who understand their value, and are interested to defend them. The sciance of legislation, too, with all the other branches of knowledge which are connected with human improvement, may be expected to advance with rapidity ; and, in proportion as the opinions and institutions of men approach to truth and to justice, they will be secured against those revolutions to which human affairs have always been hitherto subject. Opiuionum enim commenta delet dies, natures judicia confirmat.* The revolutions incident to the democratical states of antiquity furnish nc solid objection to the foregoing observations ; for none of these states enjoyed the advantages which modern times derive from the diffusion, and from the rapid circulation, of knowledge. In these states, most of the revolutions which happened arose from the struggles of demagogues, who employed the passions of the multitude, in subserviency to their own interest and am- bition ; and to all of them the ingenious and striking remark of Hobbes will be found applicable ; that " Democracy is nothing but * "For time destroys the speculations of opinion, and confirms the decisions of nature. ' I .1} 11 ■■ii 142 PART I. CHAP. IV. an aristocracy of orators, interrupted sometimes by the temporary monarchy of a single orator." While this continued to be the case, democratical constitutions were, undoubtedly, the most unfavourable of any to the tranquillity of mankind ; and the only way to preserve the order of society was, by skilfully balancing aj^ainst each other, the prejudices and the separate interests of different orders of citizens. That such balances, however, will every day beconje less necessary for checking the turbulence of the deinocratical spirit in free gov(>rnTnents, appears probable from this; that among the various advantages to be expected from the liberty of the press, one of the greatest is, the effect which it must necessarily have in diminishing the influence of popular eloquence; both by curimr men of those prejudices upon which it operates, and by subjectin'' it to the irresistible control of enlightened opinions. In the llepub^ lican states of antiquity, the eloquence of demagogues was indeed a dangerous engine of faction, while it aspired to govern nations by its unlimited sway in directing j)opular councils. But, now, when the effusions of the orator are, by means of the press, sub- jected to the immediate tribunal of an inquisitive age, the eloquence of legislative assemblies is forced to borrow its tone from the spirit of the times ; and if it retain its ascendant in human affairs, it can only be by lending its aid to the prevailing cause, and to the per- manent interests of truth and of freedom. Of the progress which may yet be made in the different branchea of moral and political philosophy, we may form some idea, from what has already happened in physics, since the time that Lord Bacon united, in one useful direction, the labours of those who cultivate that science. At the period when he wrote, physics was certainly in a more hopeless state, than that of moral and political philosophy in the present age. A perpetual succession of chimeri- cal theories had, till then, amused the world ; and the prevailing' opinion was, that the case would continue to be the same for ever! Why then should we despair of the competency of the human facul- ties to establish solid and permanent systems, upon other subjects, which are of still more serious importance ? Physics, it is true, is free from many difficulties which obstruct our progress in moral and political inquiries ; but, perhaps, this advantage may be more than counterbalanced, by the tendency they have to engage a more universal, and a more earnest attention, in consequence of their coming home more immediately to our " business and our bosoms." AThen these sciences too begin to be prosecuted on a regular and systematical plan, their improvement will goon with an accelerated velocity; not only as the number of speculative minds will be every day increased by the diffusion of knowledge, but as an acquaintance with the just rules of inquiry will more and more place imnortant discoveries within the reach of ordinary understandings. " Such rules," says Lord Bacon, " do, in some sort, ef|ual men's wits, and leave no great advantage or pre-eminence to the perfect and excel- I OF ABSTRACTION. 143 lent motions of the spirit. fiCifTo draw a straight line, or to de- scribe a circle, by aim of hand only, there must be a great differ- ence between an unsteady and an unpractised hand, and a steady and practised ; but, to do it by rule or compass, it is much alike.'*" [Nor must we omit to mention the value which the art of printing communicates to the most limited exertions of literary industry bv treasuring them up as materials for the future examination of more enlightened inquirers. In this respect the press bestows upon the sciences an advantage somewhat analogous to that which the mechanical arts derive from the division of labour.] As in these arts, the exertions of an uninformed multitude, are united bv the comprehensive skill of the artist, in the accomplishment of effects astonishing by their magnitude, and bv the complicated increnuity they display; so, in the sciences, the observations and confectures of obscure individuals on those subjects which are level to their capacities, and which fall under their own immediate notice accu- mulate for a course of years ; till at last, some philosopher arises who combmes these scattered materials, and exhibits, in his system' not merely the force of a single mind, but the intellectual power of the age in which he lives. It is upon these last considerations, much more than on the efforts of original genius, that I would rest my hopes of the procuress of the race. W hat genius alone could accomplish in science^ the world has already seen : and I am ready to subscribe to the opinion of those who think, that the splendour of its past exertions is not likely to be obscured by the fame of future philosophers But the experiment yet remains to be tried, what lights may be thrown on the most important of all subjects, by the free discussions of inquisitive nations, unfettered by prejudice, and stimulated in their inquiries by every motive that can awaken whatever is either gt.ierous or selfish in human nature. How trifling are the effects which the bodily strength of an individual is able to'^produce, (how- ever great may be his natural endowments,) when compared with those which have been accomplished by the conspiring force of an ordinary multitude ! Udf It was not the single arm of a Theseus, or a Hercules, but the hands of such men as ourselves, that, in ancient Egypt, raised those monuments of architecture, which remain from age to age, to attest the wonders of combined and of per^everino- industry-; and, while they humble the importance of the individuaf to exalt the dignity, and to animate the labours of the species. ' These views with respect to the probable improvement of the world, are so conducive to the comfort of those who entertain them that even, although they were founded in delusion, a wise man would be disj>osed to cherish them. What should have induced some respectable writers to controvert them, with so great an a*;perity of expression, it is not easv to conjecture ; for whatever inay be thought of their truth, their practical tendency is surely favourable to human happiness ; nor can that temper of mind, which rl ii f I it f 144 PART I. CliAP. IV. disposes a man to give them a welcome reception, be candidly sus- pected of designs hostile to the interests of humanity. One thing is certain, that the greatest of all obstacles to the improvement of the world, is that prevailing belief of its improbability, which damps the exertions of so many individuals; and that in proportion as the contrary opinion becomes general, it realises the event which it leads us to anticipate. Surely, if anything can have a tendency to call forth in the public service the exertions of individuals, it must be an idea of the magnitude of that work in which they are con- spiring, and a belief of the permanence of those benefits, which they confer on mankind by every attempt to inform and to enlio-hten them. As in ancient Rome, therefore, it was regarded as the mark of a good citizen, never to despair of the fortunes of the republic ; — so the good citizen of the world, whatever may be the political aspect of his own times, will never despair of the fortunes of the human race; but will act upon the conviction, that prejudice, slavery, and corruption, must gradually give way to truth, liberty] and virtue; and that, in the moral world, as well as in the material,' the farther our observations extend, and the longer they are con- tinued, the more we shall perceive of order and of benevolent dcsi^^n in the universe. ° Nor is this change in the condition of man, in consequence of the progress of reason, by any means contrary to the general analogy of his natural history. In the infancy of the individual, his exist- ence is preserved by instincts, which disaj)pear afterwards, when they are no longer necessar}\ In tlie savage state of our species, there are instincts which seem to form a part of the human consti- tution: and of which no traces remain in those periods of society in which their use is superseded by a more enlarged experience. Why then should we deny the probability of something similar to this, in the history of mankind considered in their political capacity 'i I have already had occasion to observe, that the governments which the world has hitherto seen, have seldom or never taken their rise from deep-laid schemes of human policy. In every state of society which has yet existed, the multitude has, in general, acted from the immediate impulse of passion, or from the pressure of their wants and necessities ; and therefore, what we commonly call the political order, is at least in a great measure, the result of the passions and wants of man, combined with the circumstances of his situation • or, in other words, it is chiefly the result of the wisdom of nature! So beautifully, indeed, do these passions and circumstances act in subserviency to her designs, and so invariably have they been found in the history of past ages, to conduct him in time to certain bene- ficial arrangements, that we can hardly bring ourselves to believe, that the end was not foreseen by those who were enga^'ed in the pursuit. Even in those rude periods of society, when, like the lower animals, he follows blindly his instinctive principles' of action he is led by an invisible hand, and contributes his share to the OF ABST/iACTlON. 14,'J execution of a plan, of the nature and advantages of which he has no conception. |^- The operations of the bee, when it begins for the first time, to form its cell, conveys to us a striking image of the ettorts of unenlightened man, in conducting the operations of an mfant government. A great variety of prejudices might be mentioned, which are tound to prevad universally among our species in certain periods of society, and which seem to be essentially necessary for maintaining Its order, m ages when men are unable to comprehend the purposes tor which governments are instituted. As society advances, these prejudices gradually lose their influence on the higher classes and would probably soon disappear altogether, if it were not found expedient to prolong their existence, as a source of authority over the multitude. In an age, however, of universal and of unrestrained discussion, It is impossible that they can long maintain their empire • nor ought we to regret their decline, if the important ends to which they have been subservient in the past experience of mankind, are found to be accomplished by the growing light of philosophy. On this supposition, a history of human prejudices, as far as they have supplied the place of more enlarged political views, may, at some future period, furnish to the philosopher a subject of speculation no less pleasing and instructive, than the beneficent wisdom of nature, which guides the operations of the lower animals ; and which even in our own species, takes upon itself the care of the individual in the infancy of human reason. I have only to observe farther, that, in proportion as these prospects with respect to the progress of reason, the diffusion ot knowledge, and the consequent improvement of mankind shall be realised, the political history of the worid will be regu- lated by steady and uniform causes,'and the philosopher will be Ciiabled to form probable conjectures with respect to the future course of human affairs. It is justly remarked by Mr. Hume, that *' what depends on a few persons is, in a great measure, to be ascribed to chance, or secret and unknown causes: what arises from a great number, may often be accounted for by determinate and known causes.' To judge by this rule," he continues, " the domestic and the gradual revolutions of a state must be a more proper object of reasoning and observation, than the foreign and the violent, which are com- monly produced by single persons, and are more influenced hj whim folly, or caprice, than by general passions and interests. I he depression of the Lords, and rise of the Commons, in England, after the statutes of alienation and the increase of trade and industry, are more easily accounted for by general principles, than the depression of the Spanish, and rise of the French monarchv, after the death of Charies the Fifth. Had Harry the Fourth, Cardinal Richelieu, and Louis the Fourteenth, been Spaniards ; and Phihp the Second, Third, and Fourth, and Charies the I ■«i 11 /'' m ii! CHAP. IV. 146 PART I. Second, been Frencbnien ; the history of these nations had been entirely reversed." From these principles, it would seem to be a necessary conse- quence, that, in proportion as the circumstances shall operate which I have been endeavouring to illustrate, the whole system of human affairs, including both the domestic order of society in particular states, and the relations which exist among different communities, in consequence of war and negotiation, will be sub- jected to the influence of causes which are " known and deter- minate." Those domestic affairs, which, according to Mr. Hume, are already proper subjects of reasoning and observation, in con- sequence of their dependence on general interests and passions, will become so, more and more, daily, as prejudices shall decline, and knowledge shall be diffused among the lower orders ; while the relations among different states, which have depended hitherto, in a great measure, on the " whim, folly, and caprice'* of single persons, will be gradually more and more regulated by the general interests of the individuals who compose them, and by the popular opinions of more enlightened times. Already, during the very short interval which has elapsed since the publication of Mr. Hume's writings, an astonishing change has taken place in Europe ; the mysteries of courts have been laid open ; the influence of secret negotiation on the relative situation of states has declined ; and the studies of those men whose public spirit or ambition devotes them to the service of their country, have been diverted from the intrigues of cabinets, and the details of the diplomatic code, to the liberal and manly pursuits of political philosophy. CHAPTER V. OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. The subject on which I am now to enter, naturally divides itself into two Parts. The First, (which is treated of in this Chapter,) relates to the influence of Association, in regulating the succession of our thoughts ; the Second, (which forms the subject of Chapter VI.,) to its influence on the intellectual powers, and on the moral character, by the more intimate and indissoluble combinations which it leads us to form in infancy and in early youth. The two inquiries, indeed, run into each other ; but it will contribute much to the order of our speculations, to keep the foregoing arrangement in view. FLRST; — OP THE INPLUBNCE OF ASSOCIATION IN REGULATING THE SUCCESSION OF OUR THOUGHTS. I. General Observations on this Part of our Constitution, and on the Language of Philosophers with respect to it, — That one thought is I !1 or THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 147 often suggested to the mind by another; and that the sight of an external object often recalls former occurrences, and reviws former tfZ'rfT ""^'^^ "^ P^'-'"^'=*ly familiar even tolhose X their nature ^7^ to speculate concerning the princi;Lr of their nature. ^ I„ passing along a road whicli we have fonnerlv trave led m the company of a friend, the particulars of h" con to^, ^v^i."''^•'^^" "''^ '^'^ ^"^'-^Sed, are frequently suggested o us by the objects wo meet with. In such a scene, we rSect that a particular subject was started ; and, in passing the diffo ent houses, and plantations, and rivers, the arguments" we wire dTs cuss.ng when we last saw them, recur spontanSousiy to the memory The connexion which is formed in the mind between the w^ds^f a language and the deas they denote ; the connexion ZS is formed between the different words of a discourse we have com mitted to memory; the connexion between the different notes^f instances of the same general law of our nature. Ihe mfluence of perceptible objects in reviving former tlioughts and former feehngs, is more particularly remarkable. After rime has, in some degree, reconciled us to the death of a friend how hMf^yrt^^""'''^ "" *f ''""^"^ ^"*- tl- housed he hved! Lverythmg we see; the apartment where he studied- the chair upon wh.cli he sat, recall to us the happiness we have enjoyed together; and we should feel it a sort of violation of that respect we owe to his memory, to engage in any light or indifferent discourse when such objects are before us. In "the case, too of those remarkable scenes which interest the curiosity, from the memorable persons or transactions which we have been accustomed to connect with them in the course of our studies, the fancy Is more awakened by the actual perception of the sceM itself, than by the mere conception or imagination of it. Hence the pleasure we enjoy m visiting classical ground ; in beholding the retreats which nspired the genius of our favourite authors, or the fields whch have been dignified by exertions of heroic virtue. How feeble are the emotions produced by the liveliest conception of modern ItaTy to what the poet felt, when, amidst the ruins of Rome, ^' " lie drew tli' inspiring hreath of ancient arts. And (rod the sacred walks \Miere, at each step, imagination bums !"* The well-known effect of a particular tune on Swiss regiments when at a distance from home, furnishes a very striking illustration of the peculiar ,,ower of a perception, or of an impression on he senses, to awaken associated thoughts and feelings; Ind numberless fects of a simdar nature must have occurred to every person of moderate sensibility, m the course of his own experience. * "Quacunque ingrediraur," says Cicero, speakine of Athens " it, Mn.,.rr. y.:, ■ vestigium iionimiis." [Wherever we to we nhiTv. „nr L.^ 7 aliquara historiam with histor..] ^' ^ footsteps on something associated h 2 fl'li /■i/. 11 |lii' P" 148 PART I. CHAP- V. " Whilst we were at dinner," says Captain King, "in this miser- able hut, on the banks of the river Awatska, the guests of a people with whose existence we had before been scarce acquainted, and at the extremity of the habitable globe ; a solitary, half-worn pewter spoon, whose shape was famihar to us, attracted our attention : and, on examination, we found it stamped on the back with the word London. I cannot pass over this circumstance in silence, out of gratitude for the many pleasant thoughts, the anxious hopes, and tender remembrances, it excited in us. Those who have expe- rienced the effects that long absence, and extreme distance from their native country, produce on the mind, will readily conceive the pleasure such a tritiing incident can give.'* The difference between the effect of a perception and an idea, in awakening associated thoughts and feelings, is finely described in the introduction to the fifth book De Finibus. " We agreed," says Cicero, " that we should take our afternoon's walk in the Academy, as at that time of the day it was a place where there was no resort of company. Accordingly, at the hour appointed we went to Piso's. We passed the time in conversing on different matters during our short walk from the double gate, till we came to the Academy, that justly celebrated spot; which, as we wished, we found a perfect solitude. 1 know not," said Piso, " whether it be a natural feeling, or an illusion of the imagination founded on habit, that we are more powerfully affected by the sight of those places which have been much frequented by illustrious men, than when we either listen to the recital, or read the detail, of their great actions. At this moment, I feel strongly that emo- tion which I speak of. I see before me, the perfect form of Plato, who was wont to dispute in this very place : these gardens not only recall him to my memory, but present his very person to my senses. I fancy to myself, that here stood Speusippus; there Xenocrates, and here, on this bench, sat his disciple Polemo. To me, our ancient Senate-house seems peopled with the like visionary forms ; for, oflen, when I enter it, the shades of Scipio, of Cato, and of Laelius, and, in particular, of my venerable grandfather, rise to my imagination. In short, such is the effect of local situation in recalling associated ideas to the mind, that it is not without reason some philosophers have founded on this principle a species of artificial memory." This influence of perceptible objects, in awakening associated thoughts and associated feelings, seems to arise, in a great measure, from their permanent operation as exciting or suggesting causes. When a train of thought takes its rise from an idea or conception, the first idea soon disappears, and a series of others succeeds, which are gradually less and less related to that with which the train com- menced ; but in the case of perception, the exciting cause remains steadily before us ; and all the thoughts and feelings which have any relation to it, crowd into the mind in rapid succession ; OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 149 etrengthoning each other's effects, and all conspiiing in the same general impression. ' ^ ™® I already observed that the connexions which exist anonff our houghts, have been long familiarly known to the vulc^ar as wf 11 as philosophers. It is, indeed, only of late that we have bLTpos i^JZT:^^^^^ ''' '^^'^'^ *^--^ but thatX general fact is not a recent discovery, may be inferred from minv o the common maxims of prudence ;nd of proprTety whichZve tion When we Jay it down, for example, as a general rule to avoid „, conversation all expressions, and all topiL of discourse ..hich have any relation, however remote, toideas of an unpirsanj nature, we plainly proceed on the supposilion that there Te ceS ordTofT -'"""^ °'!' "'*"i^'"^' '^»''''' ^^'---^ inttuencHver the of tL oSnlf *r'T""-. I' '' »n°««essary to remark, how much ri, , .?• ' ''"flgoo.'l-humour of social life depends on an at- Sa in "Vint r '"'"°- .^'^'^ *"^"»'^"^ '''' '"-^ P'»'-t'-«""-ly essential in our intercourse with men of the world ; for the com merce of society has a wonderful effect in increasing the qu'cknm and the facility with which we associate all ideas which 1"™ "itfZTl r'^'r^ ™""""* '* °"'^' *"■ -consequence, km ust render the sensibility alive to many circumstances which, from the remote- ness of their relation to the skuation and history of the panks would otherwise have passed unnoticed. ^ ^ ' rf„.I ? 1" ;dea, however, is thus suggested by association, it pro- mor^ /radulnv'thZif'r"' ""'' '' ^'"'''J' ^''^'"'^ '*« -P~" Ttdv to the '.nSr A 7u ^'"'"''l^^ ™°'"" •^'••^•'^ and imme- aiateiy to he mind. And hence, when we are under a necessitv of communicating any disagreeable information to ano7her deS e„ds us, instead of mentioning the thing itself, to mentkin ome^- i Z" ' ^''"^ ''''"''' "T" ""^^"'"^ "'«y be understood In t^il manner we prepare our hearers for the unwelcome intelligence 1 he distinction between gross and delicate flattery founded upon the same principle. As nothing is more offensive than flit tcry w uch is direct and pointed, praife is consfdered as hippy and [To this tendency which one thought has to introduce another nl.i Totirwisr" '•";"'"" °''''^ ^•'*'"^^''- '/^C -S 1 would not wish, excepting m a case of necessity, to depart from common language, or to expose myself to the chLe of ddiveS old doctrines ,n a new form. I shall continue to mlike use ofThf lion. Tlio^e triflinrrii^,.'„^/ ' "" °^ "'" ' »' view of a character, on that vcr, °X wherT^t ;« «, ' !^ f"f «»"y «i™ him a distinet observation. si'PIwsed to be most concealed from liis m ! . i .;•! ( 150 PART I. CHAP. V. same expression.] I am sensible, indeed, tliat the expression is by no means unexceptionable ; and that, if it be used, as it frequently has been, to comprehend those laws by which the succession of all our thoughts and of all our mental operations is regulated, the word idea must be understood in a sense much more extensive than it is commonly employed in. It is very justly remarked by Dr. Reid, that ''memory, judgment, reasoning, passions, affections, and pur- poses ; in a ^vord, every operation of the mind, excepting those of sense, is excited occasionally in the train of our thoughts ; so that, if we make the train of our thouglits to be only a train of ideas, the word idea must be understood to denote all these operations." In continuing, therefore, to employ, upon this subject, that language, which has been consecrated by the practice of our best philosophical writers in England, I would not be understood to dispute the ad- vantages which might be derived from the introduction of a new phrase, more precise and more applicable to the fact. I The ingenious author whom I last quoted, seems to think that the association of ideas has no claim to be considered as an original principle, or as an ultimate fact in our nature. " 1 believe," says he, " that 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 frequent repetition have become familiar, should spontaneously offer them- selves to our fancy, seems to require no other original quality but the power of habit." f With this observation I cannot agree ; because I think it mort; philosophical to resolve the power of habit into the association of ideas, than to resolve the association of ideas into habit. [The word habit, in the sense in which it is commonly employed, expresses tliat facility which the mind acquires, in all its exertions, both animal and intellectual, in consequence of practice. We apj)ly it to the dexterity of the workman : to the extemporary fluency of the orator ; to the rapidity of the arithmetical accountant. That this facility is the effect of practice, we know from experience to be a fact; but it doas not seem to be an nltimate fact, nor incapable of analysis.] In the Essay on Attention, I showed that the effects of practice are produced partly on the body, and partly on the mind. The muscles which we employ in mechanical operations, become stronger, and become more obedient to the will. This is a fact, of which it is probable that philosophy will never be able to crive any explanation. But even in mechanical operations, the effects of practice are produced partly on the mind ; and, as far as this is the case, they are resolvable into what philosoj)hers call the association of ideas; or into that general fact, which Dr. Beid himself has stated, "that trains of thinking, which by frcffuent repetition have become OF THK ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 151 famdiar, spontaneously otter themselves to the mind." In the case of habits which are purely intellectual, the effects of practice resolve themselves completely into this principle : and it appears to me more precise and more satisfactory, to state the principle itself as a avy of our constitution, than to slur it over under the concise appel- lation of habit, which we apply in common to mind and to body 1 he tendency m the human mind to associate or connect its thoughts together, is sometimes called, but very improperly, the memnation. Between these two parts of our constitution, there is indeed, a very mtimate relation ; and it is probably owin^ to this relation, that tliey have been so generally confounded under the same name. \\ hen the mind is occupied about absent objects of sense, (which, I behe^ve, it is habitually in the great majority of mankind,) its tram of thought is merely a series of conceptions • or in common language, of imaginations.=^ In the case, too, of poetical imagination. It is tlie association of ideas that supplies the materials out of whicu its combinations are formed ; and when such an imaein- ary combination is become familiar to the mind, it is the association of Ideas that connects its different parts together, and unites them into one whole Ihe association of ideas, therefore, although per- fectly distinct from the power of imagination, is immediately and essentially subservient to all its exertions. The last observation seems to me to point out, also, the circum- stance which has led the greater part of English writers to use th^ words imagination and fancy as synonymous. It is obvious that a creative imagination, when a person possesses it so habitually that It may be regarded as forming one of the characteristics of his genius, implies a power of summoning up, at pleasure, a particular class of Ideas ; and of ideas related to each other, in a particular manner; which power can be the result only of certain habits of association which the individual has acquired. It is to this power of the mind, which is evidently a particular turn of thought, and not one of the common principles of our nature, that our best writers (so far as I am able tx) judge) refer, in general, when they make use of the word fancy: I say, in general ; for in disquisitions of this sort m which the best writers are seldom precise and steady in the employment of words, it is only to their prevailing practice that we can appeal as an authority. What the particular relations are, by which those ideas are connected that are subservient to poetical imagination, I shall not inquire at present. I think they are chiefly those of resemblance and analogy. But whatever they may be, the power of summoning up at pleasure the ideas so related as It is the ground-work of poetical genius, is of sufficient importance m the human constitution to deserve an appropriated name; and, * Accordingly, llobbcs calls the train of thought in the mind, " Consequentia sivJ sones ,mag.uat.onum." 'Per senem iniaginationum intelligo successionemlniu cori- tatiouis ad aliam. ' — Leviathaii, cap. iii. » [A succession or series of ima^natinn.s. By a scries of imaginations, I mean one thought snccccdiiict to another.] ° ' fW tl ' I i 'il Il 152 TART I, CHAP. V. for this purpose, the word fancy would appear to be the most con- venient that our language affords. Dr. Reid has somewhere observed, that " the part of our con- stitution on which the association of ideas depends, was called, by the older Eng;lish writers, the fantasy ov fancy ;'* an use of the word, we may remark, which comcides, in many instances, with that which I propose to make of it. It differs from it only in this, that these writers applied it to the association of ideas in general, whereas I restrict its application to that habit of association, which is subservient to poetical imagination. According to the exj)lanation which has now been given of the word fancy, the office of this power is to collect materials for the imagination; and, therefore, the latter power presupposes the former, while the former does not necessarilv suppose the latter. A • man whose habits of association present to liim, for illustrating or embellishing a subject, a number of resembling, or of analogous ideas, we call a man of fancy ; but for an effort of imagination, various other powers are necessary, particularly the powers of taste and of judgment ; without which, wo can hope to produce nothing ' that will be a source of pleasure to others. It is the power of fancy which supplies the poet with metaphorical language, and with all the analogies which are the foundation of his allusions : but it is the power of imagination tliat creates the complex scenes he describes, and the fictitious characters he delineates. To fancy, we apply the epithets of rich or luxuriant ; to imagination, those of beautiful or sublime. II. Of the Principles of Association among our Ideas, — The facts which I stated in the former section to illustrate the tendency of a perception, or of an idea, to suggest ideas related to it, are so obvious as to be matter of common remark. But the relations which con- nect all our thoughts together, and the laws which regulate their succession, were but little attended to before the publication of Mr. Hume's writings. It is well known to those who are in the least conversant with the present state of metaphysical science, that [this eminent writer has attempted to reduce all the principles of association among our ideas to three : resemblance, contiguity, in time and place, and cause and effect. The attempt was great, and worthy of his genius ; but it has !)•*.. M shown by several writers since his time,* that his * See, in particular. Lord Kaimes's Elements of Criticism, and Dr. Gerard's Essay on Genius. — See also Dr. Campbell's Philosophy of Rhetoric, vol. i. p. 197. It is observed by Dr. Bcattic, that something like an attempt to entimerate the laws of association is to be found in Aristotle, who, in si)eaking of recollection, insinuates, with his usual brevity, that " the relations, by which we are led from one thought to another, in tracing out, or hunting after" as he calls it, " any particular thought wliici does not immediately occur, are chiefly three, resemblance, contrariety, and contiguity.** See Dissertations, Moral and Critical, p. 9; also p. 14r». The passage to which Dr. Beat tie refers, is as follows : — 'Orav ovv (ifa iiifivriv irpoTipiav riva KivtjnKjjp, iutQ av mvTjOw^fv, fJL'i) lit iKtiVi] tiioOt. Aio «:.»» to tip^^iji^ Otjpivofitv voiirTuvrtQ nwo OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 153 enumeration is not only incomplete, but that it is even indistinct as tar as it goes.] * It is not necessary for my present purpose, that I should enter into a cntical examination of this part of Mr. Hume's system • or that I should attempt to specify those principles of association which he has omitted. Indeed, it does not seem to me, that the problem admits of a satisfactory solution ; for there is no possible relation among the objects of our knowledge, which may not serve to connect them together in the mind ; and, therefore, although one enumeration may be more comprehensive than another a perfectly complete enumeration is scarcely to be expected. Nor IS it merely in consequence of the relations among things, that our notions of them are associated: they are frequentlv coupled together by means of relations among the words which denote them ; such as a similarity of sound, or other circum- stances still more trifling. The alliteration which is so common in poetry, and m proverbial sayings, seems to arise, partly at least, from associations of ideas founded on the accidental circum- stance of the two words which express them bemnninff with the same letter. o & ^ " But thousands die, without or this or that. Die, and endow a college or a cat."— Pope's Ep. to Lord Bathurst. " Ward tried, on puppies, and the poor, his drop." -Id. hnitat. of Horace. " Puffs, powders, patches ; bibles, biUets-doux."— Rape of the Lock. This indeed pleases only on slight occasions, when it may be supposed that the mind is in some degree playful, and under the intiuence of those principles of association which commonly take place when we are careless and disengaged. Every person must be offended with the second line of the following couplet which forms part of a very sublime description of the Divine power: " Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart."— Essay on Man, Ep. i. To these observations, it may be added, that things which have no known relation to each other are often associated, in consequence of their producing similar effects on the mind. Some of the finest poetical allusions are founded on this principle ; and accordingly if the reader is not possessed of sensibility congenial to that of the poet, he will be apt to overiook their meaning, or to censure them as absurd. To such a critic it would not be easy to vindicate tlie r/.u rvv. t) nWaif rivoc, rat a^' 6fioiov, t) IvnvTinv, i, tov avvtyyvg. ^lo rovro >ii'trat rj ai^a/i if, (rt^.—Aristot. de Memor. et Ileminisc, vol. i. p. 681., edit. Du Val [\\hen therefore we recollect, we are moved by certain former impulses until we are moved m the way that they were wont to be. On which we hunt out the consecutive tram of thought, conjecturing, from what at the moment occurred to us, or from some- thmg else, and from similarity, or from contrarictv, or from contiguity. And thus re- collect ion is effected.] "I I t»i 154 PART I. CHAP. V. V^ beauU' of the following stanza, in an ode addressed to a lady by the author of the " Seasons :" " thou, whose tender, serious eye, Expressive speaks the soul I love ; The gentle azure of the sky. The pensive shadows of the grove." I have already said, that the view of the subject which 1 propose to take, does not require a complete enumeration of our principles of association. There is, however, an important distinction among them, to which I shall have occasion frequently to refer ; and which, as far as I know, has not hitherto attracted the notice of phlosophers. The relations upon which some of them are founded, are perfectly obvious to the mind ; those which are the foundation of others, are discovered only in consequence of particular efforts of attention. Of the former kind, are the relations of resemblance and analogy, of contrariety, of vicinity in time and place, and those which arise from accidental coincidences in the sound of difterent words. These, in general, connect our thoughts together, when they are suffered to take their natural course, and when we are conscious of little or no active exertion. Of the latter kind are the relations of cause and effect, of means and end, of premises and conclusion ; and those others, which regulate the train of thought in the niind of the philoso[)her, when he is engaged in a particular investigation. It is owing to this distinction, that transitions, which would be highly offensive in philosophical writing, are the most pleasing of any in poetry. In the former species of composition, we expect to see an author lay down a distinct plan or method, and observe it rigorously ; without alh>wing himself to ramble into digressions, suggested by the accidental ideas or expressions which may occur to him in his progress. In that state of mind in which poetry is read, such digressions are not only agreeable, but necessary to the effect ; and an arrangement founded on the spontaneous and seem- ingly casual order of our thoughts, pleases more than one sugi^ested by an accurate analysis of the subject. How absurd would the long digression in praise of industry, in Thomson's " Autumn," appear, if it occurred in a j)rose essay ! a digression, however, which, in that beautiful poem, arises naturallv and insensibly from the view of a luxuriant harvest; and which as naturally leads the poet back to the point where his excursion began : — " All is ihe gift of Inihistry ; whate'or Exalts, endM»His!ies, and renders life Delightful. Pensive Winter, cheered by liim. Sits at the social fire, and happy hears Th' excluded tempest idly rave along ; His harden'd fingers deck the gamly Spring; Withoiit him Summer were an arid waste ; Nor to th* Autumnal months could thus transmit Those fnll, mature, inuueasurable stores, That waving roimd. recall my wand'ring vsong," i OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 155 In Goldsmith's " Traveller " the transitions are managed with consummate skill ; and yet how different from that logical method which would be suited to a philosophical discourse on the state of society in the different parts of Europe! Some of the finest are suggested by the associating principle of contrast. Thus, after dcbcnbing the effeminate and debased Romans, the poet proceeds to the Swiss : " My soul tuin from them — ^turn we to survey Where rougher climes a nobler race display." And, afler paintmg some defects in the manners of this gallant but uurefined people, his thoughts are led to those of the French : ** To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, I turn — and France displays her bright domain." The transition which occurs in the following lines, seems to be suggested by the accidental mention of a word ; and is certainly one of the happiest in our language : " Heavens ! how luilike their Belgic sires of old ! Hough, p(K)r, content, ungovernably bold ; War in each l)rcast, and freedom on each brow, How much unlike the sons of Britain now ! — Fired at the sound, my Genius spreads her wing,, And llicb, where Britain courts the western spring." Numberless illustrations of the same remark might be collected from the ancient poets, more particularly from the Georgics of Virgil, where the singular felicity of the transitions has attracted the notice even of those who have been the least disposed to indulge themselves in philosophical refinements concerning the principles of criticism. A celebrated instance of this kind occurs in the end of the first book ; the consideration of the weather and of its common prognostics leading the fancy, in the first place, to those more extraordinary phenomena which, according to the supersti- tious belief of the vulgar, are the forerunners of political revolu- tions ; and afterwards, to the death of Caesar, and the battles of Pharsalia and Philippi. The manner in which the poet returns to his original subject, displays that exquisite art which is to be derived only from the diligent and enlightened study of nature. '* Scilicet et tempus veniet, ciim finibus ilhs Agricola, incurvo terram molitus aratro, Exesa invenict scabru rubiginc pila ; Ant gravibus rastris iraleas pulsabit inanes, (Iraudiaque cfFossis mirabitur ossa sepiUchris."* The facility with which ideas are associated in the mind, is very different in different individuals ; a circumstance which, as 1 shall * [The time at length shall come when labViug swains. As with their ])lllow helms their heavy drags shall strike, And clash 'gainst many a sword and rusty pike; View the vast graves with horror and aiuayp, And at huge bones of giant heroes ga/.<\ Wauton, Giv/ig. i. I. 573.J m 'H I '1 '*t 156 PART 1. CHAP. V. afterwards sliow, lays the foundation of remarka])lc varieties among men, botli in respect of genius and of character. I am inclined, too, to think that, in the other sex. (probably in consequence of early education), ideas are more easily associated together than in the minds of men. Hence the hveliness of their fancy, and the superiority they possess in epistolary writing, and in those kinds of poetry, m which the principal recommendations are, ease of thought and expression. Hence, too, the facility with which they contract or lose habits, and accommodate their minds to new situations ; and I may add, the disposition they have to that species of superstition >vhich is founded on accidental combinations of circumstances. The influence which this facility of association has on the power of taste, shall be afterwards considered. ni. Of the Power lohich the Mind has over the Train of its Thoughts, — Bjr means of the association of ideas, a constant current of thoughts, if I may use the expression, is made to pass through the mind while we are awake. Sometimes the current is inter- rupted, and the thoughts diverted into a new channel, in conse- quence of the ideas suggested by other men, or of the objects of perception with which we are surrounded. So completely, how- ever, is the mind in this particular subjected to physical law's, that It has been justly observed by Lord Kaimes and others, we cannot by an effort of our will, call up any one thought; and that the train of our ideas depends on causes which operate in a manner inexplicable by us. This observation, although it has been censured as paradoxical IS almost self-evident; for to call up a particular thought, sup- poses It to be already in the mind. As I shall have frequent occasion, however, to refer to the observation afterwards I shall endeavour to obviate the only objection which, I think, can rea- sonably he urged against ft ; and which is founded on that opera- tion ot the mmd which is commonly called recollection or intentional memory. It is evident, that before we attempt to recollect the particular circumstances of any event, that event in general must have been an object of our attention. We remember the outlines of the story but cannot at first give a complete account of it. If we wish to recall these circumstances, there are only two ways in which we ' can proceed. We must either form different suppositions, and then consider which of these tallies best with the other circumstances ot the event ; or, by revolving in our mind the circumstances we remember, we must endeavour to excite the recollection of the other circumstances associated with them. The first of these pro j cesses is, properly speaking, an inference of reason, and plainlv 1 turnisties no exception to the doctrine already delivered. We have i an instance of the other mode of recollection, when we are at a loss for the beginning of a sentence in reciting a composition that we do not perfectly remember; in which case we naturally rej)eat over OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 157 two or three times, the concluding words of the preceding sentence, in order to call up the other words which used to be connected vvith them in the memory. In this instance, it is evident, that the circumsUuices we desire to remember, are not recalled to the mind in immediate consequence of an exertion of volition, but are sug- gested by some other circumstances with which they are connected independently of our will, by the laws of our constitution. Notwithstanding, however, the immediate dependence of the train of our thoughts on the laws of association, it must not be imagined that the will possesses no influence over it. This influ- ence, indeed, is not exercised directly and immediately, as we are apt to suppose, on a superficial view of the subject: but it is, nevertheless, very extensive in its eflects ; and the different degrees in which it is possessed by different individuals, constitute some of the most striking inequalities among men, in point of intellectual capacity . (1) [Of the powers which the mind possesses over the train of its thoughts, the most obvious is \i^ power of singling out amj one of them at pleasure : of detaining it ; and of making it a particular object of attention.] By doing so, we not only stop the succession that would otherwise take i)lace ; but, in consequence of our bringing to view the less obvious relations among our ideas, we frequently divert the current of our thoughts into a new channel. 1^" If, for example, when I am indolent and inactive, the name of Sir Isaac Newton accidentally occur to me, it will perhaps suggest, one after another, the names of some other eminent mathematicians and astronomers, or of some of his illustrious contemporaries and friends : and a number of them may pass in review before me, without engaging ray curiosity in any considerable degree. In a different state of mind, the name of Newton will lead my thoughts to the principal incidents of his life, and the more striking features of his character : or, if my mind be ardent and vigorous, will lead my attention to the sublime discoveries he made ; and gradually engage me in some philosophical investigation. To every object, there are others which bear obvious and striking relations ; and others, also, whose relation to it does not readily occur to us, unless we dwell upon it for some time, and place it before us in different points of view. (2) [But the principal power we possess over the train of our ' ideas, is founded on the influence which our habits of thinking have on the laws of association ; an influence which is so great, that we may oflen form a pretty shrewd judgment concerning a man's pre- vailing turn of thought, from the transitions he makes in conversa- tion or in writing.] It is well known, too, that by means of habit, a particular associating principle may be strengthened to such a degree, as to give us a command of all the different ideas in our mind, which have a certain relation to each other ; so that when w Vi i 4 158 PART I. CHAP. V. OF THE ASSOCJATION OF IDEAS. any one of the class occurs to us, we have almost a certainty that it will suggest the rest. What confidence in his own powers must a speaker possess, when lie rises without premeditation, in a popular assembly, to amuse his audience with a lively or an humorous speech ! Such a confidence, it is evident, can only arise from a long experience of the strength of particular associatin«y principles. ^ To how great a degree this part of our constitution may be influenced by habit, appears from facts which are familiar to every one. A man who has an ambition to Ixjcome a punster, seldom or never fails in the attainment of his object ; that is, he seldom or never fails in acquiring a power which other men have not, of summoning up, on a particular occasion, a number of words different from each other in meaning, and resembling each otljcr, more or less, in sound. I am inclined to think tliat even genuine wit is a habit acquired in a similar way; and that, although some indivi- duals may, from natural constitution, be more fitted than others to acquire this habit; it is founded in every case on a peculiarly strong association among certain classes of our ideas, which "-ives the person who possesses it, a command over those ideas which is denied to ordinary men. But there is no instance in which the effect of habits of association is more remarkable than in those men who possess a facility of rhyming. That a man should be able to express his thoughts perspicuously and elegantly, under the re- straints which rhyme imposes, would appear to be incredible, if we did not know it to be fact. Such a power implies a wonderful command both of ideas and of expressions ; and yet daily experience shows that it may be gained with very little practice. " Pope tells us with respect to himself, that he could express himself not only more concisely, but more easily, in rhyme than in prose.* Nor is it only in these trifling accomplishments that we may trace the influence of habits of association. In every instance of invention, either in the fine arts, in the mechanical arts, or in the sciences, there is some new idea, or some new combination of ideas, brought to light by the inventor. This, undoubtedly may often happen in a way which he is unable to explain ; that is, his invention may be suggested to him by some lucky thought,' the origin of which he is unable to trace. But when a man possesses an habitual fertility of mvention in any particular art or science, and can rely, with confidence, on his inventive powers, whenever he is called upon to exert them, he must have acquired, by pre- vious habits of study, a command over certain classes of his ideas which enables him, at pleasure, to bring them under his review! * " When liabit is once gained, nothing so easy as practice. Cicero writes, that Antipater the Sidonian could pour forth hexameters exteniiM>re ; and that whenever he cbose to versify, words followed him of course. Wo may add to Antipater, the ancient rhapsodists of the Greeks, and the modern improvisatori of the Italians."-— Harris's Phil. Inq. 108, 110. 159 I he dlustration of these subjects may throw light on some pro- cessos of the mmd, which are not in general well understood : and L^n w f ",f ^^"^:^3^;.^" the following section, offer a few hints with respect to those habits of association which are the foundation of wit; of the power of rhyming; of poetical fancy; and of inven- tion m matters of science. n ^X;ii^^f^'*f *''''' ?f^^'' Doctrine stated in the preceding Section, [1 . Of Wit.— According to Locke, Wit consists, " in the assemblage ^f ideas ; and putting those together with quickness and varietv wherein can be found any resemblance or congruity." Essav on Human Understanding, book ii. chap 11.) I would add to this dehnition, (rather by way of comment than of amendment,) that wit imphes a power of calling up at pleasure the ideas whicli it combines: and I am inclined to believe, that the entertainment which It gives to the hearer, is founded, in a considerable decree on his surprise at the command which the man of wit has acquired over a part of the constitution which is so little subject to the That the effect of wit depends partly, at least, on the circumstance now mentioned, appears evidently from this, that we are more pleased with a bon mot which occurs in conversation, than with one in print ; and that we never fail to receive disgust from wit, when we suspect it to be premeditated. The pleasure, too, we receive from wit, is heightened, when the original idea is started by one person and the related idea by another. Br. Campbell has re- marked, that " a witty repartee is infinitely more pleasing, than a witty attack ; and that an allusion will appear excellent when thrown out extempore in conversation, which would be deemed ex- ecrable in print." In all these cases, the wit considered absolutely IS the same. The relations which are discovered between the com- pared ideas are equally new: and yet, as soon as we suspect that the wit was premeditated, the pleasure we receive from it is infi- nitely diminished. Instances indeed may be mentioned, in which we are pleased with contemplating an unexpected relation between Ideas, without any reference to the habits of association in the mind of the person who discovered it. A bon mot produced at the ffame of cross-purposes, would not fail to create amusement ; but in such cases, our pleasure seems chiefly to arise from the surprise we feel at so extraordinary a coincidence between a question and an answer coming from persons who had no direct communication with each other. Of the effect added to wit by the promptitude with which its combinations are formed. Fuller appears to have had a very just idea from what he has recorded of the social hours of ourtwo ffreat i-nghsh Dramatists. " Jonson's parts were not so ready to run of themselves, as able to answer the spur; so thatitmaybetrulv said ot him that he had an elaborate wit, wrought out by his own indus- try.— Many were the wit combats between him and Shakespeare, 160 PART I. CHAP. V. which two I behold like a Spanish great galleon, and an English man of war. Jonson, like the former, was buih far higher in learning ; solid, but slow in his performances. Shakespeare, with the English man of war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his wit and invention.'' (History of the Worthies of England. London, 1662.) I before observed, that the pleasure we receive from wit is in- creased, when the two ideas between which the relation is disco- vered, are suggested by different persons. In the case of a hon mot occurrmg in conversation, the reason of this is abundantly obvious ; because, when the related ideas are suggested by different persons, we have a proof that the wit was not premeditated. But even in a written composition, we are much more delighted when the sub- ject was furnished to the author by another person, than when he chooses the topic on which he is to display his wit. How much would the pleasure we receive from the Key to the Lock be diminished, if we suspected that the author had the key in view when he wrote that poem; and that he introduced some expressions, in order to furnish a subject for the wit of the commentator ! How totally would it destroy the pleasure we receive from a parody on a poem, if we suspected that both were productions of the same author! The truth seems to be, that when both the related ideas are sug- gested by the same person, we have not a very satisfactory proof of anything uncommon in the intellectual habits of the author. We may suspect that both ideas occurred to him at the same time • and we know that in the dullest and most phlegmatic minds, such extraordinary associations will sometimes take place. But when the subject of the wit is furnished by one person, and the wit su"-- gested by another, we have a i)roof, not only that the author's mind abounds with such singular associations, but that he has his wit per- fectly at command. [As an additional confirmation of these observations, we may remark, that the more an author is limited by his subject the more we are pleased with his wit. And, therefore, the effect of wit does not arise solely from the unexpected relations which it presents to the mmd, but arises, in part, from the surprise it excites at those intellectual habits which give it birth.] It is evident, that the more the author is circumscribed in the choice of his materials, the greater must be the command which he has acquired over those associating principles on which wit depends, and of consequence, according to the foregoing doctrine, the greater must be the surprise and the pleasure which his wit produces. In Addison's celebrated verses to bir Godfrey Kneller on his picture of George the First, in which he compares the painter to Phidias, and the subjects of his pencil to the Grecian Deities, the range of the poet's wit was necessarily conhned withm very narrow bounds ; and what principally delights us m that performance is, the surprising ease and felicity with which ! OP TITE ASSOCIATION OP IDEAS. 161 he runs the parallel between the English history and the Greek nijrthology. Of all the allusions which the following passage con- tains, there is not one, taken singly, of very extraordinary merit • and yet the effect of the whole V uncommonly great, ^om the singular power of combination, which so long and so difficult an exertion discovers. " Wise Phidias thus, his skill to prove, Thro' many a god advanced to Jove, And taught the polish'd rocks to shine With airs and lineaments divine, Till Greece amazed and half afraid, Th* assembled Deities survey'd. Great Pan, who wont to chase the fair. And lov'd the spreading oak, was there ; Old Saturn, too, with up-cast eyes, Beheld his abdicated skies ; And mighty Mars, for war renown'd, In adamantine armour frown'd ; By him the childless Goddess rose, Minerva, studious to compose Her twisted threads ; the web she strung, And o'er a loom of marble hung ; Thetis, the troubled ocean's queen. Match'd with a mortal next was seen. RecUning on a funeral urn, Her short-lived darling son to mourn ; The last was he, whose thunder slew The Titan race, a rebel crew. That from a hundred hills allied. In impious league their King defied." According to the view which I have given of the nature of wit the pleasure we derive from that assemblage of ideas which it pre- sents, IS greatly heightened and enlivened by our surprise at the command displayed over a part of the constitution, which, in our own case, we find to be so little subject to the will. We consider wit as a sort of feat or trick of intellectual dexterity, analoo-ous in some respects, to the extraordinary performances of juggFers and rope-dancers; and, in both cases, the pleasure we receive from the exhibition IS explicable, in part, (I, by no means, say entirely,) on the same principles. -^ ^ If these remarks be just, it seems to follow as a consequence, that those men who are most deficient in the power of prompt combi- nation will be most poignantly affected by it, when exerted at the will of another ; and therefore, the charge of jealousy and envv brought against rival wits, when disposed to look grave at each other s jests, may perhaps be obviated in a way less injurious to their character. j j ^^ The same remarks suggest a limitation, or rather an explanation, of an assertion of Lord Chesterfield's, that " genuine wit never made any man laugh since the creation of the world." The observation I believe, to bejust if by genuine wit, we mean wit wholly divested of every mixture of humour: and if by laughter, we mean that convulsive and noisy agitation which is excited by the ludicrous rt 162 PART I. CHAP. V. But there is unquestionably a smile appropriated to the flashes of wit ; — a smile of surprise and wonder ; — not altogether unlike the effect produced on the mind and the countenance, by a feat of leger- demain when executed with uncommon success. [2. Of Rhyme. — The pleasure we receive from rhyme, seems also to arise, partly, from our surprise at the command which the poet must have acquired over the train of his ideas, in order to be able to express himself with elegance, and the appearance of ease, under the restraint which rhyme imposes. In witty or in humorous performances, this surprise serves to enliven that which the wit or the humour produces, and renders its effects more sensible.] How flat do the liveliest and most ludicrous thoughts appear in blank verse? And how wonderfully is the wit of Pope heightened, by the easy and happy rhymes in which it is expressed ? It must not, however, be imagined, either in the case of wit or of rhyme, that the pleasure arises solely from our surprise at the uncommon habits of association which the author discovers. In the former case, there must be presented to the mind, an unexpected analogy or relation between different ideas : and perhaps other cir- cumstances must concur to render the wit perfect. If the combina- tion has no other merit than that of bringing together two ideas which never met before, we may be surprised at its oddity, but we do not consider it as a proof of wit. On tlie contrary, the want of any analogy or relation between the combined ideas, leads us to suspect, that the one did not suggest the other, in consequence of any habits of association ; but that the two were brought together by study, or by mere accident. All that I aflirm is, that when the analogy or relation is pleasing in itself, our pleasure is heightened by our surprise at the author's habits of association when compared with our own. In the case of rhyme, too, there is undoubtedly a certain degree of pleasure arising from the recurrence of the same sound. We frequently observe children amuse themselves with repeating over single words which rhyme together : and the lower people, who derive little pleasure from poetry, excepting in so far as it affects the ear, are so pleased with the echo of the rhymes, that when they read verses where it is not perfect, they are apt to supply the poet's defects, by violating the common rules of pro- nunciation. This pleasure, however, is heightened by our admira- tion at the miraculous powers which the poet must have acquired over the train of his ideas, and over all the various modes of expres- sion which the language affords, in order to convey instruction and entertainment, without transgressing the established laws of regular versification. In some of the lower kinds of poetry ; for example, in acrostics, and in the lines which are adapted to bouts rimes, the merit lies entirely in this command of thought and expression ; or, in other words, in a command of ideas founded on extraordinary habits of association. Even some authors of a superior class, occasionally show an inclination to display their knack at rhymino", by introducing:, at the end of the first line of a couplet, some word to OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 1G3 which the language hardly aff^ords a corresponding sound. Swift in his more triflmg pieces, abounds with instances of this ; and in Hudibras when the author uses his double and triple rhymes, manv execution ''''^ ""^ '"^"' whatever but what arises from difficulty of ^riU'//^^'''""^ we receive from rhyme in serious compositions, arises from a combmation of different circumstances which mv present subject does not lead me to investigate particularly.* I t^ 'n^rl K.^'^T"'' '^"' '' '-"'''''^ ''' P^^'**' ^'•^^ «"r surprise at tie poets habits of association, which enable him to convey his wjXv. r'u 1 -^'t^""^ beauty, notwithstanding the narrow limits 7)^' Tu'^VW' ''^^^'^ ^^ expression is confined. One proof of tins 1.S, that if there appear any mark of constraint, either in the '^Zr Ti *^f, ^^Pr^s«»^«' our pleasure is proportionally dimi- rh!^: Ju ^^?"^^'*' "?"'^ '^^^" *^ ^"^^^«t ^^^^' other, Vnd the rhymes to be only an accidental circumstance. The same remark niay be made on the measure of the verse. When in its greatest perfection, it does not appear to be the result of labour, but to be dictated by nature, or prompted by inspiration. In Pope's best verses, the idea is expressed with as little inversion of style, and with as much conciseness, precision, and propriety, as the author could have attained, had he been writing prose : without any appa- rent exertion on kis part, the words seem spontaneously to arrano-e themselves m the most musical numbers. "^ " Mliile still a child, nor yet a fool to fame, I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came." This facility of versification, it is true, may be, and probably is, in most cases only apparent ; and it is reasonable to think, that in the most perfect poetical productions, not only the choice of words, but the choice of ideas, is influenced by the rhymes. In a prose composition, the author holds on in a direct course, according to the plan he has previously formed ; but in a poem, the rhymes which occur to him are perpetually diverting him to the mht Jiand or to the lefl, by suggesting ideas which do not naturally rise out of his subject. This, I presume, is Butler's meaning in the lollowing couplet : — " Rhymes the rudder are of verses, ^________ With wh ich, like ships, they steer their courses." * In ele^ac poetr>% the recurrence of the same sound, and the uniformity in the tte'ina^tiW vd? J^^^^^-^r -^^M''^ ,— f ^^ --iois, are pec^Si^lTi/edt tne mactiv t> of the mind, and to the slow and equable succession of its ideas when even\'e%"aHrr t^'.lf"'? t"" ™«^!^ncholy passions ; and accordingly, in tch c^es" sitions m rhjme, occasionally indulge themselves in something very nearly approaching " Memnona si mater, mater ploravit Achillem, Et tangant magnas tristia fata Deas ; Flebihs indignos Elegeia solve capillos, Ah nimis ex vero nunc tibi nomen erit." oJjTnVTOuius!""^ °' "" "^^ '^•' ""«•'* ^ """'•'»'' fr""" ""^ "'P*" verses of m2 P I: r 164 PART I. CHAP. V. OF THE ASSOCIATION OP IDEAS. 165 Bat although this may be the case In fact, the poet must employ all his art to conceal it ; insomucli that if he finds himself under a necessity to introduce, on account of the rhymes, a superfluous idea, or an awkward expression, he must place it in the first line of the couplet, and not in the second ; for the reader, naturally pre- suming that the lines were composed in the order in which the author arranges them, is more apt to suspect the second line to he accommodated to the first, than the first to the second. And this slight artifice is, in general, sufiicient to impose on that degree of attention with which poetry is read. Who can doubt that, in the following lines, Pope wrote the first for the sake of the second ? " A wit's a feather, and a chief a rod ; All honest man 's the noblest work of God." Were the first of these lines, or a line equally unmeaning, placed last, the couplet would have appeared execrable to a person of the most moderate taste. It atFords a strong confirmation of the foregoing observations, that the poets of some nations have delighted in the practice of alliteration, as well as of rhyme ; and have even considered it as an essential circumstance in versification. Dr. Bcattie observes, that " some ancient English poems are more distinguished by allitera- tion, than by any other poetical contrivance. In the works of Langland, even when no regard is had to rhyme, and but little to a rude sort of anapestic measure, it seems to have been a rule, that three words, at least, of each line should begin with the same letter." A late author informs us, that, in the Icelandic poetry, alliteration is considered as a circumstance no less essential than rhyme.* He mentions also several other restraints, which must add wonderfully to the difficulty of versification ; and which appear to us to be perfectly arbitrary and capricious. If that really be the case, the whole pleasure of the reader or hearer arises from his surprise at the facility of the poet's composition under these com- plicated restraints; that is, from his surprise at the command which the poet has acquired over his thoughts and expressions. In our rhyme, I acknowledge, that the coincidence of sound is agreeable in itself; and only affirm, that the pleasure which the ear receives from it, is heightened by the other consideration. [3. Of Poetical Fancy. — There is another habit of association, which in some men, is very remarkable ; that which is the found- ation of poetical fancy : a talent which agrees with wit in some circumstances, but which differs from it essentially in others.] The pleasure we receive from wit, agrees in one particular with * "The Icelandic poetry requires two thinsrs; viz. words with the same initial letters, and words of the same sound. It was divided into stanzas, each of which con- sisted of four couplets ; and each of these couplets was agraiii composed of two hemi- stichs, of which every one contained six syllables ; and it was not allowed to augment this number, except in cases of the greatest necessity." — See Van Troil's Letters on Iceland, p. 208. the pleasure which arises from poetical allusions ; that in both cases we are pleased with contemplating an analogy between two diffe- rent subjects. But they differ in this, that the man of wit has no other aim than to combine analogous ideas ;* whereas no allusion can, with propriety, have a place in serious poetry unless it either illustrate or adorn the principal subject. If it has both these recom- mendations, the allusion is perfect. If it has neither, as is often the case with the allusions of Cowley and of Young, the fancy of the poet degenerates into wit. If these observations be well founded, they suggest a rule with respect to poetical allusions, which has not always been suflSciently attended to. It frequently happens, that two subjects bear an analogy to each other in more respects than one ; and where such can be found they undoubtedly furnish the most favourable of all occasions for the display of wit. But, in serious poetry, I am inclined to think, that however striking these analogies may be ; and although each of them might, with propriety, be made the foundation of a separate allusion; it is improper, in the course of the same allusion, to include more than one of them ; as by doing 80, an author discovers an affectation of wit, or a desire of tracing analogies, instead of illustrating or adorning the subject of his composition. I formerly defined fancy to be a power of associating ideas accord- ing to relations of resemblance and analogy. This definition will probably be thought too general ; and to approach too near to that given of wit. In order to discover the necessary limitations, we shall consider what the circumstances are, which please us in poet- ical allusions. As these allusions are suggested by fancy, and are the most striking instances in which it displays itself, theVeceived rules of critics with respect to them, may throw some light on the mental power which gives them birth. (1.) An allusion pleases, by illustrating a subject comparatively obscure Hence, I apprehend, it will be found that allusions from the intellectual world to the material, are more pleasing, than from the material world to the intellectual. Mason, in his Ode to Memory, compares the influence of that faculty over our ideas, to the authority of a general over his troops : - *' thou, whose sway The throng'd ideal hosts obey . Who bids their ranks now vanish, now appear ; Flame in the van, or darken in the rear." Would the allusion have been equally pleasing, from a general marshalling his soldiers, to memory and the succession of ideas ? 1 he effect of a literal and spiritless translation of a work of genius, has been compared to that of the figures which we see * I speak here of pure and unmixed wit ; and not of wit, blended, as it is most com- monly, with some degree of humour. H 166 PART I. CHAP. V. when we look at the wrong side of a beautiful piece of tapestry. The allusion is ingenious and happy ; but the pleasure which we receive from it arises, not merely from the analogy which it pre- sents to us, but from the illustration which it affords of the author's idea. No one, surely, in speaking of a piece of tapestry, would think of comparing the difference between its sides, to that between an original composition and a literal translation ! Cicero, and after liim Mr. Locke, in illustrating the difficulty of attending to the subjects of our consciousness, have compared the mind to the eye, which sees every object around it, but is invisible to itself. To have compared the eye, in this respect, to the mind, would have been absurd. Mr. Pope's comparison of the progress of youthful curiosity, in the pursuits of science, to that of a traveller among the Alps, has been much, and justly, admired. How would the beauty of the allusion have been diminished, if the Alps had furnished the ori^-i- nal subject, and not the illustration ! ° But although this rule holds, in general, I acknowledge, that instances may be produced, from our most celebrated poetical per- formances, of allusions from material objects, both to the intellectual and the moral worlds. These, however, are comparatively few in number, and are not to be found in descriptive or in didactic works ; but in compositions written under the influence of some particular passion, or which are meant to express some peculiarity in the mind of the author. Thus, a melancholy man, who has met with many misfortunes in life, will be apt to moralise on every physical event, and every appearance of nature; because his attention dwells more habitually on human life and conduct, than on the material objects around him. This is the case with the banished Duke, in Shak- speare's As you like it; who, in the language of that poet, " Finds tongues in trees, l)ooks in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing." But this is plainly a distempered state of the mind ; and the allu- sions please, not so much by the analogies they present, as by the picture they give of the character of the person to whom they have occurred. (2.) An allusion pleases, by presenting a new and beautiful ima"-e to the mind. The analogy or the resemblance between this ima^e and the principal subject, is agreeable of itself, and is indeed necessary, to furnish an apology for the transition which the writer makes, but the pleasure is wonderfully heightened, when the new image thus presented is a beautiful one. The following allusion, in one of Mr. Home's tragedies, appears to me to unite almost every excellence : -" Hope and fear, alternate, sway'd his breast ; Like light and shade upon a waving field. Coursing each other, when the flying doud:i, Now hide, an 1 now ro\eal, the sun." OP THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 167 Here the analogy is remarkably perfect ; not only between light and hope, and between darkness and fear ; but between the rapid succession of light and shade, and the momentary influences of these opposite emotions : while, at the same time, the new imao-e which is presented to us, recalls one of the most pleasing and im- pressive incidents in rural scenery. The foregoing observations suggest a reason, why the principal stores of fancy are commonly supposed to be borrowed from the material world. Wit has a more extensive province, and delights to display its power of prompt and unexpected combination over all the various classes of our ideas ; but the favourite excursions of fancy, are from intellectual and moral subjects to the appearances with which our senses are conversant. The truth is, that such allusions please more than any others in poetry. According to this limited idea of fancy, it presupposes, where it is possessed in an emment degree, an extensive observation of natural objects, and a mind susceptible of strong impressions from them. It is thus only that a stock of images can be acquired ; and that these images will be ready to present themselves, whenever any analogous subject occurs. And hence probably it is, that poetical genius is almost always united with an exquisite sensibility to the beauties of nature. Before leaving the subject of fancy it may not be improper to remark that its two qualities are, liveliness and luxuriancy. The word If veil/, refers to the quickness of the association. The word rich, or luxuriant, to the variety of associated ideas. [4. Of Invention in the Arts and Sciences.— To these powers of wit and fancy that of invention in the arts and sciences has a striking resemblance. Like them it implies a command over certain classes of ideas, which, in ordmary men, are not equally subject to the will, and like them, too, it is the result of acquired habits, and not the original gift of nature.] Of the process of the mind in scientific invention, I propose afterwards to treat fully under the article of reasoning, and I shall therefore confine myself at present to a few detached remarks upon some views of the subject which are suggested by the foregoing inquiries. Before we proceed, it may be proper to take notice of the distinc- tion between invention and discovery. The object of the former, as has been frequently remarked, is to produce something which had no existence before ; that of the latter to bring to light some- thing which did exist, but which was concealed from common ob- servation. 8^ Thus we say. Otto Guerricke invented the air- pump; Sanctorius invented the thermometer ; Newton and Gre- gory invented the reflecting telescope; Gahleo discovered the solar spots ; and Harvey discovered the circulation of the blood. It appears, therefore, that improvements in the arts are properly called inventions, and that facts brought to light by means of ob- servation are properly called discoveries. II •A I ( (1 108 PART I. CHAP. V. Agreeable to this analogy is the use which we make of these words when we apply them to subjects purely intellectual. As truth is eternal and immutable, and has no dependence on our belief or disbelief of it, a person who brings to light a truth for- merly unknown is said to make a discovery. A person, on the other hand, who contrives a new method of discovering truth, is called an inventor. Pythagoras, we say, discovered the forty- seventh proposition of Euclid's first book ; Newton discovered the binomial theorem ; but he invented the method of prime and ulti- mate ratios, and he invented the method of fluxions. In general, every advancement in knowledge is considered as a discovery ; every contrivance by which we produce an effect, or accomplish an end, is considered as an invention. Discoveries in science, therefore, unless they are made by accident, imply the exercise of invention, and accordingly the word invention is com- monly used to express originality of genius in the sciences as well as in the arts. It is in this general sense that I employ it in the following observations. It was before remarked that in every instance of invention there is some new idea, or some new combination of ideas, which is brought to light by the inventor, and that although this may sorae^ times happen in a way which he is unable to explain, yet w^hen a man possesses an habitual fertility of invention in any particular art or science, and can rely with confidence on his inventive powers whenever he is called upon to exert them, he must have acquired, by previous habits of study, a command over those classes of his ideas which are subservient to the particular effort that he wishes to make. In what manner this command is acquired, it is not pos- sible, perhaps, to explain completely, but it appears to me to be chiefly in the two following ways. In the first place, by his habits of speculation he may have arranged his knowledge in such a man- ner as may render it easy for him to combine, at pleasure, all the various ideas in his mind which have any relation to the subject abo!it which he is occupied : or, secondly, he may have learned by experience certain general rules, by means of which he can direct the train of his thoughts into those channels in which the ideas he is in quest of may be most likely to occur to him. 1. [The former of these observations I shall not stop to illus- trate particularly at present, as the same subject will occur afler- wards under the article of memory. It is sufhcient for my purpose, in this chapter, to remark, that as habits of speculation have a ten- dency to classify our ideas, by leading us to refer particular facts and particular truths to general principles, and as it is from an approximation and comparison of related ideas that new discoveries in most instances result, the knowledge of the philosopher, even supposing that it is not more extensive, is arranged in a manner much more favourable to invention than in a mind unaccustomed to system.] OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 169 How much invention depends on a proper combination of the materials of our knowledge, appears from the resources which occur to men of the lowest degree of ingenuity when they are pressed by any alarming difficulty and danger, and from the unexpected exer- tions made by very ordinary characters when called to situations which roused their latent powers. In such cases, I take for granted that necessity operates in producing invention, chiefly by concen-' tratmg the attention of the mind to one set of ideas, by leading us to view these in every light, and to combine them variously with each other. As the same idea may be connected with an infinite variety of others by diff^erent relations, it may, according to cir! cunistances, at one time suggest one of these ideas, and at another time a different one. When we dwell long on the same idea, we trTl.} ^\''^^^'' *? r^'''^ it is in any way related, and thus are furnished with materials on which our powers of judgment and reasoning may be employed. The eff'ect of the division of labour m multiplying mechanical contrivances is to be explained partly on the same prmciple. It limits the attention to a particular subject, and familiarises to the mmd all the possible combinations of ideas which have any relation to it. [These observations suggest ^remarkable difference between inven- twnandwit The former depends, in most instances, on a com- bination of those ideas, which are connected by the less obvious principles of association ; and it may be called forth in almost any mmd by the pressure of external circumstances. The ideas which must be combined, m order to produce the latter, are chiefly such as are associated by those slighter connexions which take place when the mmd "careless and disengaged.] " If you have real wit," says Lord Chesterfield, " it will flow spontaneously, and you need not aim at It; for m that case the rule of the gospel is reversed ; and It will prove. Seek and you shall not find." Agreeably to this observation, wit is promoted by a certain degree of intoxication, which prevents the exercise of that attention which is necessary for invention m matters of science. Hence too it is, that those who have the reputation of wits, are commonly men confident in their own powers, who allow the train of their ideas to follow, in a ffreat measure, its natural course; and hazard, in company, everything good or bad, that occurs to them. Men of modesty and taste seldom attempt wit m a promiscuous society ; or if they are forced to make such an exertion, they are seldom successful. Such men however, in the circle of their friends, to whom they can unbosom' themselves without reserve, are frequently the most amusing and the most interesting of companions; as the vivacity of their wit is tempered by a correct judgment, and refined manners; and as its effect IS heightened by that sensibility and delicacy, with which we so rarely find it accompanied in the common intercourse of life When a man of wit makes an exertion to distinguish himself, his sallies are commonly too far-fetched to please. hI brings his mind , V • : Mi 1! 4 ii 170 PART I. CHAP. V. into a state approaching to that of the inventor, and becomes rather ingenious than witty. This is often the case with the writers whom Johnson distinguishes by the name of the metaphysical poets. Those powers of invention, which necessity occasionally calls forth in uncultivated minds, some individuals possess habitually. The related ideas which, in the case of the former, are brought together by the slow efforts of attention and recollection, present themselves to the latter in consequence of a more systematical arrangement of their knowledge. The instantaneousness with which such remote combinations are effected, sometimes appears so wonderful, that we are apt to ascribe it to something like inspira- tion ; but it must be remembered, that when any subject strongly and habitually occupies the thoughts, it gives us an interest in the observation of the most trivial circumstance which we suspect to have any relation to it, however distant ; and by thus rendering the common objects and occurrences which the accidents of life present to us, subservient to one particular employment of the intellectual powers, establishes in the memory a connexion between our favourite pursuit, and all the materials with which experience and reflection have supplied us for the further prosecution of it. 2. [1 observed, in the second place, that invention may be facilitated by general rules, which enable the inventor to direct the train of his thoughts into particular channels.] These rules (to ascertain which, ought to be one principal object of the logician) will afterwards fall under my consideration, when I come to examine those intellectual processes which are subservient to the discovery of truth. At present, I shall confine myself to a few general remarks : in stating which I have no other aim than to show, to how great a degree invention depends on cultivation and habit, even in those sciences in which it is generally supposed that everything depends on natural genius. When we consider the geometrical discoveries of the ancients, in tJie form in which they are exhibited in the greater part of the works which have survived to our times, it is seldom possible for us to trace the steps by which they were led to their conclusions; and, indeed, the objects of this science are so unlike those of all others,' that it is not unnatural for a person when he enters on the study] to be dazzled by its novelty, and to form an exaggerated conception of the genius of those men who first brought to light such a variety of truths, so profound and so remote from the ordinary course of our speculations, A\'e find, however, that even at the time when the ancient analysis was unknown to the moderns, such mathema- ticians as had attended to the progress of the mind in the discovery of truth, concluded a priori, that the discoveries of the Greek geometers did not, at first, occur to them in the order in which they are stated in their writings. The prevailing opinion was, that they had possessed some secret method of investigation, which they care- fully concealed from the world ; and that they published the result of OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 171 their labours in such a form, as they thought would be most likely to excite the admiration of their readers. " O quam bene foret," says Petrus Nonius, " si qui in scientiis mathematicis scripserint authores, scripta reliquissent inventa sua eadem methodo, et per eosdem discursus, quibus ipsi in ea primum inciderunt ; et non, ut in mechanica loquitur Aristoteles de artificibus, qui nobis foris ostendunt suas quas fecerint machinas, sed artificium abscondunt, ut magis appareant admirabiles. Est utique inventio in arte qua- libet diversa multum a traditione: neque putandum est plurimas Euchdis et Archimedis propositiones fuisse ab illis ea via inventas qua nobis illi ipsas tradiderunt."* The revival of the ancient analysis, by some late mathematicians in this country, has, in part, justified these remarks, by showing to how great a degree the inventive powers of the Greek geometers were aided by that method of investigation ; and by exhibiting some striking specimens of address hi the practical application of it. The solution of problems, indeed, it may be said, is but one mode in which mathematical invention may be displayed. The discovery of new truths is what we chiefly admire in an original genius ; and the method of analysis gives us no satisfaction with respect to the process by which they are obtained. To remove this difliculty completely, by explaining all the various ways in which new theorems may be brought to light, would lead to inquiries foreign to this work. In order, however, to render the process of the mind, on such occasions, a little less mysterious than it is commonly supposed to be; it may be proper to remark, that the most copious source of discoveries is the investigation of problems ; which seldom fails (even although we should not succeed in the attainment of the object which we have in view) to exhibit to us some relations formerly unobserved among the quantities which are under consideration. Of so great importance is it to concentrate the attention to a particular subject, and to check that wandering and dissipated habit of thought, which, in the case of most persons, renders their speculations barren of any profit either to themselves or to others. Many theorems, too, have been sug- gested by analogy; many have been. investigated from truths for- merly known by altering or by generalising the hypothesis ; and many have been obtained by a species of induction. An illustration of these various processes of the mind would not only lead to new and curious remarks, but would contribute to diminish that blind * "How desirable it were if those authors who have written concerning mathema- tics, had left their discoveries in the same method, and acconhng to the same train of reasoning by which they arrived at them, and not like those artificers whom Aris- totle mentions in mechanics, who exhibit publicly the engines which they construct, but conceal their contrivances, that they may appear more wonderful. For invention in any art, is very different from communication ; nor is it to be supposed that most of the propositions of Euclid and Archimedes were invented in the same order in which they have communicated them to us."— See some other passages to the same purpose, quoted from different writers, by Dr. Simson, in the preface to his Restoration of the Loci Plani of Appollonius Pergajus, Glasg. 1749. 172 PART I. CHAP. V. OF THE ASSOOIATION OF IDEAS. admiration of original genius, which is one of the chief obstacles to the improvement of science. 3. [The history of natural philosophy, before and after the time of Lord Bacon, affords another proof, how much the powers of invention and discovery may be assisted by the study of method : and in all the sciences, without exception, whoever employs his genius with a regular and habitual success, plainly shows, that it is by means of general rules that his inquiries are conducted.] Of these rules, there may be many which the inventor never stated to himself in words ; and perhaj)S he may even be unconscious of the assistance which he derives from them ; but their influence on his genius appears unquestionably, from the uniformity with which it proceeds ; and in proportion as they can be ascertained by his own speculations, or collected by the logician from an examination of his researches, similar powers of invention will be placed within the reach of other men, who apply themselves to the same study. The following remarks, which a truly philosophical artist has applied to painting, may be extended, with some trifling alterations, to all the different employments of our intellectual powers: " What we now call genius, begins, not where rules, abstractedly taken, end; but where known, vulgar, and trite rules have no longer any place. It must of necessity be, that works of genius, as well as every other efflect, as it must have its cause, must likewise have its rules ; it cannot be by chance, that excellences are produced with any constancy, or any certainty, for this is not the nature of chance ; but the rules by which men of extraordinary parts, and such as are called men of genius, work, are either such as they discover by their own pecuHar observation, or of such a nice texture as not easily to admit handling or expressing in words. " Unsubstantial, however, as these rules may seem, and diflScult as it may be to convey them in writing, they are still seen and felt in the mind of the artist ; and he works from them with as much certainty, as if they were embodied, as I may say, upon pai>er. It is true, these refined principles cannot be always made palpable, like the more gross rules of art ; yet it does not follow, but that the mind may be put in such a train, that it shall perceive, by a kind of scientific sense, that propriety which words can but very feebly suggest." — (Discourses by Sir Joshua Reynolds.) V. Application of the principles stated in the foregoing sections of this chapter, to explain the Phenomena of Dreaming. — [With re- spect to the phenomena of dreaming, three different questions may be proposed. First, What is the state of the mind in sleep ? or, in other words, what faculties then continue to operate, and what faculties are then suspended ? Secondly, How far do our dreams appear to be influenced by our bodily sensations: and in what respects do they vary, according to the different conditions of the body in health, and in sickness ? Thirdly, What is the change which sleep produces on iho^e parts of the body, with which our 173 mental operations are more immediately connected ; and how does this change operate, in diversifying so remarkably the phenomena which our minds then exhibit, from those of which we are conscious m our waking hours ?] Of these three questions, the first belongs to the philosophy of the human mind ; and it is to this question that the following inquiry is almost entirely confined. The second is more particularly interesting to the medical inquirer, and does not properly fall under the plan of this work. The third seems to me to relate to a subject, which is placed beyond the reach of the human faculties. It will be granted, that, if we could ascertain the state of the mind m sleep, so as to be able to resolve the various phenomena of dreaming into a smaller number of general principles; and still more, if we could resolve them into one general fact, we should be advanced a very important step in our inquiries upon this subject • even although we should find it impossible to show, in what manner this change in the state of the mind results from the change which sleep produces in the state of the body. Such a step would at least gratify, to a certain extent, that disposition of our nature which prompts us to ascend from particular facts to general laws ; and which IS the foundation of all our philosophical researches; and, in the present instance, I am inclined to think, that it carries us as far as our imperfect faculties enable us to proceed. In conducting this inquiry with respect to the state of the mind m sleep, it seems reasonable to expect, that some light may be obtained from an examination of the circumstances which accelerate or retard its approach ; for when we are disposed to rest, it is natural to imagine, that the state of the mind approaches 'to its state in sleep, more nearly, than when we feel ourselves alive and active, and capable of applying all our various faculties to their proper purposes. [In general, it may be remarked, that the approach of sleep is accelerated by every circumstance which diminishes or suspends the exercise of the mental powers; and is retarded by everythino- which has a contrary tendency. When we wish for sleep we naturally endeavour to withhold, as much as possible, all the active exertions of the mind, by disengaging our attention from every mteresting subject of thought. When we are disposed to keep awake, we naturally ^x our attention on some subject which is calculated to afford employment to our intellectual powers, or to rouse and exercise the active principles of our nature.] It is well known, that there is a particular class of sounds which compose us to sleep. The hum of bees ; the murmur of a fountain • the reading of an uninteresting discourse, have this tendency in a remarkable degree. If we examine this class of sounds, we shall find that it consists wholly of such as are fitted to withdraw the attention of the mind from its own thoughts, and are, at the same time, not sufficiently interesting to engage its attention to themselves. '\ 174 PART I. CHAP. r. It is also matter of common observation, that children and per- sons of little reflection, who are chiefly occupied about sensible objects, and whose mental activity is, in a great measure, sus- pended as soon as their perceptive powers are unemployed, find it extremely diflScult to continue anake,when they are deprived of their usual engagements. The same thing has been remarked of savages, whose time, like that of the lower animals, is almost com- pletely divided between sleep and their bodily exertions.* [From a consideration of these facts, it seems reasonable to con- clude, that m sleep these operations of the mind art snRj)ended, which depend on our volition; for, if it be certain, that before we fall asleep, we must withhold, as much as we are able, the exercise of all our different powers ; it is scarcely to be imagined, that, as soon as sleep commences, these powers should again begin to be exerted.] The more probable conclusion is, that, when we are desirous to procure sleep, we bring both mind and body, as nearly as we can, into tliat state in which they are to continue after sleep commences. The difference, therefore, between the state of the mind when we are inviting sleep, and when we are actually asleep, is this, that in the former case, although its active exertions be suspended, we can renew them, if we please. In the other case, the will loses its influence over all our powers both of mind and body; in con- se(iuence of some physical alteration in the system, which we shall never, probably, be able to explain. In order to illustrate this conclusion a little farther, it may be proper to remark, that if the suspension of our voluntary opera- tions in sleep be admitted as a fact, there are only two supjjositions which can be formed concerning its cause. The one is, that the power of volition is suspended ; the other, that the will loses its influence over those faculties of the mind, and those members of the body, which, during our waking hours, are subjected to its authority. If it can be shown, then, that the former supposition is not agreeable to fact, the truth of the latter seems to follow as a necessary consequence. (1.) That the power of volition is not suspended during sleep, appears from the efforts which we are conscious of making while in that situation. We dream, for example, that we are in dano-er ; and we attempt to call out for assistance. The attempt, indeed, is, in general, unsuccessful ; and the sounds which we emit are feeble and indistinct ; but this only confirms, or rather is a necessary con- seqnence of, the supposition that, in sleep, the connexion between the will and our voluntary operations is disturbed or interrupted. The continuance of the power of volition is demonstrated by the effort, however ineffectual. In like manner, in the course of an alarming dream, we are * "The existence of the negro slaves in America appears to participate more of sensation than reflection. To this must be ascril)ed, their disposition to sleep when abstracted from their diversions, and unemployed in their lalwiir. An animal whose body is at rest, and who does not reflect, must be disposed to sleep of course."— Notei on Virginia, by Mr. Jefferson, p. 225. OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 175 sometmies conscious of making an exertion to save ourselve«5 by flight, from an apprehended danger; but in spite of all our efforts we contniue m bed. In such cases, we commonly dream that we are attemptmg to escape, and are prevented by some external obstacle ; but the fact seems to be, that the body is, at that time not subject to the will. During the disturbed rest which we some-' tunes have when the body is indisposed, the mind appears to retain some power over it ; but as, even in these cases, the motions which are made consist rather of a general agitation of the whole system than of the regular exertion of a particular member of it with a view to produce a certain effect ; it is reasonable to conclude that m perfectly sound sleep, the mind, although it retains the power of volition, retains no influence whatever over the bodily nrnrana •' organs. In that particular condition of the system, which is known by the name of mcubus, we are conscious of a total want of power over tlie body ; and, I believe, the common opinion is, that it is this want of power which distinguishes the incubus from all the other modihcations of sleep. But the more probable supposition seems to be, that every species of sleep is accompanied with a suspension ot thefacultyof voluntary motion, and that the incubus has nothinTios deserta quaerere terra."* (3.) Our dreams are influenced by our prevailing habits of associ- ation lohile awake. ^ ^ j ^ In a former part of this work, I considered the extent of that power which the mind may acquire over the train of its thoughts • and I observed, that those intellectual diversities among men vvhich we commonly refer to peculiarities of genius, are, at least in a great * " Now stem iflneas her eternal theme, Haunts her distracted soul in every dream ; In slumber now she seems to travel on, Through dreary wilds abandoned and alone, And treads a dark uncomfortable plain. And seeks her Tyrians o'er the waste in vain." Pitt's ^Eneid, iv. 1. 675, N fi i\ 178 PART I. CHAP. V. measure, resolvable into differences in their habits of association. One man possesses a rich and beautiful fancy, which is at all times obedient to his will. Another possesses a quickness of recollection, which enables him, at a moment's warning, to bring together all the results of his past experience, and of his past reflections, which can be of use for illustrating any proposed subject. A third can, with- out effort, collect his attention to the most abstract questions in philosophy ; can perceive, at a glance, the shortest and the most effectual process for arriving at the truth ; and can banish from his mind every extraneous idea, which fancy or casual association may suggest, to distract his thoughts, or to mislead his judgment. A fourth unites all these powers in a capacity of perceiving truth with an almost intuitive rapidity ; and, in an eloquence which enables him to command, at pleasure, whatever his memory and his fancy can supply, to illustrate and to adorn it. The occasional exercise which such men make of their powers, may undoubtedly be said, in one sense, to be unpremeditated or unstudied; but they all indicate previous habits of meditation or study, as unquestionably, as the dexterity of the expert accountant, or the rapid execution of the professional musician. From what has been said, it is evident, that a train of thought which, in one man, would require a painful effort of study, may, in another, be almost spontaneous : nor is it to be doubted, that the reveries of studious men, even when they allow, as much as they can, their thoughts to follow their own course, are more or less connected together by those principles of association, which their favourite pursuits tend more particularly to strengthen. The influence of the same habits may be traced distinctly in sleep. There are probably few mathematicians, who have not dreamed of an interesting problem, and who have not even fancied that they were prosecuting the investigation of it with much suc- cess. They whose ambition leads them to the study of eloquence, are frequently conscious, during sleep, of a renewal of their daily occupations ; and sometimes feel themselves possessed of a fluency of speech, which they never experienced before. The poet, in his dreams, is transported into Elysium, and leaves the vulgar and unsatisfactory enjoyments of humanity, to dwell in those regions of enchantment and rapture, which have been created by the divine imaginations of Virgil and of Tasso. " Ane or liquor."" 190 PART I. CHAP. VI. for the caprices of any one people, whose political situation, or whose inorah character, may attach us to them as fauhless models for our imitation. The same weakness and versatility of mind ; the same facility of association, which in the case of a person who has never extended his views beyond his own community, is a source of national prejudice and of national bii^otry, renders the mind, when forced into new situations, easily susceptible of other prejudices no less capricious; and frequently prevents the time, which is devoted to travelling, or to study, from being subservient to any better purpose than an importation of foreign fashions, or a still more ludicrous imitation of ancient follies. The philosopher whose thoughts dwell habitually, not merely upon what is, or what has been, but upon what is best and most expedient for mankind ; who, to the study of books, and the obser- vation of manners, has added a careful examination of the principles of the human constitution, and of those which ought to regulate the social order; is the only person who is efiectually secured against both the weaknesses which I have described. By learning to separate what is essential to morality and to ha})piness, from thojic adventitious trifles which it is the province of fashion to direct, lie is equally guarded against the follies of national prejudice, and a weak deviation, in matters of indifference, from established ideas. Upon his mind, thus occupied with important subjects of reflection, the fluctuating caprices and fashions of the times lose their influ- ence ; while, accustomed to avoid the slavery of local and arbitrary habits, he possesses, in his own genuine simplicity of character, the same power of accommodation to external circumstances, whicii men of the world derive from the pliability of their taste, and the versa- tility of their manners. As the order, too, of his ideas is accommo- dated, not to what is casually presented from without, but to his own systematical principles, his associations are subject only to those slow and pleasing changes which arise from his growing light and improving reason ; and, in such a period of the world as at present, when the press not only excludes the possibility of a permanent retrogradation in human affairs, but operates with an irresistible though gradual progress, in undermining prejudices and in extending the triumphs of philosophy, he may re.isonably indulge the hope, that society will every day approach nearer and nearer to what he wishes it to he. A man of such a character, instead of looking back on the past with regret, finds himself (if I may use the expression) more at home in the world, and more satisfied with its order, the longer he lives in it. The melancholy contrasts which old men are sometimes disposed to state, between its condition, when they are about to leave it, and that in which they found it at the commencement of their career, arises, in most cases, from the unlimited influence which in their early years they had allowed to the fashions of the times, in the formation of their characters. How different from those sentiments and prospects OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 191 OP which dignified the retreat of Turgot,*iand brightened the declinin years of Franklin! The querulous temper, however, which is incident to old men, although it renders their manners disagreeable in the intercourse of social life, is by no means the most contemptible form in which the prejudices I have now been describing may display their influence. Such a temper indicates at least a certain degree of observation, in marking the vicissitudes of human aftairs^and a certain degree of sensibility in early life, which has connected pleasmg ideas with the scenes of infancy and youth. A very great proportion of mankind are, in a great measure, incapable either of the one or of the other ; and, suffering themselves to be carried quietly along with the stream of fashion, and finding their opinions and their feelings always in the same relative situation to the fleet- ing objects around them, are perfectly unconscious of any progress in their own ideas, or of any change in the manners of their'^age. In vain the philosopher reminds them of the opinions they yestercfay held ; and forewarns them, from the spirit of the times, of those which they are to hold to-morrow. The opinions of the present moment seem to them to be inseparable from their constitution ; and when the prospects are realized which they lately treated as chimerical, their minds are so gradually prepared for the event, that they behold it without any emotions of wonder or curiosity ; and it is to the philosopher alone, by whom it was predicted, that it appears to furnish a subject worthy of future reflection. The prejudices to which the last observations relate, have their origin in that disposition of our nature, which accommodates the order of our ideas, and our various intellectual habits, to whatever appearances have been long and familiarly presented to the mind. But there are other prejudices, which, by being intimately asso- ciated with the essential principles of our constitution, or with the original and universal laws of our belief, are incomparably more inveterate in their nature, and have a far more extensive influence on human character and happiness. (3.) The manner in which the association of ideas operates in producing this third class of our speculative errors, may be con- ceived, in part, from wiiat was formerly said, concerning the super- stitious observances which are mixed with the practice of medicine among rude nations. As all the different circumstances which accompanied the first administration of a remedy, come to be con- sidered as essential to its future success, and are blended together m our conceptions, without any discrimination of their relative importance; so, whatever tenets and ceremonies we have been taught to connect with the religious creed of our infancy, become almost a part of our constitution, by being indissolubly united with truths which are essential to happiness, and which we are led to reverence and to love, by all the best dispositions of the heart. Ihe astonishment which the peasant feels, when he sees the rites of .11 19-2 PART I. CHAP. vr. ,ii' III III a religion different from his own, is not less great than if he saw some flagrant breach of the moral duties, or some direct act of impiety to God ; nor is it easy for him to conceive, that there can be any thing worthy in a mind which treats with indifference what awakens in his own breast all its best and sublimest emotions. " Is it possible," says the old and expiring Brauiin, in one of Marmontel's tales, to the young English officer who had saved the life of his daughter, " is it possible, that he to whose compassion I owe the preservation of my child, and who now soothes my last moments with the consolations of piety, should not believe in the god Vistnou, and his nine metamorphoses !" What has now been said on the nature of religious superstition, may be applied to many other subjects. In particular, it may be applied to those political prejudices which bias the judgment even of enlightened men in all countries of the world. How deeply rooted in the human frame are those important principles which interest the good man in the prosperity of the world ; and more especially in the prosperity of that beloved com- munity to which he belongs ! How small, at the same time, is the number of individuals who, accustomed to contemplate one modi- fication alone of the social order, are able to distinguish the cir- cumstances which are essential to human happiness, from those which are indifferent or hurtful ! In such a situation, how natural is it for a man of benevolence to acquire an indiscriminate and superstitious veneration for all the institutions under which he has been educated ; as these institutions, however capricious and absurd in themselves, are not only familiarized by habit to all his thoughts and feelings, but are consecrated in his mind by an indissoluble association with duties which nature recommends to his affections, and which reason commands him to fulfil. It is on these accounts that a superstitious zeal against innovation, both in religion and politics, where it is evidently grafted on piety to God, and good will to mankind, however it may excite the sorrow of the more enlightened philosopher, is justly entitled, not only to his indul- gence, but to his esteem and affection. The remarks which have been already made, are sufficient to show how necessary it is for us, in the formation of our philoso- phical principles, to examine with care all those opinions which, in our early years, we have imbibed from our instructors ; or which are connected with our own local situation. Nor does the universality of an opinion among men who have received a similar education, afford any presumption in its favour ; for however great the defer- ence is, which a wise man will always pay to common belief, upon those subjects which have employed the unbiassed reason of man- kind, he certainly owes it no respect, in so far as he suspects it to be influenced by fashion or authority. Nothing can be more just than the observation of Fontenelle, that " the number of those who believe in a system already established in the world, does not, OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 193 'V'^'^t!*'?^'^.*'' '^' credibility; but that the number of those who doubt of It, has a tendency to diminish it." The same remarks lead, upon the other hand, to another conclu- sion of still greater importance ; that, notwithstanding the various false opinions which are current in the world, there are some truths, which are inseparable from the human understanding, and by means of which, the errors of education, in most instances are enabled to take hold of our belief. msiances, are A weak mind, unaccustomed to reflection, and which has pas- sively derived its most important opinions from habits or fi-ora authority, when, in consequence of a more enlarged intercourse with the world. It hnds, that ideas which it had been taught to regard as sacred, are treated by enlightened and worthy men with ridicule, IS apt to lose its reverence for the fundamental and eternal truths on which these accessory ideas are grafted, and easily falls a prey to that sceptical philosophy which teaches, that all the opinions and all the principles of action by which mankind are governed' may be traced to the influence of education and example. Amidst the inhnite variety of forms, however, which our versatile nature assumes. It cannot fail to strike an attentive observer, that there are certain indelible features common to them all. In one situation we find good men attached to a republican form of government • in another, to a monarchy ; but in all situations, we find them devoted to the service of their country and of mankind, and disposed to regard, with reverence and love, the most absurd and capricious institutions which custom has led them to connect with the order of society. The different appearances, therefore, which the political opinions and the political conduct of men exhibit, while thev demonstrate to what a wonderful degree human nature may be influenced by situation and by early instruction, evince the exist- ence of some common and original principles, which fit it for the political union, and illustrate the uniform operation of those laws of association, to which, in all the stages of society, it is equally subject, bimilar observations are applicable, and, indeed, in a still more striking degree, to the opinions of mankind on the important ques- tions of religion and morality. The variety of systems which they have formed to themselves concerning these subjects, has often excited the ridicule of the sceptic and the libertine ; but if on the one hand this variety shows the folly of bigotry, and the 'reason- ableness of mutual indulgence ; the curiosity which has led men in every situation to such speculations, and the influence which their conclusions, however absurd, have had on their character and their happiness, prove, no less clearly on the other, that there must be some principles from which they all derive their origin ; and invite the philosopher to ascertain what are these original and immutable laws of the human mind. "Examine" says Mr. Hume, "the religious principles which have prevailed in the world. You will scarcely be persuaded, that l 194 I'AIIT I. CHAP.lvr, III I III they are anything but sick men's dreams ; or, perhaps, will regj them more as the playsome whimsies of monkeys in human shajie, than the serious, positive, dogmatical asseverations of a being who dignifies himself with the name of rational." " To oppose the torrent of scholastic religion by such feeble maxims as these, that it is impossible for the same thing to be and not to be ; that the whole is greater than a part ; that two and three make five : is pre- tending to stop the ocean with a bulrush." But what is the infe- rence to which we are led by these observations ? Is it, to use tlio words of this ingenious writer, '' that tlie whole is a riddle, ail enigma, an inexplicable mystery ; and that doubt, uncertainty, and' suspense, appear the only result of our most accurate scrutiny concerning this subject?'' Or should not rather the melancholy histories which he has exhibited of the follies and caprices of super- stition, direct our attention to those sacred and indelible characters on the human mind, which all these perversions of reason are unable to obliterate; like th.it image of himself, which Phidias wished to perpetuate, by stamping it so deeply on the buckler of his Minerva ; " ut nemo delere posset aut divellere, qui totam sta- tuam non imminueret." [That no one could obliterate or detach it without destroying the whole statue.] (Select Discourses by John Smith, p. 1 19, Cambridge, 1673). In truth, the more strange the con- tradictions, and the more ludicrous the ceremonies to which the ju'ide of human reason has thus been reconciled ; the stronger is our evi- dence that religion has a foundation in the nature of man. When the greatest of modern philosophers declares, that " he would rather believe all the fables in the Legend, and the Talmud, and the Alcoran, than that this universal frame is without mind ;" (Lord Bacon in his Essays ;) he has expressed the same feeling, which, in all ages and nations, has led good men, unaccustomed to reasoning, to an implicit faith in the creed of their infancy ; — a feeling which affords an evi- dence of the existence of the Deity, incomparably more striking, than if, unmixed with error and undebased by superstition, this most important of all principles had commanded the universal assent of mankind. Where are the other truths, in the whole circle of the sciences, which are so essential to human happiness, as to procure an easy access, not only for themselves, but for \\ hatever opinions may happen to be blended with them ? Where are the truths so venerable and commanding, as to impart tlieir own sublimity to every trifling memorial which recalls them to our remembrance : to bestow solemnity and elevation on every mode of expression by which they are conveyed ; and which, hi v/hatever scene they have habitually occupied the thoughts, consecrate every object which it presents to our senses, and the very ground we have been accus- tomed to tread ? To attempt to weaken the authority of such impressions, by a detail of the endless variety of forms which they derive from casual associations, is surely an employment unsuitable to the dignity of philosophy. To the vulgar it may be amusing OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 19.^ m this, as in other instances, to indulge their wonder at what is new or uncommon ; but to the philosopher it belongs to perceive, under all these various disguises, the workings of the same common nature ; and in the superstitions of Egypt, no less than in the lofty visions of Plato, to recognise the existence of those moral ties which unite the heart of man to the Author of his being. II. Influence of the Association of Ideas on our Judgments in Matters of Taste.— The very general observations which 1 am to make in this section, do not presuppose any jjarticular theory concerning the nature of taste. It is sufficient for my purpose to remark, that taste IS not a simple and original faculty, but a power gradually formed by experience and observation. It implies, indeed, as its ground-work, a certain degree of natural sensibility ; but it implies also the exercise of the judgment; and is the slow result of an attentive examination and comparison of the agreeable or dis- agreeable eflTects produced on the mind by external objects. Such of my readers as are acquainted with " An Essay on the Nature and Principles of Taste," lately published by Mr. Alison, will not be surprised that I decline the discussion of a subject which he has treated with so much ingenuity and elegance. The view which was formerly given of the process by which the general laws of the material world are investigated, and which I endeavoured to illustrate by the state of medicine amono- rude nations, is strictly applicable to the history of taste. That certain objects are fitted to give pleasure, and others disgust, to the mind, we know from experience alone ; and it is impossible for us, by any reasoning a priori, to explain, how the pleasure or the pain is pro- duced. In the works of nature we find, in many instances, beauty and sublimity involved among circumstances, which are either indifferent, or which obstruct the general effect ; and it is only by a train of experiments, that we can separate those circumstances from the rest, and ascertain with what particular qualities the j)leasing effect is connected. Accordingly, the inexperienced artist, when he copies nature, will copy her servilely, that he may be certain of securing the pleasing effect; and the beauties of his performances will be encumbered with a number of superfluous or of disagreeable concomitants. Experience and observation alone can enable him to make this discrimination ; to exhibit the principles of beauty pure and unadulterated, and to form a creation of his own, more faultless than ever fell under tlie observation of his senses. This analogy between the progress of taste from rudeness to refinement; and the progress of physical knowledge from the sui)erstitions of a savage tribe, to the investigation of the laws of nature, proceeds on the supposition, that, as in the material world there are general facts, beyond which philosophy is unable to proceed ; so, in the constitution of man, there is an inexplicable adai)tation of the mind to the objects with which these faculties are conversant ; in consequence of which, these objects are fitted to f : o 2 19G PART I. CMAP. vr. produce agreeable or disagreeable emotions. In both cases, rea- soning may be employed with propriety to refer particular pheno- mena to general principles; but in both cases, we must at last arrive at principles of which no account can be given, but that such is the will of our Maker. A great part, too, of the remarks which were made in the last section on tlie origin of popular prejudices, may be applied to explain the influence of casual associations on taste; but these remarks do not so completely exhaust the subject, as to supersede the necessity of farther illustration. In matters of taste, the effects which we consider, are produced on the mind itself; and are accompanied either with pleasure or with pain. Hence the ten- dency to casual association, is much stronger than it commonly is, with respect to physical events ; and when such associations are once formed, as they do not lead to any important inconvenience, similar to those which result from physical mistakes, they are not so likely to be corrected by mere experience, unassisted by study. To this it is owing, that the influence of association on our judg- ments concerning beauty and deformity, is still more remarkable than on our speculative conclusions ; a circumstance which has led some philosophers to suppose, that association is sufliicient to account for the origin of these notions ; and that there is no such thing as a standard of taste, founded on the principles of the human constitution. But this is undoubtedly pushing the theory a great deal too far. The association of ideas can never account for the origin of a new notion ; or of a pleasure essentially different from all the others which we know. It may, indeed, enable us to con- ceive how a thing indifferent in itself, may become a source of pleasure, by being connected in the mind with something else which is naturally agreeable ; but it presupposes, in every instance, the existence of those notions and those feelings which it is its province to combine; insomuch that, I apprehend, it will be found, wherever association produces a change in our judgments on mat- ters of taste, it does so, by co-operating with some natural principle of the mind, and implies the existence of certain original sources of pleasure and uneasiness. 1^" A mode of dress, which at first appeared awkward, acquires, in a few weeks or months, the appearance of elegance. By being accustomed to see it worn by those whom we consider as models of taste, it becomes associated with the agreeable impressions which we receive from the ease and grace and refinement of their manners. When it pleases by itself, the effect is to be ascribed, not to the object actually before us, but to the impressions with which it has been generally connected, and which it naturally recalls to the mind. This observation points out the cause of the perpetual vicissitudes in dress, and in everything whose chief recommendation arises from fashion. It is evident that, as far as the agreeable effect of OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 197 an ornament arises from association, the effect will continue only while it is confined to the higher orders. When it is adopted by the multitude, it not only ceases to be associated with ideas of taste and refinement, but it is associated with ideas of affectation, absurd imitation, and vulgarity. It is accordingly laid aside by the higher orders, who studiously avoid every circumstance in external appear- ance, which is debased by low and common use ; and they are led to exercise their invention, in the introduction of some new pecu- liarities, which first become fashionable, then common, and last of all, are abandoned as vulgar. It has been often remarked, that after a certain period in the progress of society, the public taste becomes corrupted ; and the different productions of the fine arts begin to degenerate from that simplicity, which they had attained in their state of greatest per- fection. One reason of this decline is suggested by the foregoing observations. From the account which has been given of the natural progress of taste, in separating the genuine principles of beauty from super- fluous and from offensive concomitants, it is evident, that there is a limit, beyond which the love of simplicity cannot be carried. No bounds, indeed, can be set to the creations of genius, but as this quality occurs seldom in an eminent degree, it commonly happens, that after a period of great refinement of taste, men begin to gratify their love of variety, by adding superfluous circumstances to the finished models exhibited by their predecessors, or by making other trifling alterations on them, with a view merely of diversifying the effect. These additions and alterations, indifferent, perhaps, or even in some degree offensive in themselves, acquire soon a bor- rowed beauty, from the connexion in which we see them, or from the influence of fashion : the same cause which at first produced them, continues perpetually to increase their number; and taste returns to barbarism, by almost the same steps which conducted it to perfection. ^^ The truth of these remarks will appear still more striking to those who consider the wonderful effect which a writer of splendid genius, hut of incorrect taste, has in misleading the public judg- ment. The peculiarities of such an author are consecrated by the connexion in which we see them, and even please, to a certain degree, when detached from the excellences of his composition, by recalling to us the agreeable impressions with which they have been formerly associated. How many imitations have we seen, of the affectations of Sterne, by men who were unable to copy his beauties ? And yet these imitations of his defects ; of his abrupt manner ; of his minute specification of circumstances ; and even of his dashes, produce, at first, some effect on readers of sensibility, but of uncul- tivated taste, in consequence of the exquisite strokes of the pathetic, and the singular vein of humour, with which they are united in the original. ( 198 PART I. CHAP. VI. OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 199 I From what has been said, it is obvious, that [the circumstances which please, in the objects of taste, are of two kinds : First, those wliich are fitted to please hij nature^ or by associations which all mankind are led to form by their common condition ; and, secondly, those which jilease in consctjuence of associations arisinp^ from local and accidental circumstances. Hence, there are two kinds of taste : the one enabling us to judi;:e of those beauties which have a foun- dation in the human constitution ; the other, of such objects as derive their principal recommendation from the injiuence of fashion.^ These two kinds of taste are not always united in the same per- son : indeed, I am inclined to think, that they are united but rarely. The j)errection of the one, depends much upon tlie degree in which we are able to free tlie mind from the influence of casual associa- tions; that of the other, on the contrary, depends on a facility of association, which enables us to fall in, at once, with all the turns of the fashion, and, as Shakespeare expresses it, *' to catch the tunc of the times." I shall endeavour to illustrate some of the foregoing remarks, by applying them to the subject of language, which affords numberless instances to exemplify the influence which the association of ideas has on our judgments in matters of taste. In the same manner in which an article of dress acquired an appearance of elegance or of vulgarity from the persons by whom it is habitually worn ; so a particular mode of jironunciation acquires an air of fashion or of rusticity, from the persons by whom it is habitually employed. The Scotch accent is surely in itself as good as the English ; and with a few exceptions, is as agreeable to the ear : and yet how offensive does it appear, even to us, who have been accustomed to hear it from our infancy, when compared with that which is used by our southern neighbours ! — No reason can bo given for this, but that the capital of Scotland is now become a provincial town, and London is the seat of our court, V^ The distinction which is to be found in the languages of all civilised nations, between low and polite modes of expression, arises from similar causes. It is, indeed, amusing to remark the solicitude with which the higher orders, in the monarchies of modern Europe, avoid every circumstance in their exterior appearance and manner, which, by the most remote association, may, in the minds of others, connect them with the idea of the multitude. Their whole dress and deportment and conversation are studiously arranged to convey an imposing notion of their consequence; and to recall to the spec- tator, by numberless slight and apparently unintentional hints, the agreeable impressions which are associated with the advantages of fortune. To this influence of association on language, it is necessary for every writer to attend carefully, who wishes to express himself with elegance. For the attainment of correctness and purity in the use of words, the rules of grammarians and of critics may be a suflicient guide ; but it is not in the works of this class of authors, that the higher beauties of style are to be studied. As the air and manner of a gentleman can be acquired only by living habitually in the best society, so grace in composition must be attained by an habitual acquaintance with classical writers. It is indeed necessal*y for our information, that we should peruse occasionally many books which have no merit in j)oint of expression ; but I believe it to be ex- tremely useful to all literary men, to counteract the effect of this miscellaneous reading, by maintaining a constant and familiar acquaintance with a few of the most faultless models which the language affords. For want of some standard of this sort, we fre(piently see an author's taste in writing alter much to the worse in the course of his life; and his later productions fall below the level of his early essays. D'Alembert tells us that Voltaire had always lying on his table, the Petit Car<>me of Massillon, and the tragedies of Racine ; the former to fix his taste in prose composi- tion, and the latter in poetry. In avoiding, however, expressions which are debased by vulgar use, there is a danger of running into the other extreme in quest of fashionable words and phrases. Such an affectation may, for a few years, gratify the vanity of an author, by giving him the air of a man of the world, but the reputation it bestows is of a very tran- sitory nature. The works which continue to please from age to age are written with perfect simplicity, while those which captivate the multitude by a display of meretricious ornaments, if by chance, they should survive the fashions to which they are accommodated, remain only to furnish a subject of ridicule to posterity. 6E^ The portrait of a beautiful woman in the fashionable dress of the day may please at the moment it is painted, nay, may perhaps please more than in any that the fancy of the artist could have suggested, but it is only in the plainest and simplest drapery that the most perfect form can be transmitted with advantage to future times. The exceptions which the history of literature seems to furnish to these observations are only apparent. That, in the works of our best authors there are many beauties which have long and generally been admired, and which vet owe their whole effect to association, cannot be disputed, but, in such cases, it will always be found that the associations which are the foundation of our pleasures, have, in consequence of some peculiar combination of circumstances, been more widely diffused, and more permanently established among mankind than those which date their origin from the caprices of our own age are ever likely to be. An admiration for the classical remains of antiquity is at present, not less general in Europe than the advantages of a liberal education, and such is the effect of this admiration that there are certain caprices of taste from which no man who is well educated is entirely free. A composition in a modern language, which should sometimes depart from the ordi- nary modes of ex]>ression, from an affectation of the idioms which I J 200 PART I. CHAP. VI. 'I I are consecrated in the classics, would please a very wide circle of readers in consequence of the prevalence of classical associations, and therefore, such affectations, however ahsurd when carried to a degree of singularity, are of a far superior class to those which are adapted to the fashions of the day. But still the general principle holds true, that whatever beauties derive their original merely from casual association, must appear capricious to those to whom the association does not extend, and that the simplest style is that which continues longest to please, and which pleases most universally. In the writings of Mr. Harris there is a certain classical air which will always have many admirers while ancient learning continues to be cultivated, but which, to a mere English reader, appears somewhat unnatural and ungraceful when compared with the com- position of Swift or of Addison. ifeg" The analogy of the arts of statuary and painting may be of use in illustrating these remarks. The influence of ancient times has extended to these as well as to the art of writing, and in this case, no less than in the other, the transcendent power of genius has established a propriety of choice in matters of indifference, and has, perhaps, consecrated in the opinion of mankind some of its own caprices. " Many of the ornaments of art," says Sir Joshua Reynolds, " those at least for which no reason can be given, are transmitted to us, are adopted, and acquire their consequence from the company in wliich we have been used to see them. As Greece and Rome are the fountains from whence have flowed all kinds of excellence, to that veneration which they have a right to claim for the j)leasure and knowledge which they have afibrded us, we voluntarily add our approbation of every ornament and every custom that belonged to them, even to the fashion of their dress. For it may be observed that, not satisfled with them in their own place, we make no diffi- culty of dressing statues of modern heroes or senators in the fashion of the Roman armour, or peaceful robe, and even go so far as hardly to bear a statue in any other drapery. *'The figures of the great men of those nations have comedown to us in sculpture. In sculpture remain almost all the excellent specimens of ancient art. \\ e have so far associated personal dig- nity to the persons thus represented, and the truth oi art to their manner of representation, that it is not in our power any longer to separate them. This is not so in painting, because having no excel- lent ancient portraits, that connexion was never formed. Indeed, we could no more venture to paint a general officer in a Roman military habit than we could make a statue in the present uniform. But since we have no ancient portraits to show how ready we are to adopt those kinds of prejudices, we make the best authority among the moderns serve the same purpose. The great variety of excel- lent portraits with which Vandyke has enriched this nation, we are not content to admire for their real excellence, but extend our k OF THE ASSOCIATION OP IDEAS. 201 approbation even to the dress which happened to be the fashion of that age. By this means, it must be acknowledged, very ordinary pictures acquired something of the air and effect of the works of Vandyke, and appeared therefore, at first sight, better pictures than they really were. They appeared so, however, to those only who had the means of making this association." — (Reynolds's Dis- courses, p. 313, et seq.) The influence of association on our notions concerning language, is still more strongly exemplified in poetry than in prose. As it is one great object of the poet, in his serious productions to elevate the imagination of his readers above the grossness of sensible objects, and the vulgarity of common life, it becomes peculiarly necessary for him to reject the use of all words and phrases which are trivial and hackneyed. Among those which are equally pure and equally perspicuous, he, in general, finds it expedient to adopt that which is the least common. Milton prefers the words Rhone and Danaw to the more common words Rhine and Danube : — " A multitude, like which the populous North Pour'd never from his frozen loins, to pass Rhene or the Danaw." — Paradise Lost, book i, 1. 351. In the following line, " Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme," how much more suitable to the poetical style does the expression appear than if the author had said, " Things unattempted yet in prose or verse." In another passage, where, for the sake of variety, he has made use of the last phrase, he adds an epithet, to remove it a little from the familiarity of ordinary discourse. in prose or numerous verse." — Paradise Lost, book i. 1. 150. See Newton's Edit. In consequence of this circumstance, there arises gradually in every language a poetical diction, which differs widely from the common diction of prose. It is much less subject to the vicissitudes of fashion, than the polite modes of expression in familiar conver- sation; because, when it has once been adopted by the poet it is avoided by good prose writers, as being too elevated for that species of composition. It may therefore retain its charm, as long as the language exists ; nay, the charm may increase, as the lan- guage grows older. Indeed, the charm of poetical diction must increase to a certain degree, as polite literature advances. For when once a set of words has been consecrated to poetry, the very sound of them, independently of the ideas they convey, awakens every time we hear it, the agreeable impressions which were connected with it when we met witli them in the performances of our favourite authors. .iii I 202 PART I. CHAP. VI. OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 203 Even when strung together in sentences which convey no meaning, they produce some ettcct on the mind of a reader of sensibiUty ; an etfect, at least, extremely different from that of an unmeaning sentence in prose. , Languages differ from each other widely in the copiousness of their poetical diction. Our own possesses, in this respect, impor- tant advantages over the French : not that in this language there are no words appropriated to poetry, but because their number is, comparatively speaking, extremely limited. The scantiness of the French poetical diction is, prol)abIy, attended with the less inconvenience, that the phrases which occur in good prose writing are less degraded by vulgar application than in English, in consequence of the line being more distinctly and more 'strongly drawn between polite and low expressions in that lano-uage tlum in ours. Our poets, indeed, by having a language apju-opriated to their own purposes, not only can preserve dignity of expression, but can connect with the perusal of their compositions, the pleasing impressions which have been produced by those of their predecessors. And hence, in the higher sorts of poetry, where their object is to kindle, as much as possible, the enthusiasm ()f their readers, they not only avoid, studiously, all expressions which are vul<>'ar,but all such as'are borrowed from fashionable life. This certainly cannot be done in an equal degree by a poet who writes in the French language. In English, the poetical diction is so extremely copious, that It is liable to^'be abused; as it puts it in the power of authors of no o-enius, merely by ringing changes on the poetical vocabulary, to give a certain degree of currency to the most unmeaning compo- sitions. In Pope's Song hy a Person of QuaUtij, the incoiiereiice of ideas is scarcely greater than what is to be found in some admired passages of our fashionable poetry. Nor is it merely by a difference of words, that the language of poetry is distinguished from that of iirose. When a poetical arrangement of words has once been established by authors of repu- tation, the most common expressions, by being presented in this consectated order, may serve to excite poetical associations. On the other hand, nothins: more completely destroys the charm of poetry, than a string of words which the custom of ordinary discourse has arranjjed in so invariable an order, that the whole phrase may be anticipated from hearing its commencement. A single word freciuentlv strikes us as flat and prosaic, in consequence of its familiarity -.'but two such words coupled together in the order of conversation, can scarcely be introduced hito serious poetry without appearing ludicrous. No poet in our language has shown so strikingly as Mihon, the wonderful elevation wirich style may deprive from an arrangement of words, which, while it is* perfectly intelligible, departs widely from that to w liich Wf are in general accustomed. i^Iany of his most sublime periods, when the order of the words is altered, are reduced nearly to the level of prose. To copy this artifice with success is a much more difficult attain- ment than is commonly imagined ; and, of consequence, when it is acquired, it secures an author, to a great degree, from that crowd of imitators who spoil the effect of whatever is not beyond their reach. To the poet who uses blank verse, it is an acquisition of still more essential consequence than to him who expresses himself in rhyme ; for the more that the structure of the verse approaches to prose, the more it is necessary to give novelty and dignity to the composition. And accordingly, among our magazine poets, ten thousand catch the structure of Pope's versification, for one who approaches to the manner of Milton or of Thomson. The facility, however, of this imitation, like every other, increases with the number of those who have studied it with success ; for the more numerous the authors who have employed their genius in any one direction, the more copious are the materials out of which mediocrity may select and combine, so as to escape the charge of plagiarism. [And, in fact, in our own language, this, as well as the other great resource of ])oetical expression, the employment of appropriated words, has had its effect so much impaired by the abuse which has been made of it, that a ^ew of our best poets of late have endeavoured to strike out a new path for themselves by resting the elevation for their composition chiefly on a singular, and, to an ordinary writer, an unattainable union of harmonious versification, with a natural arrangement of words, and a simple elegance of expression. It is this union which seems to form the distinguishing charm of the poetry of Goldsmith.] From the remarks which have been made on the influence of the association of ideas on our judgments in matters of taste, it is obvious how much the opinions of a nation with respect to merit in the fine arts, are likely to be influenced by the form of their govern- ment, and the state of their manners. Voltaire, in his discourse pronounced at his reception into the French academy, gives several reasons why the poets of that country have not succeeded in describing rural scenes and employments. The principal one is, the ideas of meanness, and poverty, and wretchedness, which the French are accustomed to associate with the profession of husbandry. The same thing is alluded to by the Abbe de Lille, in the pre- liminary discourse prefixed to his translation of the Georgics. "A translation," says he, " of this poem, if it had been undertaken by an author of genius, would have been belter calculated than any other work, for adding to the riches of our language. A version of the ^Eneid itself, however well executed, would, in this respect, be of less utility ; inasmuch, as the genius of our tongue accommodates itself more easily to the description of heroic achieve- ments, than to the details of natural phenomena, and of the opera- tions of husbandry. To f 'rce it to exj)ress these with suitable 1 i 204 PART I. CHAP. VI. dignity, would have been a real conquest over that false delicacy, which it has contracted from our unfortunate prejudices." How different must have been the emotions with which this divine performance of Virgil was read by an ancient Roman, while he recollected that period in the history of his country, when dic- tators were called from the plough to the defence of the state, and after having led monarchs in triumph, returned again to the same happy and independent occupation. A state of manners to which a Roman author of a later age looked back with such enthusiasm, that he ascribes, by a bold poetical figure, the flourishing state of agriculture under the republic, to the grateful returns which the earth then made to the illustrious hands by which she was culti- vated. " Gaudente terra vomere laureato, et triumphali aratore." (Plin. Nat. Hist, xviii. 4.)* III. Of the Influence of Association on our active Principles, and on our moral Judgments. — In order to illustrate a little farther the influence of the association of ideas on the human mind, I shall add a ^evf remarks on some of its effects on our active and moral prin- ciples. In stating these remarks, I shall endeavour to avoid, as much as possible, every occasion of controversy, by confining myself to such general views of the subject, as do not presuppose any particular enumeration of our original principles of action, or any particular system concerning the nature of the moral faculty. If my health and leisure enable me to carry my plans into execution, I propose, in the sequel of this work, to resume these inquiries, and to examine the various opinions to which they have given rise. The manner in which the association of ideas operates in pro- ducing new principles of action, has been explained very distinctly by different writers. Whatever conduces to the gratification of any natural appetite, or of any natural desire, is itself desired on account of the end to which it is subservient ; and by being thus habitually associated in our apprehension with agreeable objects, it frequently comes, in process of time, to be regarded as valuable in itself, inde- pendently of its utility. It is thus that wealth becomes, with many, an ultimate object of pursuit; although, at first, it is undoubtedly valued, merely on account of its subserviency to the attainment of other objects. In like manner, men are led to desire dress, equi- page, retinue, furniture, on account of the estimation in which they are supposed to be held by the public. Such desires are called by Dr. Hutcheson (see his Essay on the Nature and Conduct of the Passions), secondary desires : and their origin is explained by him in the way which I have mentioned. " Since we are capable," says he, " of reflection, memory, observation, and reasoning about the distant tendencies of objects and actions, and not confined to things present, there must arise, in consequence of our original desires, secondary desires of everything imagined useful to gratify any of * " The soil dcliglited with the laurell'd plough, and triuinph-honour'd ploughman." OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 205 the primary desires ; and that with strength proportioned to the several original desires, and imagined usefulness or necessity of the advantageous object." "Thus," he continues, "as soon as we come to apprehend the use of wealth or power to gratify any of our original desires, we must also desire them ; and hence arises the universality of these desires of wealth and power, since they are the means of gratifying all other desires." The only thing that appears to me exceptionable in the foregoing passage is, that the author classes the desire of power with that of wealth ; whereas I appre- hend it to be clear, (for reasons which I shall state in another part of this work), that the former is a primary desire, and the latter a secondary one. Our moral judgments, too, maybe modified, and even perverted, to a certain degree, in consequence of the operation of the same principle. In the same manner in whicli a person who is regarded as a model of taste may introduce, by his example, an^ absurd or fantastical dress ; so a man of splendid virtues may attract some esteem also to his imperfections ; and, if placed in a conspicuous situation, may render his vices and follies objects of general imita- tion among the multitude. " In the reign of Charles II.," says Mr. Smith (Theory of Moral Sentiments), " a degree of licentiousness was deemed the character- istic of a liberal education. It was connected, according to the notions of those times, with generosity, sincerity, magnanimity, loyalty ; and proved that the person who acted in tliis manner was a gentleman, and not a puritan. Severity of manners, and regu- larity of conduct, on the other hand, were altogether unfashionable, and were connected, in the imagination of that age, with cant, cun- ning, hypocrisy, and low manners. To superficial minds, the vices of the great seem at all times agreeable. They connect them, not only with the splendour of fortune, but with many superior virtues which they ascribe to their superiors ; with the spirit of freedom and independency ; with frankness, generosity, humanity, and po- liteness. The virtues of the inferior ranks of people, on the con- trary, their parsimonious frugality, their painful industry, and rigid adherence to rules, seem to them mean and disagreeable. They connect them both with the meanness of the station to which these qualities commonly belong, and with many great vices which they suppose usually accompany them; such as an abject, cowardly, ill-natured, lying, pilfering disposition." The theory which, in the foregoing passages from Hutcheson and Smith, is employed so justly and philosophically to explain the origin of our secondary desires, and to account for some perversions of our moral judgments, has been thought sufficient, by some later writers, to account for the origin of all our active principles without exception. The first of these attempts to extend so very far the application of the doctrine of Association was made by the Reverend Mr. Gay, in a dissertation " concerning the fundamental Principle jit \ ( 206 PART I. CHAP. VI. of Virtue," whicli is prefixed by Dr. Law to liis translation of Archbishop King's Essay " (3n the Origin of Evil." In this disser- tation, the author endeavours to show, " that our approbation of morality, and all affections whatsoever, are finally resolvable into reason, pointing out private happiness, and ait? conversant only about things a|)prehended to be means tending to this end ; and that wherever this end is not perceived, they are to be accounted for from the association of ideas, and may properly be called huUu:* The same principles have been since pushed to a mucli grciiter leno-th by Dr. Hartley, whose system (as he himself informs us) took rise from his accidentally hearing it mentioned as an opinion of Mr. Gay, " that the association of ideas was sufiicient to account for all our intellectual pleasures and pains."* It must, I think, in justice, be acknowledged, that this theory, concerning the origin of our affections, and of the moral scnr,e, is a most ingejiious reiinement upon the selfish system, as it was for- merly taught; and that, by means of it, the force of many of tlie common reasonings against that system is eluded. Among these reasonings, particular stress has always been laid on the instaiita- neousnes^ with which our affections operate, and the moral sense approves or condemns; and on our total want of consciousness, in such cases, of any reference to our own happiness. The modern advocates for the selfish system admit the fact to be as it is stated by their opponents ; and grant, that after tiie moral sense and our various affections are formed, their exercise, in particular cases, may become completely disinterested ; but still they contend, that it is upon a regard to our own happiness that all these principles are originally grafted. The analogy of avarice will serve to illus- trate the scope of this theory, it cannot be doubted that this principle of action is artificial. It is on account of the enji)yments which it enables us to purchase, that money is originally desired ; and yet, in process of time, by means of the agreeable impressions which are associated with it, it comes to be desired for its own sake ; and even continues to be an object of our [)iirsuit, long after we have lost all relish for those enjoyments which it enables us to command. Without meaning to engage in any controversy on the subject, I shall content myself with observing, in general, that [there must be some limit, beyond which the theory of association cannot possi- bly be carried ; for the explanation which it gives, of the formation of new principles of action, proceeds on the supi)Osition that there are other principles previously existing in the mind. The great question then is, when we are arrived at this hmit ; or, in other * Mr. Hume too, who, in my opinion, has carried this principle of the association of ideas a great ileal too far, has compared the universality of its applications in the philosophy of mind, to that of the principle of attraction in physics. " Here," says he, "isakindi^f attraction, whic'u in the in**ijfal world will ho found to ha\e as extra- ordinary ettecti as iii the natural, and to biiow itself in as many and as various fonns."— Treat, of Hum. Nat. vol. i. p. 30. OF TIIE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 107 words, when we are arrived at the simple and original laws of our constitution.] In conducting this inquiry, philosophers have been apt to go into extremes. Lord Kaimes, and some other authors, have been cen- sured, and perhaps justly, for a disposition to multiply original princijdes to an unnecessary degree. It may be ([uestioned, whether Dr. Hartley and his followers, have not sometimes been misled by too eager a desire of abridjjing their number. Of these two errors, the former is the least common, and the least dangerous. It is the least common, because it is not so flat- tering as tlie other to the vanity of a tiieorist ; and it is the least dangerous, because it lias no tendency, like the other, to give rise to a suppression, or to a misrepresentation of facts ; or to retard the progress of the science, by bestowing upon it an appearance of systematical perfection, to which, in its present state, it is not entitled. Abstracting, however, from these inconveniences, which must always result from a i)recipitate reference of phenomena to general principles, it does not seem to me, that the theory in question has any tendency to weaken the foundation of morals. It has, indeed, some tendency, in common with the philosophy of Hobbes and of Mandeville, to degrade the dignity of human nature: but it leads to no sceptical conclusions concerning tlie rule of life. For, ahliough we were to grant, that all our principles of action are a((|uired ; so striking a difierence among them must still be admitted, as is sufficient to distinguish clearly those universal laws which were intended to regulate human conduct, from the local habits which are formed by education and fashion. It must still be admitted, that while some active principles are confined to particular indi- viduals, or to particular tribes of men, there are others, which, arisino- from circumstances in which all the situations of mankind must agree, are common to the whole species. Such active prin- cij)les as fall under this last description, at whatever period of life they may appear, are to be regarded as a part of human nature, no less than'the instinct of suction : in the same manner as the acquired ])erception of distance by the eye, is to be ranked among the per- ceptive powers of man, no less than the original perceptions of any of our other senses. Leaving, therefore, the question concerning the origin of our active principles, and of the moral faculty, to be the subject of future discussion, I shall conclude this section with a few remarks of a more practical nature. It has been shown by different writers how much of the beauty and sublimity of material objects arise from the ideas and feelings which we have been taught to associate with them. The impression produced on the external senses of a poet by the most striking scene in nature is precisely the same with what is produced on the senses of a peasant or a tradesman : yet how different is the degree of pleasure resulting from this impression! A great part of this f i I 208 PART I. CHAP. VI. difference is undoubtedly to be ascribed to the ideas and feelings which the habitual studies and amusements of the poet have asso- ciated with his organical perceptions. , . ^ /. A «»imilar observation may be applied to all the various objects of our pursuit in life. Hardly any one of them is appreciated by any two men in the same manner : and frequently what one man con- siders as essential to his happiness is regarded with indifference or disUke by another. Of these differences of opinion much is, no doubt, to be ascribed to a diversity of constitution, which renders a particular employment of the intellectual or active powers agree- able to one man which is not equally so to another. But much is aUo to be ascribed to the effect of association ; which, prior to any experience of human life, connects pleasing ideas and pleasing feelinffs with different objects, in the minds of different persons. In consequence of these associations, every man appears to his neighbour to pursue the object of his wishes with a zeal dispro- portioned to its intrinsic value : and the philosopher (whose prin- cipal enjoyment arises from speculation) is frequentlv apt to smile at the ardour with which the active part of mankmd pursue what appear to him to be mere shadows. This view of human affairs, some writers have carried so far, as to represent life as a scene of mere illusions, where the mind refers to the objects around it, a colouring which exists only in itself; and where, as the poet ex- presses it, e„t writers of the present age have been ambitious to torrn { Concerain- the merit of these theories I shall not presume to eive anvTdgnient. 1 shall only reniark. that in all the other fc'ences^he progress of discovery has been gradual, rom the e.s General to the more general laws of nature; and that . wou d be In Alar tdeedyif in fhe philosophy of the human m.nd.a sconce whfch bi a few years ago was confessedly in itsmfancy and winch rertaSnlv abours under many disadvantages peculiar to itself, a step should, all at once, be made to a single principle comprehending all the narticular phenomena which we know. ,,.,,. , , CposL such a theory to be completely established it w^uld 8tiu7e proper to lead the minds of students to it by gradual steps. One of th^ most important uses of theory, is to give the menaory a permanent hold, and a prompt command, of the particular facts wldch we were previousl/aciiainted with ; and no theory can be TompleTely understood, unless' the mind be led to it nearly m the order of investigation. . ,, ^ r e It in more particularly useful, m conducting the studies of others,"to familiarize their minds, as completely as possible, with those laws of nature for which we have the direct evidence of sense or of consciousness, before directing their inquiries to the more' abstruse and refined generalizations of speculative curiosity. In natural philosophy, supposing the theory of Boscovich to be true it would still be proper, or rather indeed absolutely necessary, to accustom students, in the first stage of their physical education \i OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 211 to dwell on those general pliysical facts which fall under our actual observation, and about which all the practical arts of life are con- versant. In like manner, in the philosophy of mind, there are many general facts for which we have the direct evidence of con- sciousness. The words, attention, conception, memory, abstraction, imagination, curiosity, ambition, compassion, resentment, express powers and principles of our nature, which every man may study by reflecting on his own internal operations. Words correspond- ing to these, are to be found in all languages, and may be consi- dered as forming the first attempt towards a j)hilosophical classifi- cation of intellectual and moral phenomena. Such a classification, however imperfect and indistinct, we may be assured, must have some foundation in nature ; and it is at least prudent, for a philo- sopher to keep it in view as the ground-work of his own arrange- ment. It not only directs our attention to those facts in the human constitution, on which every solid theory in this branch of science must be founded ; but to the facts, which, in all ages, have appeared, to the common sense of mankind, to be the most striking and im- portant ; and of which it ought to be the great object of theorists, not to supersede, but to facilitate the study. There is indeed good reason for believing, that many of the facts which our consciousness would lead us to consider, upon a super- ficial view, as ultimate facts, are resolvable into other principles still more general. " Long before we are capable of reflection," says Dr. Reid, " the original perceptions and notions of the mind are so mixed, compounded, and decompounded, by habits, associations, and abstractions, that it is extremely difiScult for the mind to return upon its own footsteps, and trace back those operations which have employed it since it first began to think and to act." The same author remarks, that, " if we could obtain a distinct and full history of all that hath passed in the mind of a child, from the beginning of life and sensation, 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 senti^ients, 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 tiie systems of philosophers about them, since the beginning of the world." To accomplish an analysis of these complicated pheno- mena into the simple and original principles of our constitution, is the great object of this branch of philosophy ; but, in order to succeed, it is necessary to ascertain facts before we begin to reason, and to avoid generalizing, in any instance, till we have completely secured the ground that we have gained. Such a caution, which is necessary in all the sciences, is in a more peculiar manner, neces- sary here, where the very facts from which all our inferences must be drawn, are to be ascertained only by the most patient attention , and where almost all of them are, to a great degree, disguised ; p2 m V 212 PART I. CHAP. VI. prfy by the in.aear,cia of TO"1" '"B^S". "^ I""'' '"' *« -rTbttlsiiar^j;: s s^u ^So'\i^ ""Ti, ™.^S it b evSotlv ra...b more iteeesM ■» t » ,„ the <=°™P°^''Xr/eau*" In reforming the nomenclature of ?hSr"y 'iare nl won! which is improper. They who under cnemis»iry, ^pi , .|, g. ^ nconveinence ; and they [K'Ear i^^SpL-rjSe.^, to „„t^oe= innovations in language with any hopes of success. CHAPTER VII. OF MEMORY. I. General Observations on Memory. -Amo^o J^e;^;;-^^;;^" KilySnSSl frmn all fhe other principles of our consti- fuS'eS by those who have ^-^^^^S:T^:^^:^% sical investigations ; and partlv to ts ~» ^ j Jf ufe only to the P»'«f \°f ^«'«"^^' *»"/:," „ost c3s laws had been in consequence of which, many ot . s mosi cur^u observed lon.^ before anv analysw was attempted ot the otner ;?wers of Smind, and have, for many ages, formed a part of the demiers temps de sa >ne, ^fi^^'*^',^ afa ne savcnt nas encore, entendront plutfit.' "- OF MEMORY. 213 common maxims whicli are to be found in every treatise of educr- tion. Some important remarks on the subject may, in particular, be collected from the writings of the ancient rhetoricians. The word Memory is not employed uniformly in the same pre- cise sense; but it always expresses some modification of that faculty, which enables us to treasure up and preserve for future use the knowledge we acquire, a faculty which is obviously the great foundation of all intellectual improvement, and without which no advantage could be derived from the most enlarged experience. [This faculty implies two things — (1) a capacity of retaining knowledge, and (2) a power of recalling it to our thoughts when we have occasion to apply it to use. The word memory is sometimes employed to express the capacity, and some- times the power. When we speak of a retentive memory, we use it in the former sense ; when of a ready memory, in the latter.] The various particulars which compose our stock of knowledge are, from time to time, recalled to our thoughts in one of two ways ; sometimes they recur to us spontaneously, or at least, with- out any interference on our part ; in other cases they are recalled, in consequence of an effort of our tvill For the former operation of the mind, we have no appropriated name in our language distinct from memory. The latter, too, is often called by the same name, but is more properly distinguished by the word recollection. There are, I believe, some other acceptations besides these, in which the word memory has been occasionally employed ; but as its ambiguities are not of such a nature as to mislead us in our present Tnquiries, I shall not dwell any longer on the illustration of distinctions, which to the greater part of readers might appear uninteresting and minute. One distinction only relative to this subject occurs to me as deserving particular attention. The operations of Memory relate either to things and their rela- tions, or to events. In the former case, thoughts which have been previously in the mind may recur to us without suggesting the idea of the past, or of any modification of time whatever ; as when I repeat over a poem which I have got by heart, or when I think of the features of an absent friend. In this last instance, indeed, philosophers distinguish the act of the mind by the name of con- ception ; but in ordinary discourse, and frequently even in philo- sophical writing, it is considered as an exertion of memory. In these and similar cases, it is obvious, that the operations of this faculty do not necessarily involve the idea of the past. The case is different with respect to the memory of events. When I think of these, I not only recall to the mind the former objects of its thoughts, but I refer the event to a particular point of time ; so that, of every such act of memory, the idea of the past is a necessary concomitant. I have been led to take notice of this distinction, in order to obviate an objection which some of the phenomena of memory i 1' i' •til i i 214 TAUT 1. CHAP. VII. seem to present, against a doctrine wind. I formerly stated, wbeu treating of the powers of conception and in.a};niation. It is evident tl.at when 1 think of an event, in which any object of sense was concerned, my recollection of the -vent must neces- sarily involve an act of conception. Thus, when I think of a dra- matic representation which 1 have recently seen, my recollection of what I saw, necessarily involves a conception of the different actors by whom it was performed. But every act of recollection which relates to events, is accompanied with a l^het of their past existence How then are we to reconcile this conclusion with the dwtrine formerly maintained concerning conception, according to which every exertion of that power is accompanied with a belief, that its object exists before us at the present moment? The only way that occurs to me of removing this difficulty, is by su,.posin-,that the remembrance of a past event .8 not a simple act of the mhid ; but that the mind first forms a conception of the even -H^d then jndges from circumstances, of the period of time to which it is to-'be'referre.l: a supposition which is by no means a gratuitous one, invented to answer a particular POT"?^; »'" wirich as far as I am able to judge, is agreeable to fact; for if we have the power, as will not be disputed, of conceiving a past event Sou any reference to time, it follows, that there is nothing m the ideas or notions which memory presents to us, which is ncces- sarily accompanied with a belief of past existence, in a way analo- gous to that in which our perceptions are accompanied with a Sof the present existence of their obJects;.and therefbre, tha the reference of the event to the particular period at which it hap- pened is a iudgment founded on concomitant circumstances, bo C as we^re occupied with the conception of any ,)articular owfct connected with the event, we believe the presen existence of the oWect; but this belief, which, in most cases, is only momen- tary is instantly corrected by habits of judging acquired by expe- rSe • and asLon as the mind is disengaged from such a belief. itTleft a? liberty to refer the event to the period at which it actu- aUy hap^ned. ^Nor will the apparent instantaneousness of such S-ments be considered as an insurmountable objection to the ffine now advanced, by those who have reflected on the pur- Sn of Lance obt;ined by sight, which although it seems to Ks immediate as any perception of touch, has been shown by philosoE to be the result of" a judgment founded on experience Sd observation. The reference we make of past events to the particularpoints of time at which they took place wdl, I am fnXed to'^think, the more we consider the subject, be found the more strikingly analogous to the estimates of distance we learn to ^"TltttlTmvever, I am, myself, satisfied with the conclusion towhch thefore-roing reasonings lead, I am far from expecting thaUhe case will be the same wi?h all my readers. Some of their OF MEMORY. 215 obiections, which I can easily anticipate, might, I believe, be obvi- ated by a little farther discussion ; but as the question is merely a matter of curiosity, and has no necessary connexion with the obser- vations I am to make in this chapter, I shall not prosecute the sub- ject at present. The opinion, indeed, we form concerning it, has no reference to any of the doctrines maintained in this work, except- in"- to a particular speculation concerning the belief accompanying conception, which I ventured to state, in treating of that subject, and which, as it appears to be extremely doubtful to some whose opinions I respect, I proposed with a degree of diffidence suitable to the difficulty of such an inquiry. The remaining observations which I am to make on the power of memory, whatever opinion may be formed of their importance, will furnish but httle room for a diversity of judgment concerning their truth. In considering this part of our constitution, one of the most obvious and striking questions that occurs, is, what the circum- stances are which determine the memory to retain some things in preference to others? Among tlie subjects which successively occupy our thoughts, by far the greater number vanish, without leavinor a trace behind them ; while others become, as it were, a part of ourselves, and by their accumulations, lay a foundation for our perpetual progress in knowledge. Without pretending to exhaust the subject, I shall content myself at present with a partial solution of this difficulty, by illustrating the dependence of memory upon two principles of our nature, with which it is plainly very intimately connected ; attention, and the association of ideas. I endeavoured in a former chapter (Chap. II.) to show that there is a certain act of the mind, (distinguished, both by philoso- phers and the vulgar, by the name of attention,) without which even the objects of our perceptions make no impression on the memory. It is also matter of common remark, that the permanence of the impression which any thing leaves in the memory, is propor- tioned to the degree of attention which was originally given to it. The observation has been so often repeated, and is so manifestly true, that it is unnecessary to offer any illustration of it.* I have only to observe farther, with respect to attention, con- sidered in the relation in which it stands to memory, that although * It seems to be owing to this dependence of memory on attention, that it is easier to eet bv heart a composition, after a verv' few readings, with an attempt to repeat it at the end of each, than after a hundred readings without such an effort. The effort rouses the attention from that languid state in which it remains, while the mind is giving a passive reception to foreign ideas. The fact is remarked by Lord Bacon, and is explained by him on the same principle to which 1 have referred it. " Qua; expectantur et attentionem excitant, meUus haerent quam quae praetervolant. Itaque si scriptum aliquod vicies perlegeris, non tam facile illud memonter disces, quam si iUud legas decies, tentando interim iUud recitare, et ubi deficit memona, inspiciendo librum."— Bacon, Nov. Org. hb. u. aph. 26. [WTiatever is expected, and excites the attention, adheres more tenaciously than what fleets past And so if you read anv thing twenty times, vou wiU not so easUy commit it to memor\- as if you should read it ten times, trying to recite it, and where your memory fails, looking at the book.] H i> 216 PART I. CHAP. VII OF MEMORY. 217 it be a voluntary act, it requires experience to have it always under command. In the case of objects to which we have been taught to attend at an early period of life, or which are calculated to rouse the curiosity, or to affect any of our passions, the attention hxes itself upon them, as it were spontaneously, and without any ettort on our part, of which we are conscious. How perfectly do we remember, and even retain, for a long course of years, the faces and the hand-writings of our acquaintances, although we never took any particular pains to fix them in the memory ? On tlie other hand, if an object does not interest some principle of our nature, we may examine it again and again,with a wish to treasure up the knowledge of it in the mind, without our beincr able to command that degree of attention which may lead us to recognise it the next time we see it. K^ A person, for example, who has not been accustomed to attend particularly to horses or to cattle, may <;tudy for a considerable time the appearance of a horse or of a bullock, without being able a few days afterwards to pronounce on his identity ; while a horse-dealer or a grazier recollects many hundreds of that class of animals with which he is conversant, as perfectly as he does the faces of his acquaintances. In order to account for this, I would remark, that although attention be a voluntary act, and although we are always able, when we choose, to make-*a momentary exertion of it: yet, unless the object to which it is directed be really interesting, in some degree, to the curiosity, the train of our ideas goes on, and we immediately forget our pur- pose When we are employed, therefore in studying such an object it is not an exclusive and steady attention that we give to it but we are losing sight of it, and recurring to it every instant ; and the painful efforts of which we are conscious, are not, (as we are apt to suppose them to be,) efforts of uncommon attention, but un- successful attempts to keep the mind steady to its object, and to exclude the extraneous ideas, which are from time to time soliciting its notice. , , , «. , i x* If these observations be well founded, they afford an explanation of a fact which has been often remarked, that objects are easily re- membered which affect any of the passions.* The passion assists the memory, not in consequence of any immediate connexion be- tween them, but as it presents, during the time it continues, a steady and exclusive object to the attention. [The connexion between memory and the association of ideas, is so striking, that it has been supposed by some, that the whole of * " Si quas res in vita videraus panas, usitatas, quotidianas, eas i.iciaiiiisse non solemuR; DTOpterea quod nulla nisi nova aut admirabiU re commovetur animus. At si quid vide- mus aut audiraus egregie turpe, aut honestum. inusitatum, i«agnum, incredibile, ndicu- ^n , Id diu meminisle consue>-imus."-Ad. Herenn. Ub. 3 [If in hte we see any thing, asiinificant, usual, of daily occurrence, we Uttle memory as to tell the »»"'=•''»".•, ,^ same conversation i and 8 simdar reaiark i« made Tm^* i^. -e of "s Essay,: •• S.otout les vieil^^ sont aaui,.reux. a ,«i U OF MEMORY. 219 affected A stroke of the palsy has been known, while it did not destrov the power of speech, to render the patient incapable of recollectinvho recollect past events, but cannot remember the repetition of their accounts of *'?rt['^;?t^^that all their old ideas remain in the -nd -neded as fo. merly by the ditferent associating principles ; but that the power of attention to ne^. ideas anil new occiu-reuccs is impaired. 1 I PART I. CHAP. VII. OF MEMORY. 221 any man who has not memory sufficient to learn the use of language, and to learn to recognise, at the first glance, the appearances of an infinite number of mmiliar objects ; besides acquiring such an ac- quaintance with the laws of nature, and the ordinary course of hu- man affairs, as is necessary for directing his conduct in life ; we shall be satisfied that the original disparities among men, in this respect, are by no means so immense as they seem to be at first view; and that much is to be ascribed to different habits of atten- tion, and to a difference of selection among the vanous objects and events presented to their curiosity. As the great purpose to which this faculty is subservient, is to enable us to collect, and to retain, for the future regulation of our conduct, the results of our past experience ; it is evident that [the degree of perfection which it attains in the case of ditferent persons, must vary ; first, with the facility of making the original acquisi- tion ; secondly, with the permanence of the acquisition ; and thirdly, with the quickness or readiness with which the individual is able, on particular occasions, to apply it to use. The qualities, there- fore, of a good memory are in the first place, to be susceptihle ; secondly, to be retentive ; and thirdly, to be ready,] It is but rarely that these three qualities are united in the same person. We often, indeed, meet with a memory which is at once susceptible and ready ; but I doubt much, if such memories be commonly very retentive : for, susceptibility and readiness are both connected with a facility of associating ideas, according to their more obvious relations ; whereas retentiveness or tenaciousness of memory, depends principally on what is seldom united with this facility, a disposition to system and to philosojihical arrange- ment. These observations it will be necessary to illustrate more particularly. I have already remarked, in treating of a different subject, that the bulk of mankind, being but little accustomed to reflect and to generalize, associate their ideas chiefly according to their more obvious relations; those, for example, of resemblance and of analogy ; and above all, according to the casual relations arising from con- tiguity in time and place ; whereas, in the mind of a philosopher, ideas are commonly associated according to those relations which are brought to light in consequence of particular efforts of attention; such as the relations of causes and effect, or of premises and conclu- sion. This difference in the modes of association of these two classes of men, is the foundation of some very striking diversities between them in respect of intellectual character. In the first place, in consequence of the nature of the relations which connect ideas together in the mind of the philosopher, it must necessarily happen, that when he has occasion to apply to use his acquired knowledge, time and reflection will be requisite to enable him to recollect it. In the case of those, on the other hand, who have not been accustomed to scientific pursuits, as their ideas are connected together according to the most obvious relations, when any one idea of a class is presented to the mind, it is imme- diately followed by the others, which succeed each other spon- taneously, according to the laws of association. In managing, therefore, the little details of some subaltern employment, in which all that is required is, a knowledge of forms, and a disposition to observe them, the want of a systematical genius is an important advantage ; because this want renders the mind peculiarly suscep- tible of habits, and allows the train of its ideas to accommodate itself perfectly to the daily and hourly occurrences of its situation. But if, in this respect, men of no general principles have an advan- tage over the philosopher, they fall greatly below him in another point of view; inasmuch as all the information which they possess, must necessarily be limited by their own proper experience; whereas the philosopher, who is accustomed to refer every thing to general principles, is not only enabled, by means of these, to arrange the facts which experience has taught him, but by reasoning from his principles synthetically, has it often in his power to determine facts a priori, which he has no opportunity of ascertaining by observation. It follows farther, from the foregoing principles, that the intel- lectual defects of the philosopher, are of a much more corrigible nature, than those of the mere man of detail. If the former is thrown by accident into a scene of business, more time will perhaps be necessary to qualify him for it, than would be requisite for the generality of mankind ; but time and experience will infallibly, sooner or later, familiarize his mind completely with his situation. A capacity for system and for philosophical arrangement, unless it has been carefully cultivated in early life, is an acquisition which can scarcely ever be made afterwards ; and, therefore, the defects which I already mentioned, as connected with early and constant habits of business, adopted from imitation, and undirected by theory, may, when once these habits are confirmed, be pronounced to be incurable. I am also inclined to believe, both from a theoretical view of the subject, and from my own observations as far as they have reached, that if we wish to fix the particulars of our knowledge very per- manently in the memory, the most effectual way of doing it, is to refer them to general principles. Ideas which are connected together merely by casual relations, present themselves with readi - ness to the mind, so long as we are forced by the habits of our situation to apply them daily to use ; but when a change of circum- stances leads us to vary the objects of our attention, we find our old ideas gradually to escape from the recollection ; and if it should happen that they escape from it altogether, the only method of recovering them, is by renewing those studies by which they were at first acquired. The case is very different with a man whose ideas, presented to him at first by accident, have been afterwards philosophically arranged and referred to general principles. When N \i ii l.v 22-2 PART I. CHAP. VII. he wishes to recollect them, some time and reflection will, frequently, be necessary to enable him to do so : but the information which he has once completely acquired, continues, in general, to be an ac- quisition for life ; or if, accidentally, any article of it should be lost, it may often be recovered by a process of reasoning. K^ Something very similar to this happens in the study of Inn^ guayes, A person who acquires a foreign language merely by the ear, and without any knowledge of its principles, commonly speaks it while he remains in the country where it is spoken with more readiness and fluency than one who has studied it grammatically, but in the course of a few years' absence he finds himself almost as ignorant of it as before he acquired it. A language of which we once understand the principles thoroughly it is hardly possible to lose by disuse. A philosophical arrangement of our ideas is attended with another very important advantage. In a mind where the prevailing prin- ciples of association are founded on casual relations among the various objects of its knowledge, the thoughts must necessarily succeed each other in a very irregular and disorderly manner, and the occasions on which they present themselves will be determined merely by accident. They will often occur when they cannot be employed to any purpose, and will remain concealed from our view when the recollection of them might be useful. They cannot there- fore be considered as under our own proper command. But in the case of a philosopher, how slow soever he may be in the recollec- tion of his ideas, he knows always where he is to search for them so as to bring them all to bear on their proper object. ^Vllen he wishes to avail himself of his past experience, or of his former con- clusions, the occasion itself summons up every thought in his mind which the occasion requires. Or if he is called upon to exert his powers of invention and of discovery, the materials of both are always at hand, and are presented to his view with such a degree of con- nexion and arrangement, as may enable him to trace with ease their various relations. How much invention depends upon a patient and attentive examination of our ideas in order to discover the less obvious relations which subsist among them, I had occasion to show, at some length, in a former chapter. The remarks which have been now made are sufficient to illus- trate the advantages which the philosopher derives in the pursuits of science from that sort of systematical memory which his habits of arrangement give him. It may however be doubted whether such habits be equally favourable to a talent for agreeable conversation, at least for that lively, varied conversation which forms the principal charms of promiscuous society. The conversation which pleases generally must unite the recommendations of quickness, of ease, and of variety, and in all these three respects that of the philoso- pher is apt to be deficient. It is deficient in quickness, because his ideas are connected by relations which occur only to an attentive OF MEMORY. 223 and collected mind. It is deficient in ease, because these relations are not the casual and obvious ones by which ideas are associated in ordinary memories, but the slow discoveries of patient, and often painful exertion. As the ideas, too, which he associates together are commonly of the same class or at least are referred to the same general principles, he is in danger of becoming tedious by indulging himself in long and systematical discourses ; [while another, pos- sessed of the most inferior accomplishments, by laying his mind completely open to impressions from without, and by accommodating continually the course of his own ideas, not only to the ideas which are started by his companions, but to every trifling and unexpected accident that may occur to give them a new direction, is the life and soul of every society into which he enters.] Even the anecdotes which the philosopher has collected, however agreeable they may be in themselves, are seldom introduced by him into conversation with that unstudied but happy propriety which we admire in men of the world, whose facts are not referred to general principles, but are suggested to their recollection by the familiar topics and occur- rences of ordinary life. Nor is it the imputation of tediousness merely, to which the systematical thinker must submit from common observers. It is but rarely possible to explain completely, in a promiscuous society, all the various parts of the most simple tlieory ; and, as nothing appears weaker or more absurd than a theory which is partially stated, it frequently happens that men of ingenuity, by attempting it, sink, in the vulgar apprehension, below the level of ordinary understandings. "Theoriarum vires," says Lord Bacon, " in apta et se mutuo sustinente parti um harmonia et quadam in orbem demonstratione consistunt, ideoque per partes traditae in- firmae sunt."* Before leaving the subject of casual memory, it may not be improper to add, that how much soever it may disqualify for sys- tematical speculation, there is a species of loose and rambling composition to which it is peculiarly favourable. With such per- formances it is often pleasant to unbend the mind in solitude when we are more in the humour for conversation than for connected thinking. Montaigne is unquestionably at the head of this class of authors. " What, mdeed, are his Essays," to adopt his own account of them, "but grotesque pieces of patchwork, put together with- out any certain figure, or any order, connexion, or proportion but what is accidental ?" (Liv. i. chap. 27.) It is, however, curious, that in consequence of the predominance in his mind of this species of memory above every other, he is forced to acknowledge his total want of that command over his ideas which can only be founded on habits of systematical arrange- ment. As the passage is extremely characteristical of the author, * " The powers of theory consist in a certain congruous and mutually-sustaining harmony of the parts, and a sort of circuit of demonstration, and thereiV>re they are vreak when partially stated." ! 001 PART I. CHAP. VII. OF MEMORY. 225 and affords a striking confirmation of some of the preceding obser- rations, I shall give it in his own words. " Je ne me tiens pas bien en ma i)ossession et disposition : le hazard y a plus de trait que moy : Foccasion, la compagnie, le branle m^me de ma voix, tire plus de mon esprit, que je n'y trouve lorsque je sonde et employe d part moy. Ceci m'advient aussi, que je ne me trouve jias on je me cherche ; et me trouve plus par rencontre, que par I'lnqmsition de mon jugement." (Liv. i. chap. 10.— Du Parler prompt ou tardif.)* The differences which I have now pointed out between philoso- phical and casual memory constitute the most remarkable of all the varieties which the minds of different individuals considered in respect to this faculty present to our observation. But there are other varieties of a less striking nature, the consideration of which may also suggest some useful reflections. It was before remarked, that our ideas are frequently associated in consequence of the associations which take i)lace among their arbitrary signs. Indeed, in the case of all our general speculations, it is difftcult to see in what other way our thoughts can be associated, for I before endeavoured to show that without the use of signs of one kind or another, it would be impossible for us to make classes, or genera, objects of our attention. [All the signs by which our thoughts arc expressed are addressed either to the eije or to the ear ; and the impression made on these or'-ans at the time when we first receive an idea, contribute to give ns^'a firmer hold of it. Visible objects (as I observed in the chapter on conception) are remembered more easily than those of any of our other senses : and hence it is that the bulk of mankind are more aided in their recollection by the impressions made on the eye than bv those made on the ear. Every person must have remarked, m studyiu'' the elements of geometry, how much his recollection of the theorems was aided by the diagrams which are connected with them : and I have little doubt that the difficulty which students commonly find to remember the propositions of the fifth book of Euclid, arises chiefly from this, that the magnitudes to which they relate, are represented by straight lines, which do not make so strong an impression on the memory, as the figures which dlustrate the propositions in the other five books. This advantage, which the objects of sight naturally have over those of hearing, in the distinctness and the permanence of the impressions which they make on the memory, continues, and even increases, through life, in the case of the bulk of mankind ; because their minds, being but little addicted to general and abstract dis- quisition, are habitually occupied, either with the immediate * " I have by no means much self-possession or guard of my disposition. Chance, in that, has more influence than myself: occasion, company, the sound of my voice, draw more from my mind than I can make out, when 1 probe it and try in sohtude. This also happens to me, that I do not attain what I search for, and rather happen oo it by chance than by the power of my judgment."— Concerning Speaking quickly or klowly. perception of such objects, or with speculations in which the concep- tion of them is more or less involved ; which speculations so far as they relate to individual things and individual events, may be carried on with little or no assistance from language. The case is different with the philosopher, whose habits of ab- straction and generalisation lay him continually under a necessity of employing words as an instrument of thought. Such habits co- operating with that inattention which he is apt to contract to things external, must have an obvious tendency to weaken the original powers of recollection and conception with respect to visible objects ; and at the same time to strengthen the power of retaining pro- positions and reasonings expressed in language. The common system of education, too by exercising the memory so much in the acquisition of grammar rules, and of passages from the ancient authors, contributes greatly, in the case of men of letters, to culti- vate a capacity for retaining words. It is surprising of what a degree of culture our power of retain- ing a succession, even of insignificant sounds, is susceptible. Kir Instances sometimes occur, of men who are easily able to commit to memory a long poem composed in a language of which they are wholly ignorant ; and I have myself known more than one instance of an individual who, after having forgotten completely the classical studies of his childhood, was yet able to repeat with fluency long passages from Homer and Virgil, without annexing an idea to the words that he uttered. This susceptibility of memory with respect to words is possessed by all men in a very remarkable degree in their early years, and is, indeed, necessary to enable them to acquire the use of language ; but unless it be carefully cultivated afterwards by constant exercise, it gradually decays as we advance to maturity. The plan of edu- cation which is followed in this country, however imperfect in many respects, falls in happily with this arrangement of nature, and stores the mind richly, even in infancy, with intellectual treasures, which are to remain with it through life. The rules of grammar, which comprehend systems, more or less perfect, of the principles of the dead languages, take a permanent hold of the memory, when the understanding is yet unable to comprehend their import ; and the classical remains of antiquity, which, at the time we acquire them, do little more than furnish a gratification to the ear, supply us with inexhaustible sources of the most refined enjoyment ; and, as our various powers gradually unfold themselves, are poured forth, without effort, from the memory, to delight the imagination, and to improve the heart. It cannot be doubted that a great variety of other articles of useful knowledge, particularly witt respect to geographical and chronological details, might be communicated with advantage to children in the form of memorial lines. It is only in childhood that such details can be learned with facility ; and if they were once acquired and rendered perfectly familiar to the Q Hi 226 PART I. CHAP. VII. f 1 mind, our riper years would be spared much of that painful and uninteresting labour, which is perpetually distracting our intel- lectual powers from those more important exertions for which, in their mature state, they seem to be destined. This tendency of literary habits in general, and more particularly of philosophical pursuits, to exercise the thoughts about words, can scarcely fail to have some effect in weakening the powers of recol- lection and conception with respect to sensible objects; and, in fact, 1 believe it will be found, that whatever advantage the philo- sopher may possess over men of little education, in stating general propositions and general reasonings, he is commonly inferior to them in point of minuteness and accuracy, when he attempts to describe any object which he has seen, or any event which he has witnessed ; supposing the curiosity of both, in such cases, to be interested in an equal degree. I acknowledge, indeed, that the undivided attention which men unaccustomed to reflection are able to give to the objects of their perceptions, is, in part, the cause of the live- liness and correctness of their conceptions. With this diversity in the intellectual habits of eirttivated and ot uncultivated minds there is another variety of memory which seems to have some connexion. In recognising visible objects the memory of one man proceeds on the general appearance, that of another attaches itself to some minute and distinguishing marks. A peasant knows the various kinds of trees from their general habits ; a botanist, from those characteristical circumstances on which his classification proceeds. The last kind of memory is, I think, most common among literary men, and arises from their habit of recol- lecting by means of words. It is evidently much easier to express by a description a number of botanical marks, than the general habit of a tree ; and the same remark is applicable to other cases of a similar nature. But to whatever cause we ascribe it, there can be no doubt of the fact, that many individuals are to be found, and chiefly among men of letters, who, although they have no memory for the general appearances of objects, are yet able to retain with correctness, an immense number of technical discrimi- nations. Each of these kinds of memory, has its peculiar advantages and inconveniences, which the dread of being tedious induces me to leave to the investigation of my readers. III. Of the Improvement of Memory. — Analysis of the Prin- ciples on which the Culture of Memory depends. — The improvement of which the mind is susceptible by culture, is more remarkable, perhaps, in the case of Memory, than in that of any other of our faculties. The fact has been often taken notice of in general terms ; but I am doubtful if the particular mode in which culture operates on this part of our constitution, has been yet examined by philoso- phers with the attention which it deserves. Of one sort of culture, indeed, of which Memory is susceptible in OF MEMORY. 227 a very striking degree, no explanation can be given ; I mean the improvement which the original faculty acquires by mere exercise ; or, in other words, the tendency which practice has to increase our natural facility of association. This effect of practice upon the memory, seems to be an ultimate law of our nature; or rather, to be a particular instance of that general law, that all our powers, both of body and mind, may be strengthened, by applying them to their proper purposes. Besides, however, the improvement which Memory admits of, in consequence of the effects of exercise on the originalfaculty, it may be greatly aided in its operations, by those expedients which reason and experience suggest for employing it to the best advantage. These expedients furnish a curious subject of philosophical exami- nation ; perhaps, too, the inquiry may not be altogether without use ; for, although our principal resources for assisting the memory be suggested by Nature, yet it is reasonable to think, that in this, as in similar cases, by following out systematically the hints which she suggests to us, a farther preparation may be made for our intellectual improvement. Every person must have remarked, in entering upon any new species of study, the difficulty of treasuring up in the memory its elementary principles ; and the growing facility which he acquires in this respect, as his knowledge becomes more extensive. By analysing the different causes which concur in producing this facility, we may, perhaps, be led to some conclusions which may admit of a practical application. (1.) In every science, the ideas about which it is peculiarly con- versant, are connected together by some particular associating principle ; in one science, for example, by associations founded on the relation of cause and effect ; in another, by associations founded on the necessary relations of mathematical truths ; in a third, on associations founded on contiguity in place or time. Hence one cause of the gradual improvement of memory with respect to the familiar objects of our knowledge ; for wlmtever be the prevailing associating principle among the ideas about which we are habitually occupied, it must necessarily acquire additional strength from our favourite study. (2.) In proportion as a science becomes more familiar to us, we acquire a greater command of attention with respect to the objects about which it is conversant ; for the information which we already possess, gives us an interest in every new truth and every new fact which have any relation to it. In most cases, our*^ habits of inattention may be traced to a want of curiosity ; and therefore such habits are to be corrected, not by endeavouring to force the attention in particular instances, but by gradually learning to place the ideas which we wish to remember, in an interesting point of view. (3.) When we first enter on any new literary pursuit, we are Q 2 I I ; m 'J nt 228 PART I. CHAP. VII. tl unable to make a proper discrimination in pomt of utility and im- portance, among the ideas which are presented to us ; and by attempting to grasp at everything, we fail in making those moderate acquisitions which are suited to the limited powers of the human mind. As our information extends, our selection becomes more iudicious and more confined ; and our knowledge of useful and connected truths advances rapidly, from our ceasing to distract the attention with such as are detached and insignificant. (4 ) Every object of our knowledge is related to a variety ot others ; and may be presented to the thoughts, sometimes by one principle of association, and sometimes by another. In proportion, therefore, to the multiplication of mutual relations among our ideas, (which is the natural result of growing information, and in particu- lar of habits of philosophical study,) the greater will be the number of occasions on which they will recur to the reco lection and the firmer will be the root which each idea, in particular, will take in the memory. . , , /. -v. r ^ • • It follows, too, from this observation, that the facdity of retaining a new fact, or a new idea, will depend on the number of relations which it bears to the former objects of our knowledge : and, on the other hand, that every such acquisition, so far from loading the memory, gives us a firmer hold of all that part of our previous information, with which it is in any degree connected. It may not, perhaps, be improper to take this opportunity of observing, although the remark be not immediately connected with our present subject, that the accession made to the stock of our knowledge, by the new facts and ideas which we acquire, is not to be estimated merely by the number of these facts and ideas consi- dered individually ; but by the number of relations which they bear to one another, and to all the different particulars which were previously in the mind ; for " new knowledge, as Mr. Maclaurm has well remarked, (see the conclusion of his A lew of Newton s Discoveries,) " does not consist so much in our having access to a new object, as in comparing it with others already known, observing its relations to them, or discerning what it has in common with them, and wherein their disparity consists : and, therefore, our knowledge is vastly greater than the sum of what all its objects separately could afford; and when a new object comes within our reach, the addition to our knowledge is the greater, the more we already know ; so that it increases, not as the new objects increase, but in a much higher proportion.*' . (5.) In the last place, the natural powers of memory are, m the case of the philosopher, greatly aided by his peculiar habits of classification and arrangement. As this is by far the most important improvement of which memory is susceptible, I shall consider it more particularly than any of the others I have mentioned. The advantages which the memory derives from a proper classi- fication of our ideas, may be best conceived by attending to its OF MEMORY. 229 effects in enabling us to conduct, with ease, the common business of life. 1^^ In what inextricable confusion would the lawyer or the merchant be immediately involved, if he were to deposit, in his cabinet, promiscuously, the various written documents which daily and hourly pass through his hands ? Nor could this confusion be j)revented by the natural powers of memory, however vigorous they might happen to be. By a proper distribution of these documents, and a judicious reference of them to a few general titles, a very ordinary memory is enabled to accomplish more, than the most retentive, unassisted by method. We know, with certainty, where to find any article we may have occasion for, if it be in our possession ; and the search is confined within reasonable limits, instead of being allo^ved to wander at random amidst a chaos of particulars. ^^ Or, to take an instance still more immediately applicable to our purpose : suppose that a man of letters were to record, in a common-place book, without any method, all the various ideas and facts which occurred to him in the course of his studies ; what dif- ficulties would he perpetually experience in applying his acquisi- tions to use ? and how completely and easily might these difficulties be obviated by referring the particulars of his information to certain general heads 1 It is obvious, too, that, by doing so, he would not only have his knowledge mucli more completely under his com- mand, but as the particulars classed together would all have some connexion, more or less, with each other, he would be enabled to trace, with advantage, those mutual relations among his ideas, which it is the object of philosophy to ascertain. 1^^ A common-place booh, conducted without any method, is an exact picture of the memory of a man whose inquiries are not directed by philosophy. And the advantages of order in treasuring up our ideas in the mind, are perfectly analogous to its effects when they are recorded in writing. Nor is this all. In order to retain our knowledge distinctly and permanently, it is necessary that we should frequently recall it to our recollection. But how can this be done without the aid of arrangement ? Or supposing that it were possible, how much time and labour would be necessary for bringing under our review the various particulars of which our information is composed? In proportion as it is properly systematised, this time and labour are abridged. The mind dwells habitually, not on detached facts, but on a comparatively small number of general principles ; and, by means of these, it can summon up, as occasions may require, an infinite number of particulars associated with them ; each of whichj considered as a solitary truth, would have been as burthensome to the memory, as the general principle with which it is connected. I would not wish it to be understood from these observations, that philosophy consists in classification alone ; and that its only use is to assist the memorv. I have often, indeed, heard this « f 'A ^^u ^^m* 230 PART I. CHAP. VII. » 1 asserted in general terms ; but it appears to me to be obvious, that although this be one of its most important uses, yet something more is necessary to complete the definition of it. Were the case otherwise, it would follow, that all classifications are equally phi- losophical, provided they are equally comprehensive. The very great importance of this subject, will, I hope, be a sufiicient apo- logy for me, in taking this opportunity to correct some mistaken opinions which have been formed concerning it. IV. Aid which the Memory derives from Philosophical Arrange' ment. — It was before observed, that [the great use of the faculty of memory, is to enable us to treasure up, for the future regulation of our conduct, the results of our past experience, and of our past reflections.] But in every case in which we judge of the future from the past, we must proceed on the belief, that there is, in the course of events, a certain degree, at least of uniformity. And, accordingly, this belief is not only justified by experience, but (as Dr. Reid hiis shown, in a very satisfactory manner), it forms a part of the original constitution of the human mind. In the general laws of the material world, this uniformity is found to be complete ; insomuch that, in the same combinations of circumstances, we expect, with the most perfect assurance, that the same results will tak^ place. In the moral world, the course of events does not appear to be equally regular ; but still it is regular, to so great a degree, as to aftbrd us many rules of importance in the conduct of life. A knowledge of nature, in so far as it is absolutely necessary for the preservation of our animal existence, is obtruded on us, with- out any reflection on our part, from our earliest infancy. It is thus that children learn of themselves to accommodate their con- duct to the established laws of the material world. In doing so, they are guided merely by memory, and the instinctive principle of anticipation, which has just been mentioned. In forming conclusions concerning future events, the philoso- pher, as well as the infant, can only build with safety on past experience; and he, too, as well as the infant, proceeds on an instinctive belief, for which he is unable to account, of the uni- formity of the laws of nature. There are, however, two important respects, which distinguish the knowledge he possesses from that of ordinary men. In the first place, it is far more extensive, in consequence of the assistance which science gives to his natural powers of invention and discovery. Secondly, it is not only more easily retained in the memory, and more conveniently applied to use, in consequence of the manner in which his ideas are arranged : but it enables him to ascertain, by a process of reasoning, all those truths which may be synthetically deduced from his general prin- ciples. The illustration of these particulars will lead to some useful remarks ; and will at the same time show, that, in discussing the subject of this section, I have not lost sight of the inquiry which occasioned it. OF MEMORY. 231 I. (1.) It was already remarked, that the natural powers of memory, together with that instinctive anticipation of the future from the past, which forms one of the original principles of the mind, are sufliicient to enable infants, after a very short experience, to preserve their animal existence. The laws of nature, which it is not so important for us to know, and which are the objects of philosophical curiosity, are not so obviously exposed to our view, but are, in general, brought to light by means of experiments which are made for the purpose of discovery ; or, in other words, by artificial combinations of circumstances, which we have no op- portunity of seeing conjoined in the course of our ordinary expe- rience. In this manner it is evident, that many connexions may be ascertained, which would never have occurred spontaneously to our observation. (2.) There are^ too, some instances, particularly in the case of the astronomical phenomena, in which events, that appear to com- mon observers to be altogether anomalous, are found upon a more accurate and continued examination of them, to be subjected to a regular law. Such are those phenomena in the heavens, which we are able to predict by means of cycles. In the cases formerly described, our knowledge of nature is extended by placing her in new situations. In these cases, it is extended by continuing our observations beyond the limits of ordinary curiosity. (3.) In the case of human affairs, as long as we confine our atten- tion to particulars, we do not observe the same uniformity, as in the phenomena of the material world. When, however, we extend our views to events which depend on a combination of different circumstances, such a degree of uniformity appears, as enables us to establish general rules, from which probable conjectures may often be formed with respect to futurity. It is thus, that we can pronounce, with much greater confidence, concerning the^ropor- tion of deaths which shall happen in a certain period among a given number of men, than we can predict the death of any individual ; and that it is more reasonable to employ our sagacity, in speculating concerning the probable determinations of a numerous society, than concerning events v\hich depend on the will of a single person. In what manner this uniformity in events depending on contin- o-ent circumstances is produced, I shall not inquire at present. The advanta^-es which we derive from it are obvious, as it enables us to collect,1rrom our past experience, many general rules, both with respect to the history of political societies, and the characters and conduct of men in private life. (4.) In the last place; the knowledge of the philosopher is more extensive than that of other men, in consequence of the attention which he gives, not merely to objects and events, but to the rela- tio7is yfhidi different objects and different events bear to each other. The observations and the experience of the vulgar are almost wholly limited to things perceived by the senses. A similarity \ m I II 232 PART I, CHAP. VII. I i between differents objects, or between different events, rouses their curiosity, and leads them to classification, and to general rules. But a similarity between different relations^ is seldom to be traced witliout previous habits of philosophical inquiry. Many such simi- larities or connexions, however, are to be found in nature : and when once they are ascertained, they frequently lead to important discoveries ; not only with respect to other relations, but with re- spect to the objects or to the events which are related. These re- marks it will be necessary to illustrate more particularly. The great object of geometry is to ascertain the relations which exist between different (|uantities, and the connexions which exist between different relations. When we demonstrate, that the angle at the centre of a circle is double of the angle at the circumference on the same base, we ascertain a relation between two quantities. When we demonstrate, that triangles of the same altitude are to each other as their bases, v/e ascertain a connexion between two relations. It is obvious, how much the mathematical sciences must contribute to enlarge our knowledge of the universe, in con- sequence of such discoveries. In that simplest of all processes of practical geometry, which teaches us to measure the lieight of an accessible tower, by comparing the length of its shadow with that of a staff fixed vertically in the ground, we proceed on the prin- ciple, that the relation between the shadow of the staff and the height of the staff is the same with the relation between the shadow of the tower and the height of the tower. But the former relation we can ascertain by actual measurement ; and, of consequence, we not only obtain the other relation ; but, as we can measure one of the related quantities, we obtain also the other quantity. In every case in which mathematics assists us in measuring the magnitudes or the distances of objects, it proceeds on the same principle ; that is, it begins with ascertaining connexions among different relations, and thus enables us to carry our inquiries from facts which are exposed to the examination of our senses, to the most remote parts of tlie universe. I observed also, that there are various relations existing amon"- j)hysical events, and various connexions existing among these rela- tions. It is owing to this circumstance, that mathematics is so use- ful an instrument in the hands of the physical inquirer. In that beautiful theorem of Huygens, which demonstrates, that the time of a complete oscillation of a pendulum in the cycloid, is to the time in which a body would fall through the axis of the cycloid, as the circumference of a circle is to its diameter, we are made acquainted with a very curious and unexpected connexion between two rela- tions ; and the knowledge of this connexion facilitates the determi- nation of a most important fact with respect to the descent of heavy bodies near the earth's surface, which could not be ascertained con- veniently by a direct experiment. In examining with attention the relations among different phy- OF MEMORY. 233 sical events, and the connexions among different relations, we sometimes are led by mere induction to the discovery of a general law, while, to ordinary observers, nothing appears but irregularity. From the writings of the earlier opticians we learn, that, in ex- amining the first principles of dioptrics, they were led, by the analogy of the law of reflection, to search for the relation between the angles of incidence and refraction, (in tlie case of light pass- hig from one medium into another,) in the angles themselves ; and that some of them, finding this inquiry unsuccessful, took the trouble to determine, by experiments, (in the case of the media which most frequently fall under consideration), the angle of re- fraction corresponding to every minute of incidence. Some very laborious tables, deduced from such experiments, are to be found in the works of Kircher. At length Snellius discovered what is now called the law of refraction, which comprehends their whole contents in a single sentence. The law of the planetary motions, deduced by Kepler, from the observations of Tycho Brahe, is another striking illustration of the order, which an attentive inquirer is sometimes able to trace, among the relations of physical events, when the events themselves appear, on a superficial view, to be perfectly anomalous. Such laws are, in some respects, analogous to the cycles which I have already mentioned ; but they differ from them in this, that a cycle is, commonly, deduced from observations made on physical events which are obvious to the senses; whereas the laws we have now been considering are deduced from an examination of relations which are known only to men of science. The most celebrated astronomical cycles, accordingly, are of a very remote antiquity, and were probably discovered at a period when the study of astro- nomy consisted merely in accumulating and recording the more striking appearances of the heavens. II. Having now endeavoured to show how much philosophy con- tributes to extend our knowledge of facts, by aiding our natural powers of invention and discovery, I proceed to explain in what manner it supersedes the necessity of studying particular truths, by putting us in possession of a comparatively small number of general principles in which they are involved. I already remarked the assistance which philosophy gives to the memory, in consequence of the arrangement it introduces among our ideas. In this respect, even a hypothetical theory may facili- tate the recollection of facts, in the same manner in which the memory is aided in remembering the objects of natural history by artificial classifications. The advantages, however, we derive from true philosophy, are incomparably greater than what are to be expected from any hypo- thetical theories. These, indeed, may assist us in recollecting the particulars we are already acquainted with ; but it is only from the laws of nature, which have been traced analytically from facts, that I H 234 PART I, CHAP. VII. OF MEMORY. 236 ) we can venture, with safety, to deduce consequences by reasoning a priori. An example will illustrate and conHrm this observation. K^ Suppose that a glass tube, thirty inches long, is filled with mercury, excepting eight inches, and is inverted as in the Torri- cellian experiuirnt, so that the eight inches of common air may rise to the top ; and that I wish to know at what height the mercury will remain suspcntk'd in the tube, the barometer being at that time twenty-eight inches high. There is here a combination ol ditferent laws, which it is necessary to attend to, in order to be able to predict the result. 1. The air is a heavy fluid, and the pressure of the atmosphere is measured by the column of mercury in the barometer. 2. The air is an elastic fluid, and its elasticity at the earth's surface (as it resists the pressure of the atmosphere) is mea- sured by the column of mercury in the barometer. 3. In dillercnt states, the elastic force of the uir is reciprocally as the spaces wliich it occupies. But, in this experiment, the mercury which n in.iins suspended in the tube, together with the elastic force of the air in the top of the tube, is a counterbalance to the pressure of the atmo- s[)here ; and therefore their joint effect must be equal to the pres- sure of a column of mercury twenty-eight inches high. Hence we obtain an algebraical equation, which affords an easy solution of the problem. It is further evident, that my knowledge of the phy- sical laws which are here combined, puts it in my power to foretel the result, not only in this case, but in all the cases of a similar nature which can be supposed. The problem, in any particular instance, might be solved by making the experiment; but the result would be of no use to me if the slightest alteration were made on tlie data. It is in this manner that philosophv, by putting us in possessicm of a few general facts, enables us to determine, by reasoning, what will be the result of any supposed combination of them, and thus to comprehend an infinite variety of particulars, which no memory, however vigorous, would have been able to retain. In consequence of the kno\> ledge of such general facts, the philosopher is relieved from the necessity of treasuring up in his mind all those truths which are involved in his principles, and which may be deduced from them by reasoning ; and he can often prosecute his discoveries synthetically in those parts of the universe which he has no access to examine by immediate observation. There is, therefore, this important difference between the hypothetical theory and a theory obtained by induction ; that the latter not only enables us to re- member the facts we already know, but to ascertain, by reasoning, many facts which we have never had an opportunity of examining : whereas when we reason from an hypothesis a oriori, we are almost certain of running into error; and, consequently, whatever may be its use to the memory, it can never be trustedtoin judging of cases which have not previously fallen within our experience. There are some sciences, in which hypothetical theories are more useful than in others; those sciences, to wit, in which we have occa- sion for an extensive knowledge and a ready recollection of facts, and which, at the same time, are yet in too imperfect a state to allow ns to obtain just theories by the method of induction. This is par- ticularly the case in the science of medicine, in which we are under a necessity to apply our knowledge, such as it is, to practice. It is also, in some degree, the case in agriculture. In the merely specu- lative parts of physic and chemistry, we may go on patiently accu- mulating'- fact>, without forming any one conclusion, farther than our facts authorise us : and leave to posterity the credit of establishing the theory to which our labours are subservient. But in medicine, in which it is of consequence to have our knowledge at command, it seems reasonable to think, that hypothetical theories may be used with advantage ; provided always, that they are considered merely in the light of^artificial memories, and that the student is prepared to lay them aside, or to correct them, in proportion as his knowledge of nature becomes more extensive. I am, indeed, ready to confess, that this is a caution which it is more easy to give than to follow : for it is painful to change any of our habits of arrangement, and to relinquish those systems in which we have been educated, and which have long flattered us with an idea of our own wisdom. Dr. Gre- gory mentions (Lectures on the Duties and Qualifications of a Phy- sician) it as a striking and distinguishing circumstance in the character of Sydenham, that, although full of hypothetical reason- in"-, it did not render him the less attentive to observation ; and that his hypotheses seem to have sat so loosely about him, that either they did not influence his practice at all, or he could easily abandon them, whenever they would not bend to his experience. V.' Effects produced on the 3Icmory by committing to Writing our acquired Knowledge, — Having treated at considerable length of the improvement of memory, it may not be improper, before leaving this part of the subject, to consider what effects are likely to be produced on the mind by the practice of committing to writing our acquired knowledge. [That such a practice is unfavourable, in some respects, to the faculty of memor}% by superseding, to a cer- tain de^^ree, the necessity of its exertions, has been often remarked, and I beheve is true ; but the advantages with which it is attended in other respects, are so important, as to overbalance greatly this trifling inconvenience.] It is not my intention at present to examine and compare toge- ther the different methods which have been proposed, of keeping a common-place book. In this, as in other cases of a similar kind, it mav be difficult, perhaps, or impossible, to establish any rules which will apply universally. Individuals must be lef^ to judge for themselves, and'to adapt their contrivances to the particular nature of their literary pursuits, and to their own peculiar habits of asso- ciation and arrangement. The remarks which I am to offer are verv general, and are intended merely to illustrate a few of the 236 PART I. CHAP. VTI. OF MEMORY. 237 -•I 1i li advantages wliicli the art of writing affords to the philosopher, for recording, in the course of his progress through life, the results of his speculations, and the fruits of his experience. The utility of writing, in enabling one generation to transmit its discoveries to another, and in thus giving rise to a gradual progress in the species, has been sufficiently illustrated by many authors. Little attention, however, has been paid to another of its effects, which is no less important ; I mean to the foundation which it lays for a perpetual progress in the intellectual powers of the individual. It is to experience, and to our own reflections, that we are in- debted for by far the most valuable part of our knowledge ; and hence it is, that although in youth the imagination may be more vio-orous, and the genius more original, than in advanced years ; yet, in the case of a man of observation and inquiry, the judgment may be expected, at least as long as his faculties remain in per- fection, to become every day sounder and more enlightened. It is, however, only by the constant practice of writing, that the results of our experience, and the progress of our ideas, can be accu- rately recorded. If they are trusted merely to the memory, they will gradually vanish from it like a dream, or will come in time to be so blended with the suggestions of imagination, that we shall not be able to reason from them with any degree of confidence. What improvements in science might we not flatter ourselves with the hopes of accomplishing, had we only activity and industry to trea- sure up every plausible hint that occurs to us ! Hardly a day passes, when many such do not occur to ourselves, or are suggested by others ; and detached and insulated as they may appear at pre- sent, some of them may perhaps afterwards, at the distance of years furnish the key -stone of an important system. But it is not only in this point of view that the philosopher derives advantage from the practice of writing. Without its assistance he could seldom be able to advance beyond those simple elementary truths which are current in the world, and which form, in the various branches of science, the established creed of the age he lives in. How inconsiderable would have been the progress of mathematicians, in their more abstruse speculations, without the aid of the algebraical notation ; and to what sublime discoveries have they been led by this beautiful contrivance, which, by relieving the memory of the effort necessary for recollecting the steps of a long investigation, has enabled them to prosecute an infinite variety of inquiries, to which the unassisted powers of the human mind would have been altogether unequal ! In the other sciences, it is true, we have seldom or never occasion to follow out such long chains of consequences as in mathematics ; but in these sciences, if the chain of investigation be shorter, it is far more difficult to make the transition from one link to another ; and it is only by dwelling long on our ideas, and rendering them perfectly familiar to us, that such transitions can, in most instances, be made with safety. In morals and politics, when we advance a step beyond those element- ary truths which are daily presented to us in books or conversation, there is no method of rendering our conclusions familiar to us, but by committing them to writing, and making them frequently the subjects of our meditation. When we have once done so, these conclusions become elementary truths with respect to us ; and we may advance from them with confidence to others which are more remote, and which are far beyond the reach of vulgar discovery. By following such a plan, we can hardly fail to have our mdustry rewarded in due time by some important improvement ; and it is only by such a plan that we can reasonably hope to extend con- siderably the boundaries of human knowledge. I do not say that these habits of study are equally favourable to brilliancy of con- versation. On the contrary, I believe that those men who possess this accomplishment in the highest degree, are such as do not advance beyond elementary truths ; or rather, perhaps, who advance only a single step beyond them ; that is, who think a little more deeply than the vulgar, but whose conclusions are not so far removed from common opinions, as to render it necessary for them, when called upon to defend them, to exhaust the patience of their hearers, by stating a long train of intermediate ideas. They who have pushed their inquiries much farther than the common systems of their times, and have rendered familiar to their own minds the intermediate steps by which they have been led to their conclusions, are too apt to conceive other men to be in the same situation with themselves ; and when they mean to instruct, are mortified to find that they are only regarded as paradoxical and visionary. It is but rarely we find a man of very splendid and various conversation to be possessed of a profound judgment, or of great originality of genius. . Nor is it merely to the philosopher, who wishes to distmguish himself by his discoveries, that writing affords an useful instrument of study. Important assistance may be derived from it by all those who wish to impress on their minds the investigations which occur to them in the course of their reading ; for [although writing may weaken, as I already acknowledged it does, a memory for detached observations, or for insulated facts, it will be found the only effectual method of fixing in it permanently, those acquisitions which involve long processes of reasoning.] When we are employed in inquiries of our own, the conclusions which we form make a much deeper and more lasting impression on the memory, than any knowledge which we imbibe passively from another. This is undoubtedly owing, in part, to the effect which the ardour of discovery has,"in rousing the activity of the mind, and in fixing its attention ; but I apprehend it is chiefly to be ascribed to this, that when we follow out a train of thinking of our own, our ideas are arranged in that order which is most agree- able to our prevailing habits of association. The only method of 1 1 I 238 PART I. CHAP. VII. I« putting our acquired knowledge on a level, in this respect, with our original speculations, is, afler making ourselves acquainted with our author's ideas, to study the subject over again in our own way ; to pause, from time to time, in the course of our reading, in order to consider what we have gained ; to recollect what the propositions are, which the author wishes to establish, and to examine the f different proofs which he employs to support them. In making such an experiment, we commonly find, that the dilferent ste])s of the process arrange themselves in our minds, in a manner different from that in which the author has stated them ; and that, while his argument seems, in some places, obscure, from its conciseness, it is tedious in others, from being unnecessarily expanded. When we f have reduced the reasoning to that form which appears to ourselves to be the most natural and satisfactory, we may conclude with cer- tainty, not that this form is better in itself than another, but that it is the best adapted to our memory. Such reasonings, therefore, as we have occasion frequently to apply, either in the business of , life, or in the course of our studies, it is of importance to us to r commit to writing, in a language and in an order of our own ; and I if, at any time, we find it necessary to refresh our recollection on the subject, to have recourse to our own composition, in preference , to that of any other author. That the plan of reading which is commonly followed is very different from that which I have been recommending, will not be disputed. Most people read merely to pass an idle hour, or to please themselves with the idea of employment, while their indo- lence prevents them from any active exertion ; and a considerable number with a view to the display which they are afterwards to make of their literary acquisitions. From whichsoever of these motives a person is led to the perusal of books, it is hardly possible than he can derive from them any material advantage. If he reads merely from indolence, the ideas which pass through his mind will probably leave little or no impression ; and if he reads from vanity, he will be more anxious to select striking particulars in the matter or expression, than to seize the spirit and scope of the author's reasoning, or to examine how far he has made any additions to the stock of useful and solid knowledge. " Though it is scarce pos- sible," says Dr. Butler, (see the preface to his Sermons,) " to avoid judging, in some way or other, of almost everything which offers itself to one's thoughts, yet it is certain that many persons, from different causes, never exercise their judgment upon what comes before them, in such a manner as to be able to determine how far it be conclusive. They are perhaps entertained with some things, not so with others ; they like, and they dislike ; but whether that which is proposed to be made out, be really made out or not; whether a matter be stated according to the real truth of the case, seems, to the generality of people, a circumstance of little or no importance. Arguments are often wanted for some accidental OF MEMORY. 239 purpose ; but proof, as such, is what they never want for their own Scti^n of mind, or conduct in life Not to mention he multi- tudes who read merely for the sake of talkmg, or to qualify them- selves for the world, or some such kind of reasons, there are even of the few who read for their own entertainment, and have a real curiosity to see what is said, several, which is astonishing, who have no sort of curiosity to see what is true : I say curiosity, because it is too obvious to be mentioned how much that religious and sacred attention which is due to truth, and to the important ques- tion, what is the rule of life, is lost out of the world. « For the sake of this whole class of readers, for they are of different capacities, different kinds, and get into this way from different occasions, I had often wished that it had been the custom to lay before people nothing in matters of argument but premises, and leave them to draw conclusions themselves : which, although it could not be done in all cases, might in many. " The greater number of books and papers of amusement, which, of one kind or another, daily come in one's way, have ."\Pfrt occa- sioned, and most perfectly fall in with and humour, this idle way of reading and con^dering things. By this means, time, even in loS is happily got rid of without the pain of attention : neither stny pk ofTtVor^e put to the account of idleness, (one can scarce forbear saying, is spent with less thought,) than great part of that which is spent in reading." ., , i x j u if the plan of study which I formerly described were adopted, , would undoubtedly diminish very iBuch the number «/ b°°'^^ '^'"'^^ it would be possible to turn over; but I am convinced that it would add greatly to the stock of useful and sohd knowledge; and by rendering our acquired ideas in some measure our own, would give Ta mor^ready and practical command of them: not to mention. Aat if we are possessed of any inventive powers, such exercises would continually furnish them with an opportunity of displaying rhemselves upon all the different subjects which may pass under Nothinff! in truth, has such a tendency to weaken, not only the powers of invention, but the intellectual powers m general, as a Uit of extensive and various reading without '"'ifl^ction 1 he activity and force of the mind are gradually impaired, jn conse- quenJof disuse; and not unfrequently f o?": P^'^^'f^^^^f Vinions come to be lost, in the infinite multiplicity and discord- *%"coXning"ur ambition to pursue the truth with modesty and candour, and learning to value our acquisitions only as tar as mey contribute to make us wiser and happier, we may perhaps be obliged to sacrifice the temporary admiration of the c?n?raon dispenses of literary fame ; but we may rest assured, that it is m t^is way only we can hope to make real progress in knowledge, or to enrich tne world with useful inventions. i 240 PART I. CHAP. VII. I " It requires courage, indeed," as Helvetius has remarked, " to remain ignorant of those useless subjects which are generally valued ;" but it is a courage necessary to men who either love the truth, or who aspire to establish a i)ermanent reputation. VI. Of Artificial Memory. — [By an artificial memory is meant, a methocf of connecting in the mind, things difHcult to be remem- bered, with things easily remembered ; so as to enable it to retain, and to recollect the former, by means of the latter.] For this pur- pose, various contrivances have been proposed, but I think the foregoing definition applies to all of them. Some sorts of artificial memory are intended to assist the natural powers of the human mind on particular occasions, which require a more than ordinary effort of recollection ; for example, to assist a public speaker to recollect the arrangement of a long discourse. Others have been devised with a view to enable us to extend the circle of our acquired knowledge, and to give us a more ready command of all the various particulars of our information. The topical memory so much celebrated among the ancient rhetoricians, comes under the former descrii)tion. I already remarked, the effect of sensible objects in recalling to the mind the ideas with which it happened to be occupied, at the time when these objects were formerly perceived. In travelling along a road, the sight of the more remarkable scenes we meet with, frequently puts us in mind of the subjects we were thinking or talking of when we last saw them. Such facts, which are perfectly familiar even to the vulgar, might very naturally suggest the possi- bility of assisting the memory, by establishing a connexion between the ideas we wish to remember, and certain sensible objects, which have been found from experience to make a permanent impression on the mind.* |fe^ I have been told of a young woman, in a very low rank of life, who contrived a method of committing to memory the sermons which she was accustomed to hear, by fixing her attention, during the different heads of the discourse, on different compartments of the roof of the church, in such a manner, as that when she afterwards saw the roof, or recollected the order in which its compartments were disposed, she recollected the method which the preacher had observed in treating his subject. This con- trivance was perfectly analogous to the topical memory of the ancients : an art which, whatever be the opinion we entertain of its use, is certainly entitled, in a high degree, to the praise of ingenuity. Suppose that I were to fix in my memory the different apart- * " Cum in looa aliqua post tempiis reversi sutnus, non ipsa agnoscimus tantuni, sed etiam, quse in his fecerimm, reminiscimur, personaeque suhcunt, nonnunquam tacita quo- que eogitationes in raentem revert untur. Nata est igitur, ut in plcrisqiie, ars ah cxjjeri- mento." — Quinct. Inst. Orat. lib. xi. cap. 2. — [When we return to particular places after a time, we not only recognise them, but recollect also what we have done in them, even persons recur to us, sometimes also unexpressed thoughts re-enter our minds. There- fore, as is usually the case, the art resulted from experience.] OF MKMOIIY. 241 ments in some very large building, and that I had accustomed myself to think of these apartments always in the same invariable order. Suppose farther, that in preparing myself for a public discourse, in which I had occasion to treat of a great variety of particulars, I was anxious to fix in my memory the order I pro- posed to observe in the communication of my ideas. It is evident, that by a proper division of my subject into heads, and by connect- ing each head with a particular apartment, (which I could easily do, by conceiving myself to be sitting in the apartment while I was studying the part of my discourse I meant to connect with it,) the habitual order in which these apartments occurred to my thoughts, would present to me, in their proper arrangement, and without any effort on my part, the ideas of which I was to treat. It is also obvious, that a very Uttle practice would enable me to avail myself of this contrivance, without any embarrassment or distraction of my attention.* i • i As to the utility of this art, it appears to me to depend entirely on the particular object wiiich we suppose the speaker to have in view ; whether, as was too often the case with the ancient rhetori- cians, to bewilder a judge, and to silence an adversary; or fairly and candidly to lead an audience to the truth. On the former supposition, nothing can possibly give an orator a greater superi- ority, than the possession of a secret which, while it enables him to express himself with facility and the appearance of method, puts it in his power, at the same time, to dispose his arguments and his facts in whatever order he judges to be the most proper to mislead the judgment, and to perplex the memory, of those whom he addresses. And such, it is manifest, is the effect, not only of the topical memory of the ancients, but of all other contrivances which aid the recollection, upon any principle different from the natural and logical arrangement of our ideas. To those, on the other hand, who speak with a view to convince or to inform others, it is of consequence that the topics which they mean to illustrate, should be arranged in an order equally favour- able to their own recollection and to that of their hearers. For this purpose, nothing is effectual but that method which is sug- gested by the order of their own investigations ; a method which leads the mind from one idea to another, either by means of obvious and striking associations, or by those relations which connect the different steps of a clear and accurate process of rea- soning. It is thus only that the attention of an audience can be * In so far as it was the object of this species of artificial memor>' to assist an orator in recollecting the plan and arrangement of his discourse, the accounts of it which are given by the ancient rhetoricians are abundantly satisfactory. It appears, how- ever, that its use w as more extensive ; and that it was so contrived, as to facilitate the recollection of a premeditated composition. In what manner this was done, it is not easy to conjecture from the imperfect explanations of the art which have been transmitted to modern times. The reader may consult Cicero de Orat. Ub. ii. cap. 87, 88 ; Rhetor, ad Herennium, lib. iii. cap. 16, et seq. ; Quinct. Inst. Orat. lib. xi. cap. 2. |: 242 PART I. CHAP. VII. completely and incessantly engaged, and that the substance of a long discourse can be remembered without effort. And it is thus only that a speaker, after a mature consideration of his subject, can possess a just confidence in his own powers of recollection, in stating all the' different premises which lead to the conclusion he wishes to establish. In modern times, such contrivances have been very little, if at all, made use of by public speakers ; but various ingenious attempts have been made to assist the memory in acquiring and retaining those branches of knowledge which it has been supposed necessary for a scholar to carry always about with him ; and which, at the same time, from the number of particular details which they involve, are not calculated, of themselves, to make a very lasting impression on the mind. Of this sort is the Memoria Technica of Mr. Grey, in which a great deal of historical, chronological, and geographical knowledge is comprised in a set of verses, which the student is supposed to make as familiar to himself as school-boys do the rules of grammar. These verses are, in general, a mere assemblage of proper names, disposed in a rude sort of measure ; some slight alterations being occasionally made on the final syllables of the words, so as to be significant (according to certain principles laid down in the beginning of the work) of important dates, or of other particulars which it appeared to the author useful to associate with the names. I have heard very opposite opinions with respect to the utility of this ingenious system. The prevailing opinion is, I believe, against it ; although it has been mentioned in terms of high approbation by some writers of eminence. Dr. Priestley, whose judgment, in matters of this sort, is certainly entitled to respect, has said, that " it is a method so easily learned, and which may be of so much use in recollecting d-ates, when other methods are not at hand, that he thinks all persons of a liberal education inexcusable, who will not take the small degree of pains that is necessary to make themselves masters of it ; or who think anything mean, or unwor- thy of their notice, which is so useful and convenient." (Lectures on History, p. 157.) In judging of the utility of this, or of any other contrivance of the same kind, to a particular person, a great deal must depend on the species of memory which he has received from nature, or has acquired in the course of his early education. Some men, as I already remarked, (especially among those who have been habitually exercised in childhood in getting by heart grammar rules,) have an extraordinary facility in acquiring and retaining the most barbarous and the most insignificant verses ; which another person would find as difficult to remember, as the geographical and chronological details of which it is the object of this art to relieve the memory Allowing, therefore, the general utility of the art, no one method, perhaps, is entitled to an exclusive preference ; as one contrivance l> OF MEMORY. 243 may be best suited to the faculties of one person, and a very different one to those of another. One important objection applies to all of them, that they accustom the mind to associate ideas by accidental and arbitrary connexions • and, therefore, how much soever they may contribute, in the coursi of conversation, to an ostentatious display of acquired knowlede-e they are, perhaps, of little real service to us, when we areseriouslv engaged m the pursuit of truth. I own, too, I am very' doubtful with respect to the utility of a great part of that information which thejr are commonly employed to impress on the memory, and on which the generality of learned men are disposed to value them- selves. It certainly is of no use, but in so far as it is subservient to the gratification of their vanity ; and the acquisition of it consumes a great deal of time and attention, which might have been employed m extending the boundaries of human knowledge. To those how ever, who are of a different opinion, [such contrivances as Mr Grev's may be extremely useful : and to all men they may be of service in fixing m the memory those insulated and uninterestinff particu- lars which It IS either necessary for them to be acquainted with from theu- situation or which custom has rendered, in the common opinion essential branches of a liberal education.] I would in particular, recommend this author's method of recollecting dates by substituting letters for the numeral cyphers ; and forming these letters mto words and the words, into verses. I have found it at least in my own case, the most effectual of all such contrivances' of which 1 have had experience. VII. Importance of making a proper Selection amono the objects of Memory.— Ibe cultivation of memory, with all the helps that we can derive to it from art, will be of little use to us, unless^we male a proper selection of the particulars to be remembered Such a selection is necessary to enable us to profit by reading; and stiU TZ^l *"rV*'^"' ^ P'°^' by observation, to which every man ™ted for by far the most valuable part of his knowled/e fin^i!*" ff^.r'^r^"*^'" ?" *"y. ""^ "*^'^'7 pursuit, we commonly find our efforts of attention painful and unsatisfactory. We have no discrimination in our curiosity ; and by grasping at every thin? we fail in making those moderate acquisitions which are suited to our imited faculties. As our knowledge extends, we learn "o know what particulars are likely to be of use to us; and acquire a habh of directing our examination to these, without distracting the atten- tion with others. It is partly owing to a similar circumstance hat most readers complain of a defect If memory, when they SteJ on the study of history. They cannot separate impoS^m rifling facte, and find themselves unable to retain anj thine from theu- anxiety to secure-the whole. ^ ^' In order to give a proper direction to our attention in the course of our studies, ,t is useful, before engaging in particular pursuit^ R 2 244 PART I. C21AP. vir. 1 to acquire as familiar an acquaintance as possible with the great outlines of the different branches of science ; with the most im- portant conclusions which have hitherto been forrned in them ; and with the most important desiderata which remain to be supplied. In the case too of those parts of knowledge which are not yet ripe for the formation of philosophical systems it may be of use to study the various hypothetical theories which have been proposed for connecting together and arranging the phenomena. By such ge- neral views alone we can prevent ourselves from being lost, amidst a labyrinth of particulars, or can engage in a course of extensive and various reading, with an enlightened and discnminating attention. While they withdraw our notice from barren and insulated facts, thev direct it to such as tend to illustrate principles which have either be-n already established, or which, from having that degree of connexion among themselves which is necessary to give plausi- bility to a hypothetical theory, are likely to furnish, in time, the materials of a juster system. x i • i u i j • rSome of the followers of Lord Bacon have, I thmk, been led, m their zeal for the method of induction, to censure hypothetical theories with too great a degree of severity. Such theories have certainly been frequently of use, in putting philosophers upon the road of discovery. Indeed, it has probably been in this way that most discoveries have been made ; for although a knowledge of facts must be prior to the formation of a just theor), yet a hypothetical theory is generally our best guide to the knowledge of useful facts.] If a man; without forming to himself any conjecture concerning the unknown laws of nature, were to set himself merely to accumulate facts at random, he might, perhaps, stumble upon some important discovery; but by far the greater part of his labours w'ould be wholly useless. Every philosophical inquirer, before he begins a set of experiments, has some general principle in his view, which he suspects to be a law of nature:* and although his conjectures may be often wrong, yet they serve to give his inquiries a particular direction, and to bring under his eye a number of facts which have a certain relation to each other. It has been often remarked, that the attempts to discover the philosopher's stone, and the quadrature of the circle, have led to many useful discoveries m chemistry and mathematics. And they have plainly done so, merely by limiting the field of observation and inquiry, and checking that indiscrimi- nate and desultory attention which is so natural to an indolent mind. A hypothetical theory, however erroneous, may answer a ♦ "Recte siquidem Plato, 'Qui aliquid quaerit, id ipsuiii, quod quaerit, general! ouadam notione comprehendit : aliter, qui fieri potest, ut iUud, cum fuerit mventum, aenoscat^' Idcirco quo amplior et ccrtior fuerit ant icipatio nostra; eo magis directa rZLdiosa erit i'nvestigatio."-De ^"S^ Scient. lib. v. cap. 3.-[Plato mdecd ob^ serv'-s iustlv "he who searches for any tlung has a general notion of that \*hich lie S;" otherwise how could he recognise it when found out." Therefore in proportion as oJr anticipation is more full and certain, our investigation will be more corapendiou. and direct.] OF MEMORY. 245 similar purpose. " Pnidens interrogatio," says Lord Bacon, " est dimidiuni scientiae. Vaga enim experientia et se tantum sequens mera palpatio est, ct homines potius stupefacit quam informatJ'* What, indeed, are Newton's queries, but so many hypotheses which are proposed as subjects of examination to philosophers ? And did not even the great doctrine of gravitation take its first rise from a fortunate conjecture ? While, therefore, we maintain, with the followers of Bacon, that no theory is to be admitted as proved, any farther than it is sup- ported by facts, we should, at the same time, acknowledge our obligations to those writers who hazard their conjectures to the world with modesty and diffidence. And it may not be improper to add, that men of a systematizing turn are not now so useless as formerly ; for we are already possessed of a great stock of facts, and there is scarcely any theory so bad as not to bring together a number of particulars which have a certain degree of relation or analogy to each other. The foregoing remarks are applicable to all our various studies ; whether they are conducted in the way of reading, or of observa- tion. From neither of these two sources of information can we hope to derive much advantage, unless we have some general prin- ciples to direct our attention to proper objects. With respect to observation, some farther cautions may be useful ; for in guarding against an indiscriminate accumulation of particulars, it is possible to fall into the opposite extreme, and to acquire a habit of inattention to the phenomena which present themselves to our senses. The former is the error of men of little education ; the latter is more common among men of retirement and study. One of the chief effects of a liberal education, is to enable us to withdraw the attention from the present objects of our perceptions, and to dwell at pleasure on the past, the absent, or the future. But when we are led to carry these efforts to an excess, either from a warm and romantic imagination, or from an anxious and sanguine temper, it is easy to see that the power of observation is likely to be weakened, and habits of inattention to be contracted. The same effect may be produced by too early an indulgence in philoso- phical pursuits, before the mind has been prepared for the study of general truths, by exercising its faculties among particular objects, and particular occurrences. In this way, it contracts an aversion to the examination of details, from the pleasure which it has expe- rienced in the contemplation or in the discovery of general princi- ples. Both of these turns of thought, however, presuppose a certain degree of observation ; for the materials of imagination are supplied by the senses ; and the general truths which occupy the philosopher, would be wholly unintelligible to him, if he was a total * " Wise interrogation is one half of knowledge, for vague experience follo\Ning in its own path is mere groping, and rather distracts men than instructs them." if! i '"SSE*. f 246 PART I. CHAP. VII. stranger to all experience with respect to the course of nature and of human life. The observations, indeed, which are made by men of a warm imagination, are likely to be inaccurate and fallacious ; and those of the speculative philosopher are frequently carried no farther than is necessary to enable him to comprehend the terms which relate to the subjects of his reasoning ; but both the one and the other must have looked abroad occasionally at nature, and at the world ; if not to ascertain facts by actual examination, at least to store their minds with ideas. The metaphysician, whose attention is directed to the faculties and operations of the mind, is the only man who possesses within himself the materials of his speculations and reasonings. It is accordingly among this class of literary men, that habits of inatten- tion to things external have been carried to the greatest extreme. [It is observed hy Dr. Reid, that the power of reflection, (by which he means the power of attending to the subjects of our con- sciousness,) is the last of our intellectual faculties which unfolds itself; and that in the greater part of mankind it never unfolds itself at all.] It is a power, indeed, which being subservient merely to the gratification of metaphysical curiosity, it is not essentially necessary for us to possess, in any considerable degree. The f)ower of observation, on the other hand, which is necessary for the pre- servation even of our animal existence, discovers itself in infants long before they attain the use of speech ; or rather I should have said, as soon as they come into the world ; and where nature is allowed free scope, it continues active and vigorous through hfe. It was plainly the intention of nature, that in infancy and youth it should occupy the mind almost exclusively, and that we should acquire all our necessary information before engaging in speculations which are less essential ; and accordingly this is the history of the intel- lectual progress in by far the greater number of individuals. In consequence of this, the difficulty of metaphysical researches is undoubtedly much increased ; for the mind being constantly occu- pied in the earlier part of life about the properties and laws of matters, acquires habits of inattention to the subjects of conscious- ness, which are not to be surmounted without a degree of patience and perseverance of which few men are capable : but the incon- venience would evidently have been greatly increased, if the order of nature had, in this respect, been reversed, and if the curiosity had been excited at as early a period, by the phenomena of the intellectual world, as by those of the material. Of what would have happened on this supposition, we may form a judgment from those men who, in consequence of an excessive indulgence in metaphysical pursuits, have weakened to an unnatural degree, their capacity of attending to external objects and occurrences. Few metaphysicians, perhaps, are to be found, who are not deficient in the power of observation ; for although a taste for such abstract speculations is far from being common, it is more apt, perhaps, than any other, OP MEMORY. 247 when It has once been formed, to take an exclusive hold of the mmd and to shut up the other sources of intellectual improvement As the metaphysician carries within himself the materials of his' reasonmg, he is not under a necessity of looking abroad for subjects ot speculation or amusement ; and unless he be very careful to ffuard against the effects of his favourite pursuits, he is in more dun-er than literary men of any other denomination, to lose all interest about the common and proper objects of human curiosity. To prevent any danger from this quarter, I apprehend that the study of the mind should form the last branch of the education of youth ; an order which nature herself seems to point out by what I have already remarked, with respect to the developmem of our faculties. After the understanding is well stored with particular tacts and has been conversant with particular scientific pursuits it will be enabled to speculate concerning its own powers with additional advantage, and will run no hazard of indulging too far in such inquiries. Nothing can be more absurd, on this as well as on many other accounts, than the common practice which is followed m our universities of beginning a course of philosophical education with the study of logic. If this order were completely reversed • and if the study of logic were delayed till after the mind of the stu- dent was well stored with particular facts in physics, in chemistry in natural and civil history ; his attention might be led with the most important advantage, and without any danger to his power of obser- vation, to an examination of his own faculties; which besides opening to him a new and pleasing field of speculation, would enable him to form an estimate of his own powers, of the acquisitions he has made, of the habits he has formed, and of the farther improve- ments of which his mind is susceptible. In general, wherever habits of inattention, and an incapacity of observation, are very remarkable, they will be found to have arisen from some defect m early education. I already remarked that when nature is allowed free scope, the curiosity, during early youth' IS a ive to every external object, and to every external occurrence' while the powers of imagination and reflection do not display them- selves till a much later period; the former till about the a^e of puberty, and the latter till we approach to manhood. It some- times, however, happens that, in consequence of a peculiar disposi- tion of mind, or of an infirm bodily constitution, a child is led to seek amusement from books, and to lose a relish for tho^e recrea- tions which are suited to his age. In such instances, the ordinary progress of the intellectual powers is prematurely quickened ; but that best of all educations is lost, which nature has prepared'both for the i)hilosopher and the man of the world, amidst the active sports and the hazardous adventures of childhood. It is from these alone, that we can acquire, not only that force of character which IS suited to the more arduous situations of life, but that complete and prompt command of attention to things external, without » f 248 PART I. CHAP. VII. OF MEMORY. which the higliest endowments of the understanding, however they may fit a man for the solitary speculations of the closet, are but of little use in the practice of affairs, or for enabling him to profit by his personal experience. Where, however, such habits of inattention have unfortunately been contracted, we ought not to despair of them as perfectly in- curable. The attention, indeed, as I formerly remarked, can sel- dom be forced in particular instances ; but we may gradually learn to place the objects we wish to attend to, in lights more interesting than those in which we have been accustomed to view them. Much may be expected from a change of scene, and a change of pursuits ; but above all, much may be expected from foreign travel. The objects which we meet with excite our surprise by their novelty ; and in this manner we not only gradually acquire the power of observing and examining theyi with attention, but, from the effects of contrast, the curiosity comes to be roused with respect to the corresponding objects in our own country, which, from our early familiarity with them, we had formerly been accus- tomed to overlook. In this respect the effects of foreign travel, in directing the attention to familiar objects and occurrences, is some- what analogous to that which the study of a dead or of a foreign language produces, in leading the curiosity to examine the gram- matical structure of our own. Considerable advantage may also be derived, in overcoming the habits of inattention which we may have contracted to particular subjects, from studying the systems, true or false, which philoso- phers have proposed for explaining or for arranging the facts con- nected with them. By means of these systems, not only is the cnriosity circumscribed and directed, instead of being allowed to wander at random, but, in consequence of our being enabled to connect facts with general principles, it becomes interested in the examination of those particular'^ which would otherwise have es- caped our notice. VIII. Of the Connexion heticeen Memory and philosophical Genius, — It is commonly supposed, that genius is seldom united with a very tenacious memory. So far, however, as my own observation has reached, I can scarcely recollect one person who possesses the former of these qualities, without a more than ordinary share of the latter. On a superficial view of the subject, indeed, the common opinion has some appearance of truth ; for, we are naturally led, in conse- quence of the topics about which conversation is usually em- ployed, to estimate the extent of memory, by the impression which trivial occurrences make upon it : and these in general escape the recollection of a man of ability, not because he is unable to retain them, but because he does not attend to them. It is probable, likewise, that accidental associations, founded on contiguity in time and place, may make but a slight impression on his mind. But it 249 does not therefore follow, that his stock of facts is small. They are connected together in his memory by principles of association ditterent from those which prevail in ordinary minds ; and they are on that very account the more useful : for as the associations are tounded upon real connexions among the ideas, (although they may be less conducive to the fluency, and perhaps to the wit of conver- sation,) they are of incomparably greater use in suffgestino- facts which are to serve as a foundation for reasoning or for invendon it frequently happens too, that a man of genius, in consequence ot a i)eculiarly strong attachment to a particular subject, may first leel a want of inclination, and may afterwards acquire a want of capacity of attending to common occurrences. But it is probable that tlie whole stock of ideas in his mind, is not inferior to that of other rnen ; and that however unprofitably he may have directed his curiosity, the ignorance which he discovers on ordinary sub- jects does not arise from a want of memory, but from a peculiarity in the selection which he has made of the objects of his study Montaigne* frequently complains in his writings, of his want of memory ; and he indeed gives many very extraordinary instances of his Ignorance on some of the most ordinary topics of information, ^ut It IS obvious to any person who reads his works with attention, that this Ignorance did not proceed from an original defect of memory, but from the singular and whimsical direction which his cunosity had taken at an early period of life. « I can do nothing " says he, " without my memorandum book ; and so great is my dithculty m remembering proper names, that I am forced to call my domestic servants by their offices. I am ignorant of the greater part of onr coins in use ; of the difference of one grain from another both m the earth and in the granary; what use leaven is of in making bread, and why wine must stand some time in the vat be- fore It ferments " Yet the same author appears evidently, from his writings, to have had his memory stored with an infinite variety of apophthegms, and of historical passages, which had struck his imagination ; and to have been familiarly acquainted, not only with the names but with the absurd and exploded opinions of the ancient philosophers ; with the ideas of Plato, the atoms of Epi- curus, the plenum and vacuum of Leucippus and Democritus, the water of Thales, the numbers of Pythagoras, the infinite of Par- menides, and the unity of Musaeus. In complaining too of his want of presence of mind, he indirectly acknowledges a deo-ree of memory, which, if it had been judiciously employed, woufd have been more than sufficient for the acquisition of all those common branches of knowledge in which he appears to have been deficient. * " 11 n'est homme a qui il siese si mal de se mesler de parler de memorie Car ie n'en recognoy quasi trace en moy ; et ne pense qu'il v en ait au mTnde une autTe"^ inarveilleuse en defailla nee."— Essais de IVlontiiirnp liv \ n\. o rTi • whnm ;t c/^ ni K«^««.«o 4^ 1 ';'*'* "*^ Montaigne, liv. i. ch. 9. — [Tliere is no man r?r. Ifl/ i/ ^Tf ""^ "''"'^^ ^ "^>'«^^' f«'' I ™ay say that I cannot find a tmce of it in niyself, and 1 do not think that there is in existence another so defective m this rcsi)ect. Montaigne's Essays.! v tc ou ucxci,n>c H CHAP. vn. 250 PART I. « When I have an oration to speak/' says he, " of any considerable length, I am reduced to the miserable necessity of getting it, word lor word, by heart." The strange and apparently inconsistent combination of know- ledge and ignorance which the writings of Montaigne exhibit, led Malebranche (who seems to have formed too low an opinion both of his genius and character) to tax him with affectation ; and even to call in question the credibility of some of his assertions. But no one who is well acquainted with this most amusing author, can reasonably suspect his veracity ; and, in the present instance, I can give him complete credit, not only from my general opinion of his smcerity, but from having observed, in the course of my own ex- perience, more than one example of the same sort of combination ; not indeed carried to such a length as Montaigne describes, but bearing a striking resemblance to it. The observations which have already been made, account, in part, for the origin of the common opinion, that genius and memory are seldom united in great degrees in the same person ; and at the same time show, that some of the facts on which that opinion is founded, do not justify such a conclusion. Besides these, however, there are other circumstances, which at first view seem rather to indicate an inconsistency between extensive memory and original genius. The species of memory which excites the greatest degree of admiration in the ordinary intercourse of society is a memory for detached and insulated facts; and it is certain that those men who are possessed of it, are very seldom distinguished by the higher gifts of the mind. Such a species of memory is unfavourable to philosophical arrangement ; because it in part supplies the place of arrangement. One great use of philosophy, as 1 already showed, is to give us an extensive command of particular truths, by fur- nishing us with general principles, under which a number of such truths is comj)rehended. A person in whose mind casual associa- tions of time and place make a lasting impression, has not the same inducements to philosophize, with others who connect facts together, chiefly by the relations of cause and effect, or of premises and conclusion. I have heard it observed, that those men who have risen to the greatest eminence in the profession of law, have been in general such as had at first an aversion to the study. The rea- son probably is, that to a mind fond of general principles, every study must be at first disgusting, which presents to it a chaos of facts apparentlv unconnected with each other. But this love of arrangement, if united with persevering industry, will at last con- quer every difiiculty ; will introduce order into what seemed on a superficial view a mass of confusion, and reduce the dry and unin- teresting detail of positive statutes into a system comparatively lu- minous and beautiful. The observation, I believe, may be made more general, and may OF MEMORY. 251 be applied to every science in which there is a great multiplicity of facts to be remembered. A man destitute of genius may, with little ettort, treasure up in his memory a number of particulars in chemistry or natural history, which he refers to no principle, and trom which he deduces no conclusion ; and from his facility in acquiring this stock of information, may flatter himself with the belief that he possesses a natural taste for these branches of know- ledge. But they who are really destined to extend the boundaries of science, when they first enter on new pursuits, feel their attention distracted, and their memory overloaded with facts among which they can trace no relation, and are sometimes apt to despair entirely ot their future progress. In due time, however, their superiority appears, and arises in part from that very dissatisfaction which they at tirst experienced, and which does not cease to stimulate their inquiries, til they are enabled to trace, amidst a chaos of apparently unconnected materials, that simplicity and beauty which always characterize the operations of nature. There are, besides, other circumstances which retard the progress ot a man of genius, when he enters on a new pursuit, and which sometimes render him apparently inferior to those who are pos- sessed of ordinary capacity. A want of curiosity,* and of invention facilitates greatly the acquisition of knowledge. It renders the mind passive in receiving the ideas of others, and saves all the time which might be employed in examining their foundation or m tracing their consequences. They who are possessed of much acuteness and originality, enter with difficulty into the views of others ; not from any defect in their power of apprehension, but be- cause they cannot adopt opinions which they have not examined • and because their attention is often seduced by their own speculations It is not merely in the acquisition of knowledge that a man of genius IS likely to find himself surpassed by others : he has com- monly his infomiation much less at command, than those who are possessed of an inferior degree of originality ; and, what is some- what remarkable he has it least of all at command on those subjects on which he has found his invention most fertile. Sir Isaac Newton as we are told by Dr. Pemberton, was often at a loss when the' conversation turned on his own discoveries. (See Note t ) It is probable that they made but a slight impression on his mind, and that a consciousness of his inventive powers prevented him from taking much pains to treasure them up in his memory Men of ittle ingenuity seldom forget the ideas they acquire ; because they know that when an occasion occurs for applying their knowledge to use, they must trust to memory and not to invention. Explain an arithmetical rule to a person of common understanding who is unacquainted with the principles of the science ; he will soon -et o « I mean a want of curiosity about trutli. " There are manv men," says Dr Butler know «to is'r'.™"^ ™""'"' '" ''""* "'"" '^ «"■'• "'«' •'"" UWeorTocu^iority .^ rii 1 *252 PART I. CHAP. vir. the rule hy heart, and becomes dexterous in the application of it. Another of more ingenuity, will examine the principle of the rule before he applies it to use, and will scarcely take the trouble to commit to memory a process which he knows he can, at any time, with a little reflection, recover. The consequence will be, that, in the practice of calculation, he will appear more slow and hesitatinj^, than if he followed the received rules of arithmetic without reflection or reasoning. Something of the same kind happens every day in conversation. By far the greater part of the opinions we announce in it, are not the immediate result of reasoning on the spot, but have been pre- viously formed in the closet, or perhaps have been adopted implicitly on the authority of others. The promptitude, therefore, with which a man decides in ordinary discourse, is not a certain test of the quickness of his apprehension ;* as it may perhaps arise from those uncommon efforts to furnish the memory with acquired knowled"-e, by which men of slow parts endeavour to compensate for their want of invention; while, on the other hand, it is possible that a con- sciousness of originality may give rise to a manner apparently embarrassed, by leading the person who feels it, to trust too much to extempore exertions.f In general, I believe, it may be laid down as a rule, that those who carry about with them a great degree of acquired information, which they have always at command, or who have rendered their own discoveries so famihar to them, as always to be in a condition to explain them, without recollection, are very seldom possessed of much invention, or even of much quickness of apprehension. A man of original genius, who is fond of exercising his reasoning powers anew on every point as it occurs to him, and who cannot submit to rehearse the ideas of others, or to repeat by rote the conclusions which he has deduced from previous reflection, often appears, to superficial observers, to fall below the level of ordinary understandings; while another, destitute both of quickness and invention, is admired for that promptitude in his decisions, which arises from the inferionty of his intellectual abilities. It must indeed be acknowledged in favour of the last description * " Memoria facit prompti ingenii famam, ut ilia quae diciirms, non domo attulisse, sed ibi protinus sumpsisse videamur."— Quinct. Inst. Orat. lib. xi. c. 2.— [Memory gives men the character of quickness of mind, so that when we sav an>thing we do not seem to have brought it from home, but to have drawn it out on the s'lwt.— Quinctilian Elements of (Oratory.] t In the foregoing observations it is not meant to be implied, that originality of gemus IS uicompatible with a ready recollection of acquired knowledge; but onlv 'that It has a tendency unfavourable to it, and that more time and practice >^-ill commonly be necessar>' to familiarise the mind of a man of invention to the ideas of others, or even to the conchHK.us of his own understanding, than are requisite in ordinary cases Habits of literary conversation, and still n;ore, habits of extempore discu8sion,*in a iiopular as- sembly, are peculiarly useful in giving us a ready and practical command of our know- ledge. There is much good sense in the following aphorism of Bacon • " Readinjr makes a full man, writing a correct man, and speaking a ready man." See a commentary on tiiiS aphorism la one of the numbers of the " Adventurer." OF MEMORY. 253 of men, that m ordmary conversation they form the most agreeable and perhaps the most instructive companions. How inexhaustible soever the m vention of an individual may be, the variety of his own peculiar ideas can bear no proportion to the whole mass of useful and curious information of which the world is already possessed Ihe conversation, accordingly, of men of genius, is sometimes extremely limited ; and is interesting to the feyv alone, who know the value, and who can distinguish the marks of ori-inalitv In consequence, too, of that partiality which every man feels for his own speculations, they are more in danger of being dogmatical and disputatious, than those who have no system which they are inter- ested to defend. j ^* The same observations may be applied to authors. A book which contains the discoveries of one individual only, may be admired by a few, who are intimately acquainted with the history of the science to which it relates, but it has little chance for popu- larity with the multitude. An author who possesses industry suflicient to collect the ideas of others, and judgment sufficient to arrange them skilfully, is the most likely person to acquire a hi^h degree of literary f|me ; and although, in the opinion of enlightened judges, invention forms the chief characteristic of genius yet it commonly happens that the objects of public admiration are men who are much less distinguished by this quality, than by extensive earning and cultivated taste. Perhaps, too, for the multitude, the latter class of authors is the most useful ; as their writings contain the more solid discoveries which others have brought to h-ht separated from those errors with which truth is often blended^ in tlie nrst tormation of a system. CHAPTER VIII. OF IMAGINATION. I. Atiafysis of Imagination,—!^ attempting to draw the Ime between conception and imagination, I have already observed, that the province of the former is to present us with an exact transcript of what we have formerly felt and perceived ; that of the latter, to make a se ection of qualities and of circumstances from a variety of different objects and by combining and disposing these to form a new creation of its own. d''''''''!{f^^ ^^^ definitions adopted in general by modern philo- sophers, the province of imagination would appear to be limited to objects of sight. « It IS the sense of sight," says Mr. Addison, which furnishes the imagination with its ideas ; so that by the pleasures of imagination, I here mean such as arise from visible objects, either when we have them actually in view, or when we call up their ideas into our minds by paintings, statues, descriptions, H i: I 254 PART I. CHAP. VIII. or any the like occasions. We cannot, indeed, have a single image in the fancy that did not make its first entrance through the sight." Agreeably to the same view of the subject. Dr. Reid observes, that ** Imagination properly signifies a lively conception of object| of sight ; the former power being distinguished from the latter, as a part from the whole." That this limitation of the province of imagination to one parti- cular class of our perceptions is altogether arbitrary, seems to me to be evident ; for, although the greater part of the materials which imagination combines be supplied by this sense, it is nevertheless indisputable, that our other perceptive faculties also contribute occasionally their share. How many pleasing images have been borrowed from the fragrance of the fields and the melody of the groves ; not to mention that sister art, whose magical influence over the human frame it has been, in all ages, the highest boast of poetry to celebrate ! In the following passage, even the more gross sensations of taste form the subject of an ideal repast, on which it is impossible not to dwell with some complacency, particularly afler a perusal of the preceding lines, in which the poet describes " the wonders of the torrid zone." " Bear me, Pomona ! to thy citron groves ; To where the lemon and the piercing lime, With the deep orange, glowing thro' the green Their hghter glories hlend. Lay me reclin'd Beneath the spreading tamarind that shakes, Fann'd hy the breeze, its fcver-cooling fruit : Or, stretch'd amid these orchards of the sun, O let me drain the cocoa's milky bowl. More bounteous far than all the frantic juice Which Bacchus jwurs ! Nor, on its slender twigs Low bending, be the full pomegranate scorn'd ; Nor, creeping thro' the woods, the gelid race Of berries. Oft in humble station dwells Unboastful worth, above fastidious pomp. Witness, thou best Anana, thou the pride Of vegetable life, beyond whate'er The poets imaged in the golden age : Quick let me strip thee of thy spiny coat. Spread thy ambrosial stores, and feast with Jove !'* — Thomson. What an assemblage of other conceptions different from all those hitherto mentioned, has the genius of Virgil combined in one distich ! Hie gelidi fontes, hie mollia prata, Lycori, Hie nemus : hie ipso tecum consumerer aevo.* These observations are sufficient to show how inadequate a notion of the province of imagination (considered even in its reference to 4i u Here cooling fountains roll through flow'ry meads, Here woods, Lycoris lift their verdant heads, Here could I wear my careless life away. And in thy anns insensibly decay." Wartox, Eclogue, x. 1. 53. OF IMAGINATION. 255 the sensible world) ^ conveyed by the definitions of Mr. Addison and of Dr. Reid. But the sensible world, it must be remembered is not the only field where imagination exerts her powers. All the objects of human knowledge supply materials to her forming hand • diversifymg mfimtely the works she produces, while the mode of her operation remains essentially uniform. As it is the same power of reasoning which enables us to carry on our investigations with respect to mdividual objects, and with respect to classes or genera- so It was by the same processes of analysis and combination, that the genius of Milton produced the garden of Eden, that of Har- rington the commonwealth of Oceana, and that of Shakspeare the characters of Hamlet and Falstaff. The difference between these several efforts of invention, consists only in the manner in which the original materials were acquired; as far as the power of imagi- nation IS concerned, the processes are perfectly analogous The attempts of] Mr. Addison and of Dr. Reid to limit 'the pro- vince of imagmation to objects of sight, have plainly proceeded from a very important fact, which it may be worth while to illus- trate more particularly. That the mind has a greater facility, and of consequence, a greater delight in recalling the perceptions of this sense than those of any of the others ; while, at the same time the variety of qualities perceived by it is incomparably greater It IS this sense, accordingly, which supplies the painter and' the sta uary with «// the subjects on which their genius is exercised, and which furnishes to the descriptive poet the largest and the most valuable portion of the materials which he combines. In that absurd species of prose composition, too, which borders on poetrv nothing IS more remarkable than the predominance of phrases that recall to the memory glaring colours, and those splendid appear- ances of nature which make a strong impression on the eye It has been mentioned by different writers, as a characteristical cir- cumstance m the Oriental or Asiatic style, that the greater part of the metaphors are taken from the celestial luminaries " The works of the Persians," says M. de Voltaire, « are like the titles of their kings, in which we are perpetually dazzled with the sun and the moon. bir William Jones, in a short Essay on the Poetry of ^.astern Nations, has endeavoured to show, that this is not owinff tothebad taste of the Asiatics, but to the old language andpopul^- religion of their country. But the truth is, that the very same criticism will be found to apply to the juvenile productions of every author possessed -fa warm imagination, and to the compositions of every people among whom a cultivated and philosophical taste has not established a sufficiently marked distinction between the .?PTPu?*^.'*^¥ ^^P^^'^-y and «^ P'-ose. The account given by the Abbe Girard of the meaning of the word Pkebus, as employed by the French critics, confirms strongly this observation. "Le I'hebus a un brillant qui signifie, ou semble signifier quelque chose ; i PART I. CHAP. VI ri. 256 Je soleil y entre d ordinaire ; et c'est peut-6tre ce qui, en notre langue, a donne lieu au nom dePhtbusr (Synonymes Franqois.)* Agreeably to these priociples, Gray, in describing the infantnie reveries of poetical genius, has fixed, with exquisite judgment, on this class of our conceptions : " Yet oft ])efore his infant eye would rim Such forms as gUtter in the Muse's ray With orient hues '* From these remarks it may be easily understood, why the word imagination, in its most ordinary acceptation, should be applied to cases where our conceptions are derived from the sense of sight ; although the province of this power be, in fact, as unlimited as tlie sphere'^of human enjoyment and of human thought. Hence, the origin of those partial definitions which I have been attempting to correct ; and hence too, the origin of the word imagination ; the etymology of which implies manifestly a reference to visible objects. To alf the various modes in which imagination may display itself, the greater part of the remarks contained in this chapter will be found to apply, under proper limitations ; but, in order to render the subject more obvious to the reader's examination, T shall, in the further prosecution of it, endeavour to convey my ideas, rather by means of particular examples, than in the form of general princi- pies; leaving it to his own judgment to determine with what modifications the conclusions to which we are led, may be extended to other combinations of circumstances. Among the innumerable phenomena which this part of our con- stitution presents to our examination, the combinations whicii the mind forms out of materials supplied by the power of conception, recommend themselves strongly, both by their simplicity, and by the interesting nature of the discussions to which they lead. I shall avail myself, therefore, as much as possible, in the following inquiries, of whatever illustrations I am able to borrow from the arts of poetry and of painting ; the operations of imagination in these arts furnishing the most intelligible and pleasing exemplifications of the intellectual processes by which, in those analogous but less palpable instances that fall under the consideration of the moralist, the mind deviates from the models presented to it by experience, and forms to itself new and untried objects of pursuit. It is in consequence of such processes, (which how little soever they may be attended to, are habitually passing in the thoughts of all men,) that human affairs exhibit so busy and so various a scene ; tending, m one case, to improvement, and, in another, to decline; according as our notions of excellence and of happiness are just or erroneous. It was observed in a former part of this work, that imagination is * " Phoebus has a brilUancv which signifies, or seems to signify, something ; the sun generally is connected with it', and it is that which, perhaps, in our language has given rise to Phoebus." OF IMAGINATION. 257 a complex power. (See Chap. Ill ^ r n 7] ^ n • i i the n,aterLV an" leet LrtSS ""Tit ^'''"''' '''''^'' may add that particular l.aJ it ^"' * ?" ° *^^'^ P^'^^'^ "e gave the name of faacv ^ it L f[,i''"' v"/'"" '" "'"'='' ^ '""'•"''^••Iv all the different Laterils'ch a : Tut St ^ °'"«-'"""'=^' imagination, and which may therefore ?co„7dl ^ • f *"■'' f ground-work of poetical genius considered as forming the Sir"; is?^" ^e LTpfoid ^s:^i:r:^:i^^^ of ideas sucrcre^ted them inH tV,f " ins mind. Ihe association of them beforetim th'.;:?, t ZZ:'::rZTrrI^r' "?" every natural scene if we destine ;»«! "^perfections. In there'are defects and red,mda™ which Ji^ ^T^^^'^'^r' cannot always, correct. But the powl otim SionTs'St'li' She can create and annihilate ; and disnosp Z^X," '\""'"n'te art of creating landscape in thi'art the designer is limite.l in his creation by nature; and his only province is to correct, to improve, and to adorn. As be can- not rCat his experiments, in order to observe the effect, he must call uv in his imagination, the scene which he means to produce ; and apply to this imaginary scene his taste and hi«J">:™<>"'; »;•!;; other words, to a lively conception of visible objects, he must a.icl a po^vli (which long experience and attentive observation alone can ti^e hhn) of judging beforehand of the eff-ect which they would produce it^thiy were actually exhibited to his senses. This power Cs what Lord Chatham lieautifully and expressively ca led /Ae vrophetic Eye of Taste: that eye which (if 1 may borrow the lan- Se of Mr. 6ray) " sees all the beauties that a place .s suscepU- ble of, long before they are born ; and when it plants a seedling, a ready sits under the shade of it, and enjoys tl-e effect itwiU have, from every point of view that lies in the prospect (Gray s \\ orks, by Mason!?. 277.) But although the artist «['? ^f"'^,* If "'^- scapecopi;Jit from his imagination, the ^^e"? ,7h'c». !>« exh.bi s is addresJd to the senses, and may produce its f\.ll effect on the minds of others, whhout any effort on their part, either of imagination or "'" iweven"" being misunderstood, it is necessary for me to remark that, in the last observation, 1 speak merely of the natural effect. educed by a landscape, and abstract entirely from the pleasure which may result from an accidental association of ideas with a particular scene. The effect resulting from such associa ions wdl depend, in a great measure, on the liveliness with which the abso- 3ed obiects%re conceived, and on the affecting nature of the pictures ^hich a creative imagination, when once ro«^e'''J'" P;^" sent to the mind; but the pleasures tl'us arising from the accident^ exercise that a landscape may give to the imagination, must not be confounded with those which it is naturally fitted to produce. OF IMAOISATION. 259 In painting, (excepting in those instances in whicli it exhibits a faithfuf copy of a particular object,) the original idea must be formed m the imagination ; and, in most cases, the exercise of imagination must concur with perception, before the picture can produce that effect on the mind of the spectator which the artist has in view 1 ainting therefore, does not belong entirely to either of the two" Sh Uiem both ""'^ mentioned, but has something in common «,i\l" *• Z^" P"'?*^'". ''IV'/* '=°Py'°ff exactly what he sees, he may be guided mechanically by general rules; and he requires no aid from that creative genius which is characteristical of the poet Ihe pleasure, however, which results from painting, considered merely as an imitative art, is extremely trifling ; and is specifically different from that which it aims to produce, by awakenin- the imagination. Even in portrait-painting, the servile copylt of nature is regarded m no higher light than that of a tradesman. JJeception as Reynolds has excellently observed, " instead of advancing the art is, in reality, carrying it back to its infant state. Ihe first essays of painting were certainly nothing but mere imita- tions of individual objects; and when this amounted to a deception Tr Jl!f •'^^ii''e°'np!'«hed his purpose." (Notes on Mason's' Iranslation of Fresnoy s Poem on the Art of Painting, p. 114 ) VV hen the history or the landscape painter indulges his -enius in forming new combinations of his own, he vies with the poet in the noblest exertion of the poetical art ; and he avails himself of his professional skill, as the poet avails himself of languaoe only to convey the ideas in his mind. To deceive the eye by accurate representations of particular forms, is no longer his aim; but by the touches of an expressive pencil, to speak to the imaginations of others Imitation, therefore, is not the end which he proposes to himself but the means which he employs in order to accomplish if nay, if the imitation be carried so far as to preclude all exercise of the spectator s imagination, it will disappoint, in a great measure the purpose of the artist. In poetry, and in every other species of composition, in which one pereon attempts, by means of language, to present to the mind Of another the objects of his own imagination, this power is necessary, though not in the same degree, to the author and to tlie reader. When we peruse a description, we naturally fbel a disposition to form, in our own minds, a distinct picture of what is described ; and in proportion to the attention and interest which the subject excites the picture becomes steady and determinate. It IS scarcely possible for us to hear much of a particular town without forming some notion of its figure and size and situation- and in reading history and poetry, I believe it seldom happens that we do not annex imaginary appearances to the names of our favourite characters. It is, at the same time, almost certain that tlie imagmations of no two men coincide upon such occasions ; and 8 2 ' . 1.1.x mmam^m * *' - -* -¥ 9>m^bi>^im. 260 PART I. CHAP. VIII. OF IMAGINATION. 261 therefore, though both may be pleased, the agreeable impressions which they feel may be widely different from each other, according as the pictures by which they are produced are more or less happily imagined. Hence it is, that, when a person accustomed to dramatic reading sees, for the first time, one of his favourite characters represented on the stage, he is generally dissatisfied with the exhi- bition, however eminent the actor may be; and if he should h{ipj)en, before this representation, to have been very familiarly acquainted with the character, the case may continue to be the same througli life. For my own part, I have never received from any Fal staff on the stage half the pleasure which Shakespeare gives me in the closet; and I am persuaded that I should feel some degree of uneasiness if I were present at any attempt to personate the figure or the voice of Don Quixote or Sancho Pan^a. It is not always that the actor, on such occasions, falls short of our expectation. He disappoints us, by exhibiting something different from uhat our imagination had anticipated, and which consequently appears to us, at the moment, to be an unfaithful representation of the poet's idea ; and until a frequent repetition of the performance has completely obliterated our former impressions, it is impossible for us to form an adequate estimate of its merit. Similar observations may be applied to other subjects. The sight of an^' natural scene, or of any work of art, provided we have not previously heard of it, commonly produces a greater effect, at first, than ever afterwards ; but if, in consequence of a description, we have been led to form a previous notion of it, 1 apprehend the effect will be found less pleasing the first time it is seen than the second. Although the description should fall short greatly of the reality, yet the disappointment which we feel, on meeting with something different from what we expected, diminishes our satis- faction. The second time we see the scene, the effect of novelty is indeed less than before; but it is still considerable, and the imagination now anticipates nothing which is not realized in the perception. The remarks which have been made, afford a satisfactory reason why so few are to be found who have a genuine relish for the beau- ties of poetry. [The designs of Kent and of Brown evince in their authors a degree of imagination entirely analogous to that of the descriptive poet ; but when they are once executed, their heatitks (excepting those which result from association) meet the eye of every spectator. In poetry the effect is inconsiderable, vnless vpon a mind which possesses some degree of the authors genius ; a mind amply furnished by its previous habits, with the means of inter- preting the language which he employs; and able, by its own imagination, to co-operate with the efforts of his art.] It has been often remarked, that the general words which express complex ideas, seldom convey precisely the same meaning to dif- ferent individuals, and that hence arises much of the ambiguity of language. The same observation holds, in no inconsiderable degree With respect to the names of sensible objects. When the words river, mountain, grove, occur in a description, a person of lively conceptions naturally thinks of some particular river, mountain and grove, that have made an impression on his mind ; and what- ever the notions are, which he is led by his imagination to form of these objects, they must necessarily approach to the standard of what he has seen. Hence it is evident that, according to the dif- ferent habits and education of individuals ; according to the live- liness of their conceptions, and according to the creative power of their imaginations, the same words will produce very different effects on different minds. When a person who has received his education in the country, reads a description of a rural retirement- the house, the river, the woods, to which he was first accustomed', present themselves sjwntaneously to his conception, accompanied' perhaps with the recollection of his early friendships, and all those pleasing ideas which are commonly associated with the scenes of childhood and of youth. How different is the effect of the descrip- tion upon his mind, from what it would produce on one who has passed his tender years at a distance from the beauties of nature, and whose infant sports are connected in his memory with the gloomy alleys of a commercial city ! But it is not only in interpreting the particular words of a description, that the powers of imagination and conception are em- ployed. They are farther necessary for filling up the different parts of that picture, of which the most minute describer can only trace the outline. In the best description, there is much left to the reader to supply ; and the effect which it produces on his mind will depend, in a considerable degree, on the invention and taste with which the picture is finished. It is therefore possible, on the one hand, that the happiest efforts of poetical genius may be perused with perfect indifference by a man of sound judgment and not destitute of natural sensibility ; and, on the other hand, that a cold and common-place description may be the means of awaken- ing, in a rich and glowing imagination, a degree of enthusiasm unknown to the author. All the different arts which I have hitherto mentioned as taking their rise from the imagination, have this in common, that their primary object is to please. This observation applies to the art of poetry, no less than to the others ; nay, it is this circumstance which characterises poetry, and distinguishes it from all the other classes of literary composition. The object of the philosopher is to inform and enlighten mankind; that of the orator, to acquire an ascendant over the will of others, by bending to his own purposes their judg- ments, their imaginations, and their passions : but the primary and the distinguishing aim of the poet is, to please; and the principal resource which he possesses for this purpose, is by addressing the imagination. Sometimes, indeed, he may seem to encroach on the 1 f 2tiU PART I. CHAP. VIII. province of the philosopher or of the orator ; but, in these instances, he only borrows from them the means by which he accomplishes his end. If he attempts to enlighten and to inform, he addresses the understanding only as a vehicle of pleasure : if he makes an a])peal to the passions, it is only to passions which it is pleasing to indulge. The philosopher, in like manner, in order to accomplish his end of instruction, may find it expedient, occasionally, to amuse the ima- gination, or to make an appeal to the passions : the orator may, at one time, state to his hearers a process of reasoning ; at another, a calm narrative of facts ; and, at a third, he may give the reins to poetical fancy. But still the ultimate end of the philosopher is to instruct, and of the orator to persuade ; and whatever means they make use of which are not subservient to this purpose, are out of place, and obstruct the effect of tlieir labours. The measured composition in which the poet expresses himself, is only one of the means which he employs to please. As the delight which he conveys to the imagination is heightened by the other agreeable impressions, which he can unite in the mind at the same time; he studies to bestow, upon the medium of communica- tion which he employs, all the various beauties of which it is sus- ceptible. Among these beauties the harmony of numbers is not the least powerful, for its effect is constant, and docs not interfere with any of the other pleasures which language produces. A suc- cession of agreeable perceptions is kept up by the organical effect of words upon the ear ; while they inform the understanding by their perspicuity and precision, or please the imagination by the pictures they suggest, or touch the heart by the associations they awaken. Of all these charms of language the poet mav avail him- self; and they are all so many instruments of his art. To the phi- losopher and the orator they may occasionally be of use ; and to both they must be constantly so far an object of attention, that nothing may occur in their compositions, which may distract the thoughts, by offending either the ear or the taste ;*but the poet must not rest satisfied with this negative praise. Pleasure is the end of his art : and the more numerous the sources of it which he can oj)en, the greater will be the effect produced by the efforts of his genius. The province of the poet is limited only by the variety of human enjoyments. Whatever is in the reality subservient to our happi- ness is a source of pleasure, when presented to our conceptions, and may sometimes derive from the heightenings of imao-ination a momentary charm, which we exchange with reluctance for the sub- stantial gratifications of the senses. The province of the painter^ and of the statuary, is confined to the imitation of visible objects, and to the exhibition of such intellectual and moral qualities, as the human body is fitted to express. In ornamental architecture, and in ornamental gardening, the sole aim of the artist is to give pleasitre to the eye, by the beauty or sublimit v of material forms. OF IMAGINATION. 263 But to the poet all the glories of external nature; all that is amia- ble or interesting or respectable in human character ; all that excites and engages our benevolent affections ; all those truths which make the heart feel itself better and more happy ; all these supply mate- rials, out of which he forms and peoples a world of his own, where no inconveniences damp our enjoyments, and where no clouds darken our prospects. That the pleasures of poetry arise chiefly from the agreeable feelings which it conveys to the mind, by awakening the imagina- tion, IS a proposition which may seem too obvious to stand in need of proof. As tiie ingenious inquirer, however, into " the Orio-in of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful," has disputed the'com- Biori notions upon this subject, I shall consider some of the prin- cipal arguments by which he has supported his opinion. The leading principle of the theory which I am now to examine IS, "That the common effect of poetry is not to raise ideas of things ;" or, as I would rather choose to express it, its common effect is not to give exercise to the powers of conception and ima- gination. That I may not be accused of misrepresentation, I shall state the doctrine at length in the words of the author. " If words have all their possible extent of power, three effects arise in the mind of the hearer. The first is the sound, the second thepicture, or representation of the thing signified by the sound ; the third is,' the affection of the soul produced by one or by both of the fore- going. Compounded abstract words, (honour, justice, liberty, and the like,) produce the first and the last of these effects, but not the second. Simple abstracts are used to signify some one simple idea, without much adverting to others which may chance to attend it; as blue, green, hot, cold, and the like : these are capable of effectin*^ all three of the purposes of words ; as the aggregate words, man*, castle, horse, &c.are in a yet higher degree. But I am of opinion] that the most general effect even of these words does not arise from their forming pictures of the general things they would represent in the imagination ; because, on a very diligent examination of my own mind, and getting others to consider theirs, I do not find that once in twenty times any such picture is formed ; and when it is there is most commonly a particular effort of the imagination for that purpose. But the aggregate words operate, as I said of the compound abstracts, not by presenting any image to the mind, but by having, from use, the same effect on being mentioned, that their original has when it is seen. Suppose we were to read a passage to this effect : * The river Danube rises in a moist and mountainous soil ill the heart of Germany, where, winding to and fro, it waters several principalities, until turning into Austria, and leaving the walls of Vienna, it passes into Hungary ; there, with a vast flood, augmented by the Saave and the Drave, it quits Christendom, and rolling through the barbarous countries which border on Tartary, it enters by many mouths into the Black Sea.' In this descriptiou 264 PART I. CHAP. vi:i. I many things are mentioned ; as mountains, rivers, cities, the sea, &c But let anybody examine himself, and see whether he has hadmipressed on his imagination any pictures of a river, mountain watery sod, Germany, Sec. Indeed, it is impossible, in the rapidity and quick succession of words in conversation, to have ideas both of the sound of the word, and of the thing represented ; besides, some words expressing real essences are so mixed with others of a general and nominal import, that it is impracticable to jump from sense to thought, from particulars to generals, from things to words, m such a manner as to answer the purposes of life: nor is it neces- sary that we should." In farther confirmation of this doctrine, Mr. Burke refers to the poetical works of the late amiable and ingenious Dr. Blacklock. 'Here, says he, " u a poet, doubtless as much affected hy his own descriptions as umj that reads them can be ; and yet he is affected with this strong enthusiasm, by things of which he neither has nor can possibly have any idea, fUrtlier than that of a bare sound • and why may not those who read his works be affected in the same manner that he was, with as little of any real ideas of the thin-s described ? ^ Before I proceed to make any remarks on these passages, I must observe in general, that I perfectly agree with Mr. Burke, in think- ing that a very great proportion of the words which we habitually employ, have no effect to " raise ideas in the mind ;" or to exerci4 the powers of conception and imagination. My notions on this subject I have already sufficiently explained in treating of abstraction I agree with him farther, that a great proportion of the words* which are used m poetry and eloquence, produce very powerful effects on the mind, by exciting emotions which we have been accustomed to associate with particular sounds ; without leadino- the imagination to form to itself any pictures or representations'! and his account of the manner in which such words operate, appears to me satisfactory. " Such words are in reality but mere sounds- but they are sounds, which, being used on particular occasions wherein we receive some good, or suffer some evil ; or see others' affected with good or evil; or which we hear applied to other inter- esting things or events ; and being ai)plied in such a variety of cases that we know readily by habit to what things they belong they produce m the mind, whenever they are afterwards mentioned effects similar to those of their occasions. The sounds being often used without reference to any particular occasion, and carrying still their first impressions, they at last utterly lose their connexion with the particular occasions that gave rise to them ; yet the sound, without any annexed notion, continues to operate as before " Notwithstanding, however, these concessions, I cannot admit that it IS in this way poetry produces its principal effect. Whence is It that general arid abstract expressions are so tame and lifeless in companion ol tiiose which are particular and fi«r„rative ' Is it OF IMAGINATION. !t65 not because the former do not give any exercise to the imagination, like the latter? Whence the distinction, acknowledged by all critics, ancient and modern, between that charm of words which evaporates in the process of translation, and those per^3anent beauties, which presenting to the mind the distinctness of a {iicture, may impart pleasure to the most remote regions and ages ? Is it not, that in the one case, the poet addresses himself to associations which are local and temporary ; in the other, to those essential principles of human nature, from which poetry and painting derive their common attractions ? Hence, among the various sources of the sublime, the peculiar stress laid by Longinus on what he calls Visions, {(pavratTiai) — orav a Xtyr/c, utt' ivOovmaffinov Kai iraOovg pXtTTHv So/c^c, Kai vir* o\liv ti6\}i; toIq aKovovaiv* In treating of abstraction I formerly remarked, that the perfec- ' tion of philosoj)hical style is to approach as nearly as possible to tliat species of language we employ in algebra, and to exclude every expression which has a tendency to divert the attention by * exciting the imagination, or to bias the judgment by casual associa- tions. For this purpose the philosopher ought to be sparino- in the employment of figurative words, and to convey his notions by general terms which have been accurately defined. To the orator, on the other hand, when he wishes to prevent the cool exercise of the understanding, it may, on the same account, be frequently useful to delight or to agitate his hearers, by blending with his reasonings the illusions of poetry, or the magical influence of sounds consecrated by popular feelings. A regard to the different ends thus aimed at in philosophical and in rhetorical composition, ren- ders the ornaments which are so becoming in the one, inconsistent with good taste and good sense when adopted in the other. In poetry, as truths and facts are introduced, not for the purpose of information, but to convey pleasure to the mind, nothing offends more, than those general expressions which form the great instru- ment of philosophical reasoning. The original pleasures, which it is the aim of poetry to recall to the mind, are all derived from individual objects : and, of consequence, (with a very few excep- tions, which it does not belong to my present subject to enumerate,) the more particular, and the more appropriated its language is, the greater will be the charm it possesses. With respect to the description of the course of the Danube already quoted, I shall not dispute the result of the experiment to be as the author represents it. That words may often be applied to their proper purposes, without our annexing any particular * De Sublim. § xv. [ (Visions.) WTien expressing anything, you would seem to have seen it through entlmsiasni and emotion, and would place it before the view of the hearers.] Quas ^avraaiuQ Gra?ci vocant, nos sane Visiones appellamus ; per quas imagines rerum absentiura ita repr.ejentantiur animo, ut eas cemere ocuhs ac praesentes hal)ere videamur. — Quinct. Inst. Orat. vi. 2. [What the Greeks call ^avraata?, we call t'lsioms, by means of which tl.c images of absent things are so represented to the mind, that we seem to perceive thciii by sight, and have them present to us.] it i^-* *. 266 PART I CHAP. VIII. I- f notions to them, I have formerly shown at great length ; and I admit that the meaning oitliis description may he so understood. But to be understood is not the sole object of the poet : his pri- mary object is to please; and the pleasure which he conveys will, in general, be found to be proportioned to the beauty and liveliness' of the images which he suggests. In the case of a poet born blind, the effect of poetry must depend on other causes; but whatever opinion we may form on this point, it appears to me impossible that such a poet should receive, even from his own descriptions, the same degree of pleasure which they may convey to a reader who is capable of conceiving the scenes which are described. Indeed this instance which 3Ir. Burke produces in support of his theory, is sutiicient of itself to show that the theory cannot be true in the extent in which it is stated. By way of contrast to the description of the Danube, I shall quote a stanza from Gray, which affords a very beautiful example of the two different effects of poetical expression. The pleasure conveyed by the two last lines resolves almost entirely into IMr. Burke's principles ; but great as this pleasure is, how inconsiderable IS It in comparison of that arising from the continued and varied exercise which the preceding lines give to the imagination ? " In climes beyond the solar road, \Vhere shaggy forms o'er ice-l)uilt mountjiins roam, The muse has broke the twihght-gloom. To cheer the shiv'ring native's dull aljode. And oft beneath the od'rous shade Of Chili's boundless forests laid, She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat In loose numbers wildly sweet,' Their feather-cinctur'd chiefs, and dusky loves. Her track where'er the goddess roves, (Jlorj- piu-sue, and generous shame. The unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame." I cannot help remarking further, the effect of the solemn and uniform flow of the verse in this exquisite stanza, in retardino- the pronunciation of the reader; so as to arrest his attention to every successive picture, till it«has time to produce its proper impression. More of the charm of poetical rhythm arises from this circumstance than is commonly imagined. To those who wish to study the theory of poetical expression no author in our language affords a richer variety of illustrations than the poet last quoted. His merits, in many other respects, are great ; but his skill in this particular is more peculiarly conspicuous. How much lie had made the principles of this branch of his art aii object of study, appears from his letters published by Mr. Mason. I have sometimes thought, that, in the last line of the following passage, he had in view the two different effects of words already described; the effect of some, in awakening the powers of concep- OF IMAGINATION. 267 tion and imagination ; and that of others, in exciting associated emotions : •* Hark, liis hands the lyre explore ! Bright-ey'd Fancy hovering o'er, Scatters from her pictur'd urn, Thoughts that breathe, and words that bum." III. Relation of Imagination and of Taste to Genius.—FTom the remarks made in the foregoing sections, it is obvious, in what manner a person accustomed to analyze and combine his con- ceptions may acquire an idea of beauties superior to any which he has seen realized. It may also be easily inferred, that a habit of forming such intellectual combinations, and of remarkino- their effects on our own minds, must contribute to refine and to exalt the taste, to a degree which it never can attain in those men, who study to improve it by the observation and comparison of external objects only. [A cultivated taste, combined with a creative imagination, con- stitutes genius in the fine arts. Without taste, imagination could produce only a random analysis and combination of our concep- tions ; and without imagination, taste would be destitute of the faculty of invention.] These two ingredients of genius may be mixed togetlier in all possible proj)ortions ; and where either is possessed in a degree remarkably exceeding what falls to the ordinary share of mankind, it may compensate in some measure for a deficiency in the other. An uncommonly correct taste, with httle imao-ination, if it does not produce works which excite admiration, produces at least nothing which can offend. An uncommon fertility of imagi- nation, even when it offends, excites our wonder by its creative l)ower ; and shows what it could have performed, had its exertions been guided by a more perfect model. In the infancy of the arts, an union of these two powers in the same mind is necessary for the production of every work of genius. Taste, without imagination, is, in such a situation, impossible ; for as there are no monuments of ancient genius on which it can be formed, it must be the result of experiments, which nothino- but the imagination of every individual can enable him to make. I^uch a taste must necessarily be imperfect, in consequence of the limited experience of which it is the result ; but, without imagination, it could not have been acquired even in this imperfect deo-ree. In the progress of the arts the case comes to be altered. The productions of genius accumulate to such an extent, that taste may be formed by a careful study of the works of others ; and, as for- merly imagination had served as a necessary foundation for taste so taste begins now to invade the province of imagination. The combinations which the latter faculty has been employed in makino- during a long succession of ages, approach to infinity ; and present such ample materials to a judicious selection, that with a high standard of excellence, continually present to the thouo-hts, in- II 268 PART I. CHAP. VIII, dustry, assisted by the most moderate degree of imagination, will, in time, produce performances, not only more free from faults, but incomparably more powerful in their effects, than the most original efforts of untutored genius, which, guided by an uncultivated taste, copies after an inferior model of j:)erfection. What Reynolds ob- serves of painting, may be applied to all the otlier fine arts ; that " as the painter, by bringing together in one piece, those beauties which are dispersed amongst a great variety of individuals, pro- duces a figure more beautiful than can be found in nature ; so that artist who can unite in himself the excellencies of the various painters, will approach nearer to perfection than any of his masters/*— (P. 226.) IV. Of the Influence of Imagination on Human Character and Happiness. — Hitherto we have considered the power of imagination chieHy as it is connected with the fine arts. But it deserves our attention still more, on account of its extensive influence on human character and happiness. The lower animals, as far as we are able to judge, are entirely occupied with the objects of their present perceptions: and the case is nearly the same with the inferior orders of our own species. One of the principal effects which a liberal education produces on the mind is to accustom us to withdraw our attention from the ob- jects of sense, and to direct it at pleasure to those intellectual com- binations which delight the imagination. Even, however, amono* men of cultivated understandings, this faculty is possessed in very unequal degrees by different individuals; and these differences (whether resulting from original constitution or from early educa- tion) lay the foundation of some striking varieties in human character. ^V hat we commonly call senf^iUlity depe?ids in a great measure on the power of imagination, tj^f Point out to two men any object of compassion ;— a man, for example, reduced by misfortune from easy circumstances to indigence. The one feels 'merely in proportion to what he perceives by his senses. The other follows, in imagina- tion, the unfortunate man to his dwelling, and j)artakes with him and his family in their domestic distresses. He listens to their con- versation, while they recall to remembrance the flattering prospects they once indulged ; the circle of friends they had been forced to leave; the liberal plans of education which were begun and inter- rupted ; and pictures out to himself all the various resources which delicacy and pride suggest to conceal poverty from the world. As he proceeds in the painting his sensibility increases, and he weeps, not for what he sees, but for what he imagines. It will be said' that it was his sensibility which originally aroused his imagination ; and the observation is undoubtedly true ; but it is equally evident] on the other hand, that the warmth of his imagination increases and prolongs his sensibility. This is beautifully illustrated in the Sentimental Journey of OF IMAGINATION. 2()9 i(^ Sterne. While engaged in a train of reflections on the state prisons in France, the accidental sight of a starling in a cage suggests to him the idea of a captive in his dungeon. He indulges his imagi- nation, " and looks through the twilight of the grated door to take the picture.'* " I beheld," says he, " his body half wasted away with long ex- pectation and confinement, and felt what kind of sickness of the lieart it is, which arises from hope deferred. Upon looking nearer I saw him pale and feverish : in thirty years the western breeze had not once fanned his blood: he had seen no sun, no moon, in all that time, nor had tlie voice of friend or kinsman breathed through his lattice. — His children — But here my heart begs.n to bleed, and I was forced to go on with another part of the portrait. " He was sitting upon the ground, in the farthest corner of his dungeon, on a little straw, which was alternately his chair and bed : a little calendar of small sticks was laid at the head, notched all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed there : he had one of these little sticks hi his hand, and with a rust}' nail he was etching another day of misery to add to the heap. As I darkened the little light he had, ht tifted up a hopeless eye towanls the door, then cast it down, shook his head, and went on with his work of affliction." The foregoing observations may account, in part, for the effect which exhibitions of fictitious distress produce on some persons, who do not discover much sensibility to the distresses of real hfe. In a novel or a tragedy the picture is completely finished in all its parts ; and we are made acquainted not only with every cir- cumstance on which the distress turns, but with the sentiments and feelings of every character, with respect to his situation. In real life we see, in general, only detached scenes of the tragedy ; and the impression is slight, unless imagination finishes the characters, and supplies the incidents that are wanting. It is not only to scenes of distress that imagination increases onr sensibility. It gives us a double share in the prosperity of others, and enables us to partake with a more lively interest in every for- tunate incident that occurs either to individuals or to communities. Even from the productions of the earth and the vicissitudes of the year, it carries forward our thoughts to the enjoyments they bring to the sensitive creation, and by interesting our benevolent affections in the scenes we behold, lends a new charm to the beauties of nature. I have often been inclined to think that the apparent coldness and selfishness of mankind may be traced, in a great measure, to a want of attention and a want of imagination. In the case of mis- fortunes which happen to ourselves, or to our near connexions, neither of these powers is necessary to make us acquainted with our situation ; so that we feel, of necessity, the correspondent emo- tions. But without an uncommon degree of both, it is impossible for any man to comprehend completely the situation of his neighbour, I 'It 270 PART I. JIIAP. VIII. I Cfl ■ 1 I or to have an idea of a great part of the distress which exists in the world. If we feel, therefore, more for ourselves than for others, the difference is to be ascribed, at least partly, to this ; that, in the former case the facts which are the foundation of our feehngs, are more fully before us than they possibly can be in the latter. In order to prevent niisap])rehensions of my meaning, it is neces- sary for me to add, that I do not mean to deny that it is a law of our nature, in cases in which there is an interference between our own interest and that of otlier men, to give a certain decree of preference to ourselves ; even supposing our neighbour's situation to be as completely known to us as our own. I only affirm, that, where this preference becomes blameable and unjust, the effect is to be accounted for partly in the way I mentioned.* One strikin'»- proof of this is the powerful emotions which may be occasionally excited in the minds of the most callous, when the attention has been once fixed, and the imagination awakened by eloquent, and circumstantial, and pathetic description. A very amiable and profound moralist, in the account which he has given of the origin of our sense of justice, has, I tiiink, drawn a less pleasing picture of the natural constitution of the human mind, than is agreeable to truth. " To disturb," says he, " the happiness of our neighbour, merely because it stands in tlie way of our own ; to take from him what is of real use to him, merely because it may be of equal or of more use to us ; or, to indulge, in this manner, at the expense of other people, the natural preference which every man has for his own happiness above that of otlier people, is what no impartial spectator can go along with. Every man is, no doubt, first and principally recommended to his own care ; and as he is fitter to lake care of himself than any other per- son, it is fit and right that it should be so. Every man, therefore, is much more deeply interested in whatever immediately concerns himself, than in what concerns any other man ; and to hear, per- haps, of the death of another person with wliom we have no parti- cular connexion, will give us less concern, will spoil our stomach, or break our rest, much less than a very insignificant disaster which' has befallen ourselves. But though the ruin of our neighbour mav affect us much less than a very small misfortune of our own, we must not ruin him to prevent that small misfortune, nor even to prevent our own ruin. We must here, as in all other cases, view ourselves not so much according to that light in which we mav naturally appear to ourselves, as according to that in which \\e naturally appear to others. Though every man may, according to the proverb, be the whole world to himself, to the rest of mankind he is a most insignificant part of it. Though his own happiness may be of more importance to him than "that of all the world besides, to every other person it is of no more consequence than * I say, partly, for habits of inattention to the situation r,^ otli.-r men UKdoubtediy presuppose ^orue defect in the social ar}ections. OP IMAGINATION. 271 that of any Other man. Though it may be true, therefore, that every individual ui Ins own breast, naturally prefers himself to aU mankmd, yet he dares not look mankind in the face, and avow that he acts according to tliis principle. He feels that, in this prefer- ence, they can never go along with him, and that how natural soever it may be to hun, it must always appear excessive and ex- rayagant to them. \Vhen he views himself in the light in which he :s conscious that others will view him, he sees that to them he is but one of the multitude, in no respect better than any other in 1 . If he would act so as that the impartial spectator mav enter into the principles of his conduct, which is what of all things^ie has the greatest desire to do, he must, upon this, as upon all other occa- sions humble the arrogance of his self-love, and bring it down to something which other men can go along with. I am ready to acknowledge, that there is much truth in this pas- sage; and that a prudential regard to the opinion of others mi-ht teach a man of good sense, without the aid of more amiable motiv^es to conceal his unreasonable partialities in favour of himself, and to' act agreeably to what he conceives to be the sentiments of impar- tial spectators. But I cannot help thinking, that the fact is much too strongly stated with respect to the natural partiality of self-love supposing the situation of our neighbours to be as completelv pre- so.nted to our view, as our own must of necessity be. When the orator wishes to combat the selfish passions of his audience and to rouse them to a sense of what they owe to mankind; what mode of persuasion does nature dictate to him ? Is it to remind them of the importance of the good opinion of the world, and of the neces- sity, in order to maintain it, of accommodating their conduct to the sentiments of others, rather than to their own feelings ? Such con siderations undoubtedly might, with some men, produce a certain ettect ; and might lead them to assume the appearance of virtue • but they would never excite a sentiment of indignation at the thought of injustice, or a sudden and involuntary burst of disin terested affection. If the orator can only succeed in fixing their attention to facts, and in bringing these facts home to their imaoi nation by the power of his eloquence, he has completely attained his object. INo sooner are the facts apprehended, than the benevo- lent principles of our nature display themselves in all their beauty Ihe most cautious and timid lose, for a moment, all thouo-ht of themselves, and despising every consideration of prndence'^or of safety, become wholly engrossed with the fortunes of others. [Many other facts, which are commonly alleged as proofs of the original selfishness of mankind, may be explained, in part in a similar way ; and may be traced to habits of inattention, or to a irant of imagination, arising, probably, from some fault in earlv education.] ^ What has now been remarked with respect to the social prin- ciples, m;iy be applied to all our other passions, excepting those CHAP. v:ii. II n IK 272 i*ART I. which take their rise from the body. They are commonly strong in proportion to the warmth and vigour of the imagination. It is, however, extremely curious, that when an imagination, which i's naturally phlegmatic, or which, like those of the vulgar, has little activity, from a want of culture, is fairly roused by the descriptions of the orator or of the poet, it is more apt to produce the violence of enthusiasm, than in minds of a superior ordor. 13y giving this faculty occasional exercise, we acquire a great degree of command over it. As we can withdraw the attention at pleasure from objects of sense, and transport ourselves into a world of our own so when we wish to moderate our enthusiasm, we can dismiss the objects of imagination, and return to our ordinary perceptions and occupations. But in a mind to which these intellectual visions are not familiar, and which borrows them completely from the genius of another, imagination, when once excited, becomes per- fectly ungovernable, and produces something like a temporary insanity. Hence the wonderful effects of popular eloquence on the lower orders ; etFects which are much more remarkable than what it ever produces on men of education. V. Inconveniences resulting from an ill-regulated Imagination. — It was undoubtedly the intention of nature, that the objects of |>er- ception should produce much stronger impressions on the mind than its own operations. And, accordingly, they always do so when proper care has been taken in early life to exercise the ditferent principles of our constitution. But it is possible, by long habits of solitary reflection, to reverse this order of things, and to weaken the attention to sensible objects to so great a degree, as to leave the conduct almost wholly under the influence of imagination. Removed to a distance from society, and from the pursuits of life, when we have been long accustonied to converse with our own thoughts, and have found our activity gr^titied by intellectual exer- tions, which afford scope to all our powers and affections, without exposing us to the inconveniences resulting from the bustle of the world, we are apt to contract an unnatural predilection for medita- tion, and to lose all interest in external occurrences. In such a situation too, the mind gradually loses that command, which edu- cation, when properly conducted, gives it over the train of its ideas, till at length the most extravagant dreams of imagination acquire as powerful an influence in exciting all its passions, as if they were realities. A wild and mountainous country, which presents but a limited variety of objects, and these only of such a sort as "awake to solemn thought," has a remarkable effect in cherishing this enthusiasm. When such disorders of the imagination have been long confirmed by habit, the evil may perhaps be beyond a remedy ; but in their inferior degrees much may be expected from our own efforts ; in particular, from mingling gradually in the business and amusements of the world ; or, if we have sufficient force of mhid for the exer- OF IMAGINATION. 273 haTardZ ^,t^^^"'^^>' P^^'^^^^^g into those active and interesting and hazardous scenes, which, by compelling us to attend to external strengthen those produced by realities. The advice ol* the poet in these cases, is equally beautiful and just :- ^ ' " Go, soft enthusiast ! quit the cypress groves, ^or to the rivulet's lonely moanings tune Your sad complaint. Go, seek the cheerful haunts ut men, and mingle wiih the bustling crowd • Lay schemes for wealth, or power, or fame, the wish Uf nobler nunds, and push them night and dav tjr jom the caravan in quest of scenes New to your eyes, and shifting every hour. Beyond the Alps, beyond the Apennines. Ur more adventurous, rush into the field Ti,^T/T ^'"'''' ^''*' *"*^ ^^?'"? t^'rough the skv, The lofty trumpet swells the madd'ning soul ; * And m the hardy camp and toilsome march, forget all softer and less manly cares."-ARMSTR0XG. The disordered state of mind to which these observations refer is he more interesting, that it is chiefly incident to men of uncom^^^^^ sensibihty and gemus. It has been often remarked" tlatTCT^ connexion between genius and melancholy ; and there i one sense of 5n.r'^-T r^^"*^^ ^V*"^'^ '^'^ ^^^^^rk is undouitedlj true a sense which it may be difficult to define, but in which it imnliPK nothing either gloomy or malevolent.* This, I t^fisUToilv confirmed by facts, but may be inferred from somiZf;^^^^^ were formerly stated on the subject of invention for asTl^TrK, I? sition now alluded to has a tendency to retar^trc^rrent oS and to collect the attention of the mind, it i peculLrlv f^^^^ o the discovery of those profound conclusions^ resSt f^^^^ accurate examination of the less obvious relations am^ng our Teas wh?.^ •.' 'r' IT^'Pl"'' '^^' ^^^3^ ^^ ''^^^^ some of "tL effects' which situation and early education produce on the in ellectual character. Among the natives of wild and solitary countries wj and of phi osophical research : while those men whose aSnn and w?t '"'"'' habits which are favourable to^at^y, vlvaci^! When a man, under the habitual influence of a warm ima^ina tion, .s obhged to mingle occasionally in scenes of rial businel he .s perpetually m danger of being m'isled by hb own entSm! [Whence hasi, ha,^/e;ifhat all emiLS^f wS^theM-^;;;^!™?- *'"'?1^'"- »-'• ^^- the arts, appear to have been melanchoUc ?-Aristot^ ProWel^!^ ^' ^"^' J^"^' "' 274 PART I. CHAP, vm. OF laiAGINATION. 275 i What we call good sense in the conduct of life, consists chiefly m that temper of mind which enables its possessor to view, at all times, with perfect coolness and accuracy, all the various circumstances of his situation, so that each of them may produce its due impres- sion on him, without any exaggeration arising from his own pecu- liar habits. But to a man of an ill-regulated imagination, external circumstances only serve as hints to excite his own thoughts, and the conduct he pursues has, in general, far less reference to his real situation, than to some imaginary one, in which he conceives himself to be placed: in consequence of which, while he oppears to himself to be acting with the most perfect wisdom and consis- tency, he may frequently exhibit to others all the appearances ot folly. Such, pretty nearly, seems to be the idea which the author (Madame de Stael-Holstein) of the " Kettections on the Character and Writings of Rousseau," has formed of that extraordinary man. " His faculties," we are told, " were slow in their operation, but his heart was ardent : it was in consequence of his own meditations that he became impassioned : he discovered no sudden emotions, but all his feelings grew upon reflection. It has, perhaps, happened to him to fall in love gradually with a woman, by dwelling on the idea of her during her absence. Sometimes he would part with you with all his former atfection ; but if an expression had escaped you which might bear an unfavourable construction, he would recollect it, examine it, exaggerate it, perhaps dwell upon it for a month, and conclude by a total breach with you. Hence it was that there was scarce a iK)ssibility of undeceiving him ; for the licrht which broke in upon him at once was not suthcient to eitace the wrong impressions which had taken place so gradually in his mind. It was extremely difficult, too, to continue long on an inti- mate footing with him. A word, a gesture, furnished hira with matter of profound meditation : he connected the most trifling cir^ cumstances like so many mathematical propositions, and conceived his conclusions to be supported by the evidence of demonstration. I beheve," continues this ingenious writer, "that imagination was the strongest of his faculties, and that it had almost absorbed all the rest. He dreamed rather than existed, and the events of his hfe might be said, more properly, to have passed in his mind, than without him : a mode of being, one should have thought, that ought to have secured him from distrust, as it prevented him from observation ; but the truth was, it did not hinder him from attempt- ing to observe ; it only rendered his observations erroneous. 1 hat his soul was tender, no one can doubt, after having read his works : but his imagination sometimes interposed between his reason and his affections, and destroyed their influence : he appeared sonoe- times void of sensibility ; but it was because he did not perceive objects such as they were. Had he seen them with our eyes, his heart would have been more affected than ours." In this very striking description we see the melancholy picture of sensibility and genius approaching to insanity. It is a case, frobably, that but rarely occurs in the extent here described: but,' believe, there is no man who has lived much in the world, who will not trace many resembling features to it, in the circle of his own acquaintances ; perhaps there are few who have not been occa- sionally conscious of some resemblance to it in themselves. To these observations we may add, that by an excessive indulgence in the pleasures of imagination, the taste may acquire a fastidious refinement unsuitable to the present situation of human nature ; and those intellectual and moral habits, which ought to be formed by actual experience of the world, may be gradually so accommodated to the dreams of poetry and romance, as to disqualify us for the scene in which we are destined to act. Such a distempered state of the mind is an endless source of error ; more particularly when ^ve are placed in those critical situations, in which our conduct determines our future happiness or misery ; and which, on account of this extensive influence on human hfe, form the principal ground- work of fictitious composition. The effect of novels, in misleading the passions of youth, with respect to the most interesting and important of all relations, is one of the many instances of the in- conveniences resulting from an ill-regulated imagination. The passion of love has been in every age the favourite subject of the poets, and has given birth to the finest productions of human genius. These are the natural delight of the young and susceptible, long before the influence of the passions is felt ; and from these a romantic mind forms to itself an ideal model of beauty and perfection, and becomes enamoured with its own creation. On a heart which has been long accustomed to be thus warmed by the imagination, the excellences of real characters make but a slight impression ; and, accordingly, it will be found, that men of a romantic turn, unless when under the influence of violent passions, are seldom attached to a particular object. Where, indeed, such a turn is united with a warmth of temperament, the effects are different ; but they are equally fatal to happiness. As the distinctions which exist among real characters are confounded by false and exaggerated conceptions of ideal perfection, the choice is directed to some object by caprice and accident ; a slight resemblance is mistaken for an exact coin- cidence; and the descriptions of the poet and novelist are applied literally to an individual, who perhaps falls short of the common standard of excellence. " I am certain," sa3^s the author last quoted, in her account of the character of Rousseau, "that he never formed an attachment which was not founded on caprice. It was illusions alone that could captivate his passions ; and it was necessary for him always to accomplish his mistress from his own fancy. I am certain also," she adds, " that the woman whom he loved the most, and perhaps the only woman whom he loved constantly, was his own Julie.** In the case of this particular passion, the effects of a romantic T 2 « i 276 PART T. CHAP. VI ir. imagination are obvious to the most careless observer ; and they have often led moralists to regret that a temper of mind so dan- gerous to happiness should have received so much encouragement from some writers of our own age, who might have employed their genius to better purposes. These, however, are not the only effects which such habits of study have on the character. Some others, which are not so apparent at first view, have a tendency not only to mislead us where our own happiness is at stake, but to defeat the operation of those active principles, whicii were intended to unite us to society. The manner in which imagination influences the mind, in the instances which I allude to at present, is curious, and deserves a more particular explanation. I shall have occasion afterwards to show,* in treating of our moral powers, that experience diminishes the influence of passive impres- sions on the mind, but strengthens our active principles. A course uf debauchery deadens the sense of pleasure, but increases the desire of gratification. An immoderate use of strong liquors destroys the sensibility of the palate, but strengthens the habit of intemperance. The enjoyments we derive from any fiivourite pur- suit gradually decay as we advance in years : and yet we con- tinue^to prosecute our favourite pursuits with increasing steadiness and vigour. On these two laws of our nature is founded our capacity of moral improvement. In proportion as we are accustomed to obey our sense of duty, the influence of the temptations to vice is diminished ; while, at the same time, our habit of virtuous conduct is con- firmed. How many passive impressions, for instance, must be overcome, before the virtue of beneficence can exert itself uniformly and habitually ! How many circumstances are there in the dis- tresses of others, which have a tendency to alienate our hearts from them, and which prompt us to withdraw from the sight of the miserable ! The impressions we receive from these are unfavourable to virtue : their force, however, every day diminishes, and it may, perhaps, by perseverance, be wholly destroyed. It is thus that the character of the beneficent man is formed. The passive impres- sions which he felt originally, and which counteracted his sense of duty, have lost their influence, and a habit of beneficence is become part of his nature. It must be owned, that this reasoning may, in part, be retorted ; for among those passive impressions, which are weakened by repetition, there are some which have a beneficial tendency. The uneasiness, in particular, which the sight of distress occasions, is a strong incentive to acts of humanity ; and it cannot be denied that it is lessened by experience. This might naturally lead us to expect, that the young and unpractised would be more disposed to perform beneficent actions, than those who are advanced in life, * The following; reasonino: was surtre^ted to mo by a passage in Butler'.? Analogy, which the reatlcr vVill find in Note u at the end of the volume. ' I OP IMAGINATION. 277 and who have been familiar with scenes of misery. And, in truth, the fact would be so, were it not that the effect of custom on this passive impression is counteracted by its effects on others ; and, above all, by its influence in strengthening the active habit of beneficence. An old and experienced physician is less affected by the sight of bodily pain than a younger practitioner ; but he has accpiired a more confirmed habit of assisting the sick and helpless, and would ofter greater violence to his nature, if he should with- hold from them any relief that he has in his power to bestow. In this case we see a beautiful provision made for our moral improve- ment, as the effects of experience on one part of our constitution are made to counteract its effects on another. If the foregoing observations be well founded, it will follow, that [habits of virtue are not to be formed in retirement, but by mingling in the scenes of active life ; and that an habitual attention to exhi- bitions of fictitious distress, is not merely useless to the character, but positively hurtful.] It will not, I think, be disputed, that the frequent perusal of pathetic compositions diminishes the uneasiness which they are naturally fitted to excite. A person who indulges habitually in such studies, may feel a growing desire of his usual gratificat^ion, but he is every day less and less affected by the scenes which are presented to him. I believe it would be difficult to find an actor long hackneyed on the stage, who is capable of being completely interested by the distresses of a tragedy. The effect of such com- positions and representations, in rendering the mind callous to actual distress, is still greater ; for as the imagination of the poet almost always carries him beyond truth and nature, a familiarity with the tragic scenes which he exhibits, can hardly fail to deaden the impression produced by the comparatively trifling sufferings which the ordinary course of human affairs presents to us. In real life a provision is made for this gradual decay of sensibility, by the proportional decay of other passive impressions, which have an opposite tendency, and by tlie additional force which our active habits are daily acquiring. Exhibitions of fictitious distress, while they produce the former change on the character, have no influence in producing the latter : on the contrary, they tend to strengthen those passive impressions which counteract beneficence. The scenes into which the novelist introduces us are, in general, per- fectly unlike those which occur in the world. As his object is to please, he removes from his descriptions every circumstance which is disgusting, and presents us with histories of elegant and dignified distress. It is not such scenes that human fife exhibits. We have to act, not with refined and elevated characters, but with the mean, the illiterate, the vulgar, and the profligate. The perusal of fictitious history has a tendency to increase that disgust which we naturally feel at the concomitants of distress, and to cultivate a false refinement of taste, inconsistent with our condition as 278 PART I. CHAP. VIII, members of society. Nay, it is possible for tliis refinement to be carried so far as to withdraw a man from the duties of life, and even from the sight of those distresses which he might alleviate. And, accordingly, many are to be found, who if the situations of romance were realised, would not fail to display the virtues of their favourite characters, whose sense of duty is not sufficiently strong to engage them in the humble and private scenes of human misery. To these effects of fictitious history we may add, that it gives no exercise to our active habits. In real life, we proceed from the passive impression to those exertions which it was intended to pro- duce. In the contemplation of imaginary sufferings, we stop short at the impression, and whatever benevolent dispositions we may feel, we have no opportunity of carrying them into action. From these reasonings it appears, that an habitual attention to exhibitions of fictitious distress, is in every view calculated to check our moral improvement. It diminishes that uneasiness which we feel at the sight of distress, and which prompts us to ( relieve it. It strengthens that disgust which the loathsome con- comitants of distress excite in the mind, and which prompts us to avoid the sight of misery ; while, at the same time, it has no • tendency to confirm those habits of active beneficence, without which, the best dispositions are useless. I would not, however, be understood to disapprove entirely of fictitious narratives, or of patiietic compositions. On the contrary, I think that the perusal of them may be attended with advantage, when the effects which I have mentioned are corrected by habits of real business. They soothe the mind when ruffled by the rude intercourse of society, and stealing the attention insensibly from our own cares, substitute, instead of discontent and distress, a tender and pleasing melancholy. By exhibitions of characters a little elevated above the common standard, they have a tendency to cultivate the taste in life ; to quicken our disgust at what is mean or offensive, and to form the mind, insensibly, to elegance and dignity. Their tendency to cultivate the powers of moral perception has never been disputed ; and when the influence of such perceptions is powerfully felt, and is united with an active and manly temper, they render the cha- racter not only more amiable, but more happy in itself, and more useful to others; for although a rectitude of judgment with respect to conduct and strong moral feelings, do, by no means, alone con- stitute virtue; yet they are frequently necessary to direct our behaviour in the more critical situations of life ; and they increase the interest we take in the ^ijeneral prosperity of virtue in the world. I believe, likewise, that, by means of fictitious history, displays of character may be most successfully given, and the various weaknesses of the heart exposed. I only mean to insinuate, that a taste for them may be carried too far ; that the sensibility which terminates in imagination, is but a refined and ' ' OF IMAGINATION. 279 selfish luxury ; and that nothing can efte«tually advance our moral I improvement, but an attention to the active duties which belono-to cur stations. ^ ^ VI. Important Uses to which the Power of Imagination is suhser- vient.—\^\:\\e faculty of imagination is the great spring of human activity, and the principal source of human improvement. As it delights in presenting to the mind scenes and characters more per- fect than those which we are acquainted with, it prevents us from ever being completely satisfied with our present condition, or with our past attainments ; and engages us continually in the pursuit of some untried enjoyment, or of some ideal excellence.] Hence the ardour of the selfish to better their fortunes, and to add to their personal accomplishments ; and hence the zeal of the patriot and philosopher to advance the virtue and the happiness of the human race. Destroy this faculty, and the condition of man will become as stationary as that of the brutes. When the notions of enjoyment or of excellence which imagina- tion has formed, are greatly raised above the ordinary standard, they interest the passions too deeply to leave us at all times the cool exercise of reason, and produce that state of the mind which is commonly known by the name of enthusiasm ; a temper which is one of the most fruitful sources of error and disappointment ; but which is a source, at the same time, of heroic actions and of exalted characters. To the exaggerated conceptions of eloquence which perpetually revolved in the mind of Cicero ; to that idea which haunted the thoughts of aliquid immensum infinitumque ;'^ we are indebted for some of the most splendid displays of human genius ; and it is probable that something of the same kind has been felt by every man who has risen much above the level of humanity, either in speculation or in action. It is happy for the individual, when these enthusiastic desires are directed to events which do not depend on the caprice of fortune. The pleasure we receive from the higher kinds of poetry takes rise, in part, from that dissatisfaction which the objects of imagina- tion inspire us with, for the scenes, the events, and the characters, with which our senses are conversant. Tired and disgusted with this world of imperfection, we delight to escape to another of the poet's creation, where the charms of nature wear an eternal bloom, and where sources of enjoyment are opened to us, suited to the vast capacities of the human mind. On this natural love of poetical fiction. Lord Bacon has founded a very ingenious argument for the soul's immortality ; and, indeed, one of the most important pur- poses to which it is subservient, is to elevate the mind above the pursuits of our present condition, and to direct the views to higher objects. In the mean time, it is rendered subservient also, in an eminent degree, to the improvement and happiness of mankind, by the tendency which it has to accelerate the progress of society. ♦ " Something immense and infinite." t) I > 280 lART I. CUAP. VIII. As the pictures which the poet presents to us are never (even in works of pure description) faithful copies from nature, but are always meant to be improvements on the original she affords, it cannot be doubted that they must have some effect in refining and exalting our taste, both with respect to material beauty, and to the objects of our pursuit in life. It has been alleged, that the works of our descriptive poets have contributed to diffuse that taste for picturesque beauty which is so prevalent in England, and to recall the public admiration from the fantastic decorations of art, to the more powerful and permanent charms of cultivated nature ; and it is certain that the first ardours of many an illustrious character have been kindled by the compositions of Homer and Virgil. It is difficult to say, to what a degree, in the earlier periods of society, the rude compositions of the bard and the minstrel may have been instrumental in humanizing the minds of savage warriors, and in accelerating the growth of cultivated manners. Among the Scan- dinavians and the Celtae we know that this order of men was held in very peculiar veneration ; and, accordingly, it would appear, from the monuments which remain of these nations, that they were dis- tinguished by a delicacy in the passion of love, and by a humanity and generosity to the vanquished in war, which seldom appear among barbarous tribes ; and with which it is hardly possible to conceive how men in such a state of society could have been inspired, but by a separate class of individuals in the community, who devoted themselves to the pacific profession of poetry, and to the cultivation of that creative power of the mind, which anticipates the course of human affairs ; and presents, in prophetic vision, to the poet and the philosopher, the blessings which accompany the progress of reason and refinement. Nor must we omit to mention the important effects of imagination in multiplying the sources of innocent enjoyment beyond what thi^ limited scene affords. Not to insist on the nobler efforts of genius, whicli have rendered this part of our constitution subservient to moral improvement ; how much has the sphere of our happiness been extended bv those ajrreeable fictions which introduce us to new worlds, and make us acquainted with new orders of being ! What a fund of amusement^ through life, is prepared for one who reads in his childhood the fables of ancient Greece ! They dwell habitually on the memory, and are ready, at all times, to fill up the intervals of business, or of serious reflection ; and in his hours of rural retirement and leisure they warm his mind with the fire of ancient genius, and animate every scene he enters with tiie offspring of classical fancy. [It is, however, chiefly in psLmimg future scenes that imagination loves to indulge herself, and her prophetic dreams are almost always favourable to happiness.] By an erroneous education, indeed, it is possible to render this faculty an instrument of constant and of exquisite distress; but in such cases (abstracting from the influence OF IMAGINATION. 281 of a constitutional melancholy) the distresses of a gloomy imagina- tion are to be ascribed not to nature, but to the force of early impressions. The common bias of the mind undoubtedly is (such is the bene- volent appointment of Providence,) to think favourably of the future : to overvalue the chances of possible good, and to under- rate the risks of possible evil ; and in the case of some fortunate individuals, this disposition remains after a thousand disappoint- ments. To what this bias of our nature is owing, it is not material for us to inquire : the fact is certain, and it is an important one to our happiness. It supports us under the real distresses of life, and cheers and animates all our labours : and although it is sometimes apt to produce, in a weak and indolent mind, those deceitful sug- gestions of ambition and vanity, which lead us to sacrifice the duties and the comforts of the present moment, to romantic hopes and expectations ; yet it must be acknowledged, when connected with habits of activity, and regulated by a solid judgment, to have a favourable effect on the character, by inspiring that ardour and enthusiasm which both prompt to great enterprises, and are neces- sary to ensure their success. When such a temper is united (as it commonly is) with pleasing notions concerning the order of the universe, and in particular concerning the condition and the pro- spects of man, it places our happiness, in a great measure, beyond the power of fortune. While it adds a double relish to every enjoyment, it blunts the edge of all our sufferings ; and even when human life presents to us no object on which our hopes can rest, it invites the imagination beyond the dark and troubled horizon which terminates all our earthly prospects, to wander unconfined in the regions of futurity. A man of benevolence, whose mind is enlarged by philosophy, will indulge the same agreeable anticipa- tions with respect to society ; will view all the different improve- ments in arts, in commerce, and in the sciences, as co-operating to promote the union, the happiness, and the virtue of mankind ; and, amidst the political disorders resulting from the prejudices and follies of his own times, will look forward, with transport, to the blessings which are reserved for posterity in a more enlightened age. !t PART SECOND, OF REASON, OR THE UNPERSTANDING PROPERLY SO CALLED; AND THE VARIOUS FACULTIES AND OPERATIONS MORE IMMEDIATELY CONNECTED WITH IT. PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. On the vagueness and ambiguity of the common philosophical language relative to this part of our constitution. — Reason and reasoning , — understanding, — intellect,— judgment, ^c. The power of Reason, of which I am now to treat, is unquestion- ably the most important by far of those which are comprehended under the general title of intellectual. It is on the right use of this power, that our success in the pursuit both of knowledge and of happiness depends ; and it is by the exclusive possession of it that man is distinguislied, in the most essential respects, from the lower animals. It is, indeed, from their subserviency to its opera- tions, that the other faculties, which have been hitherto under our consideration, derive their chief value. In proportion to the peculiar importance of this subject are its extent and its difficulty ; both of them such as to lay me under a necessity, now that I am to enter on the discussion, to contract, in various instances, those designs in which I was accustomed to indulge myself, when I looked forward to it from a distance. The execution of diem at present, even if I were more competent to the task, appears to me, on a closer examination, to be altogether incompatible with the comprehensiveness of the general plan which was sketched out in the advertisement prefixed to the First Part;* and to the accomplishment of which I am anxious, in the first instance, to direct my efforts. If that undertaking should ever be completed, I may perhaps be able afterwards to offer additional illustrations of certain articles, which the limits of this part of my work prevent me from considering with the attention which they deserve. I should wish, in particular, to contribute something more than I can here introduce, towards a rational and practical system of logic, adapted to the present state of human knowledge, and to the real business of human life. " What subject," says Burke, " does not branch out to infinity ! It is the nature of our particular scheme, and the single point of * Vide Preface. 284 PART II. view in which we consider it, which ought to put a stop to our researches."* How forcibly does the remark apply to all those speculations which relate to the principles of the human mind ! I have frequently had occasion, in the course of the foregoing disquisitions, to regret the obscurity in which this department of philosophy is involved, by the vagueness and ambiguity of words; and I have mentioned, at the same time, my unwillingness to attempt verbal innovations, wherever I could possibly avoid them, without e«*sential injury to my argument. The rule which I have adopted in my own practice is, to give to every faculty and opera- tion of the mind its own appropriate name ; following, in the Belection of this name, the prevalent use of our best writers; and endeavouring afterwards, as far as I have been able, to employ each word exchi ively, in that acceptation in which it has hitherto been used most generally. In the judgments which I have formed on points of this sort, it is more than probable that I may sometimes have been mistaken ; but the mistake is of little consequence, if I myself have invariably annexed the same meaning to the same phrase;— an accuracy which I am not so presumptuous as to ima- gine that I have uniformly attained, but which I am conscious of having, at least, uniformly attempted. How far I have succeeded, they alone who have followed my reasonings with a very critical attention are qualified to determine ; for it is not by the statement of formal definitions, but by the habitual use of precise and appro- priate language, that I have endeavoured to fix in my reader's mind the exact import of my expressions. In appropriating, however, particular words to particular ideas, I do not mean to censure the practice of those who may have under- stood them in a sense different from that which I annex to them ; but I found that, without such an appropriation, I could not explain niy notions respecting the human mind, with any tolerable de^-ree of distinctness. This scrupulous appropriation of terms, if it'can be called an innovation, is the only one which I have attempted to mtroduce ; for in no instance have I presumed to annex a philoso- phical meaning to a technical word belonging to this branch of science, without having previously shown, that it has been used in the same sense by good writers, in some passages of their works After doing this, I hope I shall not be accused of affectation, when I decline to use it in any of the other acceptations in which, from carelessness or from want of precision, they may have been led occasionally to employ it. Some remarkable instances of vagueness and ambiguity in the employment of words, occur in that branch of my subject of which 1 am now to treat. The word reason itself is far from beincr pre- cise in its meaning. In common and popular discourse, it denotes that power by which we distinguish truth from falsehood, and rio-ht trom wrong ; and by which we are enabled to combine means for * Conclusion of the Inquiry into the Sublime and the Beautiful. " ■■■'y PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 285 the attainment of particular ends. Whether these different capa- cities are, with stnct logical propriety, referred to the same power 18 a question which I shall examine in another part of my work- but that they are all included in the idea which is generally annexed to the word reason, there can be no doubt ; and the case, so far as 1 know, IS the same with the corresponding term in all languaffes whatever. The fact probably is, that this word was first employed to comprehend the princii>les, whatever they are, by which man is distinguished from the brutes ; and afterwards came to be somewhat limited in its meaning, by the more obvious conclusions concerning the nature of that distinction, which present themselves to the com- mon sense of mankind. It is in this enlarged meanine that it is opposed to instinct, by Pope : " And reason raise o'er instinct as you can ; In this, 'tis God directs, in that 'tis man." It was thus, too, that Milton plainly understood the term, when he remarked, that smiles imply the exercise of reason : '* Smiles from reason flow, To brutes denied :" And still more explicitly in these noble lines : " There wanted yet the master-work, the end Of all yet done ; a creature who, not prone And brute as otlier creatures, but endued With sanctity of Reason, might erect His stature, and upright with front serene Govern the rest, self-knowing ; and from thence, Magnanimous, to correspond with heaven ; But, grateful to acknowledge whence his good Descends, thither with heart, and voice, and eyes Directed in devotion, to adore And worship God Supreme, who made him chief Of all his works." Among the various characteristics of humanity the power of devising means to accomplish ends, together with the power of distinguishing truth from falsehood, and right from wrong, are obviously the most conspicuous and important : and accordingly it is to these that the word reason, even in its most comprehensive acceptation, is now exclusively restricted.* readel^' whln*^/!^' '' /'^ "^^""'^ "^^'""^ "^f "^*'^^"y P"^'^"*^ '^'^^ '^^ common w?.,?'^ .• .• ? .'*^?*'''* '''^''"'^ '" *"^^°^^ "«* affecting to aim at any nice logical distmctions; and it is certainly the meaning which must be anne> ed to it in iTfu fu "^""'^ '^"""' ^"^ important arguments in which it has ever been emploved !2*K ^K ? T"^ f^'^^' ^"•" ^^^"^I^^^' ^'^^•'^ ^^'' Locke contrasts the hght of reion with that of revelation, he plainly proceeds on the supposition, that it is competed to appea to the former, as affording a standard of right and ^rong. not 2s "1^" of t^^t'h «"Tl '"'l^ «"^f^-hood; nor can there be a doubt that,^hea 1 "ks of whlh h. 1 ■{ ^^ "^^'^^ '^^'""' ^' ""^^ principally, if not wholly, mord truth, which he had m his view :" Reason is natm-al revelation, whereby the eternal Father ^,wK ^ u- uu T"^° ®^ ^^ knowledge, communicates to mankind that portion of truth which he has laid within the reach of theu- natural faculties. Revelation is 286 PART II. ' By some philosophers, the meaning of the word has been of late restricted still farther ; to the power by which we distinguish truth from falsehood, and combine means for the accomplishment of our purposes ; — the capacity of distinguishing right from wrong, being referred to a separate principle or faculty, to which different names have been assigned in different ethical theories. The following passage from Mr. Hume contains one of the most explicit state- ments of this limitation which I can recollect : " Thus, the distinct boundaries and offices of reason and of taste are easily ascertained. The former conveys the knowledge of truth and falsehood ; the lat- ter gives the sentiment of beauty and deformity, — vice and virtue. Reason, being cool and disengaged, is no motive to action, and directs only the impulse received from appetite or inclination, by showing us the means of attaining happiness or avoiding misery. Taste, as it gives pleasure or pain, and thereby constitutes happi- ness or misery, becomes a motive to action, and is the first spring or impulse to desire and volition." (Essays and Treatises, &c Appendix concerning Moral Sentiment. ^ On the justness of this statement of Mr. Hume, I have no re- marks to offer here ; as my sole object in quoting it was to illustrate the different meanings annexed to the word reason by different writers. It will appear afterwards, that, in consequence of this circumstance, some controversies, which have been keenly agitated about the principles of morals, resolve entirely into verbal disputes ; or at most, into questions of arrangement and classification, of httle comparative moment to the points at issue.* natural reason, enlarged by a new set of discoveries, communicated by God immediately, which reason vouches the truth of, by the testimony and proofs it gives that they come from God. So that he who takes away reason to make way for revelation, puts out the light of both, and does much the same as if he would persuade a man to put out his eyes, the better to receive the remote light of an invisible star by a telescope." — Locke's Essay, b. iv. c. 19. A passage still more explicit for my present purpose occurs in the pleasing and philosophical conjectiu^s of Huygens, concerning the planetary worlds. " Positis vero ejusmodi planetarum incolis ratione utentibus, qua?ri adhuc potest, anne idem illic, atque apud nos, sit hoc quod rationem vocamus. Quod quidem ita esse omnino dicen- dum videtur, neque aliter fieri posse : sive usum rationis in his considcrernus qua; ad mores et a;quitatem pertinent, sive in iis quaj spectant ad principia et fundauienta scien- tiarum. Etenim ratio apud nos est, quae sensum justitiae, honesti, laudis, dementia;, gratitudinis ingenerat, mala ac bona in universum discemere docet : qua?que ad ha;c animum disciplina;, multorumque inventorum capacem reddit," &c. Sec. — Hugenii Opera Varia, vol. ii. p. 663. Lugd. Batav. 1724. — [It being assumed that there are reason- ing inhabitants of the planets, a question may arise whether their reason Ije the same with that which we call reason. On which point it may be laid down that it is so, and that it cannot be otherwise ; whether we regard the scoj>e of reason with reference to those things which regard morals and equity, or those connected with the principles and foundations of knowledge. For with us reason is that which produces a sense of justice, decorum, praise, clemency, gratitude ; teaches in general to discern good and evil, and besides renders the mind capable of education, and various inven- tions.] * In confirmation of this remark, I shall only quote at present a few sentences from an excellent discourse by Dr. Adams, of Oxford, on the nature and obligations of virtue. " Nothing can bring us under an obligation to do what appears to our moral judgment vrrong. It may be supposed our interest to do this ; but it cannot PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 287 Another ambiguity in the word reason, it is of still greater con- sequence to point out at present ; an ambiguity which leads us to confound our rational powers in general, with that particular branch ot them, known among logicians by the name of the discursive taculty . 1 he affinity between the words reason and reasoning, suf- ficiently accounts for this inaccuracy in common and popular Ian- guage ; although it cannot fail to appear obvious, on the sli*Sfi«j,'-ent things in the worid," says Locke, - are, a Wical chicaner and a man of reason."— Conduct of the Understanding, §. 3. ^ cfticaner, t It is curious that Dr. Johnson has assigned to this verv limifpd unA r^^n^r-A- * present usage) very doubtful interpretation of the word relso^ the St IopTS J meration of its various meaningsTas if he had thoughtTth; sense n whchitt property and correctly employed. " Reason," he tells us, " is thr^weTt wWch man Sn^'t ""^ P;T' u "" ^""^ ^""*^^^' «^ P^^^^^d^ fr««» P^^^ises to cCequences " The authority which he has quoted for this definition is stiU more curi^ur be"nrmanifellv dto^ether mapphcable to his purpose. "Reason is the director TwsTuiT^v^^^^ -Hike "" -^* ^ g«od ; for the laws of weU-doing are the dictates of right tZZ' In the sixth article of the same enumeration, he states, as a distinct meaning of the I X 288 PART II. PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIOKS. In the use which I make of the word reason, in the title of the following disquisitions, I emj)loy it in a manner to which no philo- sopher can object — to denote merely the power by which we dis- tinguish truth from falsehood, and combine means for the attainment of our ends : omitting for the present all consideration of that function which many have ascribed to it, of distinguishing right from wrong ; without, however, presuming to call in question the accuracy of those by whom the term has been thus explained. Under the title of Reason, I shall consider also whatever faculties and operations appear to be more immediately and essentially con- nected with the discovery of truth, or the attainment of the objects of our pursuit — more particularly the power of reasoning or deduc- tion ; but distinguishing, as carefully as I can, our capacity of carry- ing on this logical process, from those more comprehensive powers which reason is understood to imply. The latitude with which this word has been so universally used, seemed to recommend it as a convenient one for a general title, of which the object is rather comprehension than precision. In the discussion of particular questions, I shall avoid the employment of it as far as I am able ; and shall endeavour to select other modes of speaking, more exclusively significant of the ideas which I wish to convey.* same word, " Ratiocination ; discursive power." What possible difference could lie con- ceive between this signification and that above quoted ? The authority, however, which he produces for this last explanation is worth transcribing. It is a passage from Sir John Davies, where that fanciful writer states a distinction between reason and under- standing ; to which he seems to have been led by a conceit founded on their resiiective etymologies. " When she rates things, and moves from ground to ground, The name of Reason she obtains by this ; But when by Reason she the truth hath found, And standeth fix'd, she Understanding is." The adjective reasonable, as employed in our language, is not liable to the same ambi- guity with the substantive from which it is derived. It denotes a character in which reason, (taking that word in its largest acceptation,) possesses a decided ascendant over the temper and the passions ; and implies no particular propensity to a display of the discursive power, if indeed it does not exclude the idea of such a propensity. In the following stanza. Pope certainly had no view to the logical talents of the lady, whom he celebrates : — " I know a thing that's most uncommon, (Envy, be silent and attend) I know a reasonable woman. Handsome and witty, yet a friend." Of this reasonable woman, we may venture to conjecture, with some confidence, that she did not belong to the class of those /ewmes raisonneuses, so happily described by Moliere : " Raisonner e .t I'emploi de toute ma maison, Et le raisonnement en banuit la raison." " Reasoning is the employment of all my household, And reasdiing has banished reason from it." * Mr. Locke too has prefixed the same title, Of Reason, to the 17th chapter of his 289 Another instance of the vagueness and indistinctness of the com- mon language of logicians, in treating of this part of the Philoso- phy of the Human Mind, occurs in the word Understanding. In its popular sense, it seems to be very nearly synonymous with reason, when that word is used most comprehensively ; and is seldom or never applied to any of our faculties but such as are immediately subservient to the investigation of truth, or to the regulation of our conduct. In this sense, it is so far from being understood to com- prehend the powers of imagination, fancy, and wit, that it is often stated in direct opposition to them ; as in the common maxim, that a sound understanding and a warm imagination are seldom united in the same person. But philosophers, without rejecting this use of the word, very generally employ it, with far greater latitude, to comprehend all the powers which I have enumerated under the title of intellectual: referring to it imagination, memory, and per- ception, as well as the faculties to which it is appropriated in popular discourse, and which it seems indeed most properly to denote. It is in this manner that it is used by Mr. Locke in his celebrated Essay ; and by all the logicians who follow the common division of our mental powers into those of the understanding and those of the will. In mentioning this ambiguity, I do not mean to cavil at the phraseology of the writers from whom it has derived its origin, but only to point it out as a circumstance which may deserve attention in some of our future disquisitions. The division of our powers which has led to so extraordinary an extension of the usual meaning of language, has an obvious foundation in the constitution of our nature, and furnishes an arrangement which seems indispensable Fourth Book, using the word in a sense nearly coinciding with that very extensive one which I wish my readers to annex to it here. After oliserving, that by reason he means " that faculty whereby man is supposed to be distinguished from brutes, and wherein it is evident he much surpasses them;" he adds, that " we may in reason consider these four degrees ;— the first and highest is the discovering and finding out of proofs ; the second, the regular and methodical disiKisition of them, and laying them in a clear and fit order, to make their connexion and force be plainly and easily perceived ; the third is the perceiving theu- connexion ; and the fourth is making a right conclusion." Dr. Reid's authority for this use of the word is equally explicit : " The power of reasoning is very neariy allied to that of judging. We include both under the name of reason." — Intellect. Powers, Essay VII. Chap. I. § i. 8vo. edit. 1843. Another authority to the same purpose is fiu-nished by Milton : " Whence the soul Reason receives ; and reason is her being — ~ Discursive or intuitive." Par. Lost, b. v. 1. 486. [I presume that Milton, who was a logician as well as a poet, means by the words her being, her essential or characteristical endowment.] To these quotations I shall only add a sentence from a very judicious French writer ; which I am tempted to introduce here, less on account of the sanction which it gives to my own phraseology, than of the importance of the truth which it conveys. " Reason is commonly employed as an instrument to acquire the sciences ; whereas, on the contrjjy, the sciences ought to be made use of as an instrument to give reason its perfection."~L'Art dc Peuser, translated by Ozell, p. 2. London, 1717. U 290 PART II. for an accurate examination of the subject : nor was it unnatural to bestow on those facuUies which are all subservient in one way or another to the right exercise of the understanding, the name of that power, from their relation to which their chief value arises. As the word understanding, however, is one of those which occur very frequently in philosophical arguments, it may be of some use to disengage it from the ambiguity just remarked ; and it is on this account that I have followed the example of some late writers, in distinguishing the two classes of powers which were formerly re- ferred to the understanding and to the will, by calling the former intellectual, and the latter active. The terms cognitive and motive were long ago proposed for the same purpose by Hobbes; but they never appear to have come into general use, and are indeed hable to obvious objections. [It has probably been owing to the very comprehensive meaning annexed in philosophical treatises to the word understanding, that the use of it has so frequently been supplied of late by intellect. The two words as they are commonly employed, seem to be very nearly, if not exactly, synonymous ; and the lattei' ])Ossesscs the advantage of being quite unegnivocal, having never acquired that latitude of application of which the former admits.] The adjective intellectual, indeed, has had its meaning extended as far as the substantive understanding ; but, as it can be easily dispensed witli in our particular arguments, it may, without inconvenience, be adopted as a distinctive epithet, where nothing is aimed at but to mark, in simple and concise language, a very general and obvious classification. The word intellect can be of no essential use what- ever, if the ambiguity in the signification of the good old l.nghs!i word understanding be avoided; and as to intellection, which a late very acute writer* has attempted to introduce, I can see no advan- tage attending it, which at all compensates for the addition of a new and uncouth term to a phraseology which, even in its most simple and unaffected form, is so apt to revolt the generality of readers. The only other indefinite word which I shall take notice ot in these introductory remarks is judgment; and, in doing so, I shall confine myself to such of its ambiguities as are more peculiarly connected with our present subject. In some cases its meaning seems to approach to that of understand hig ; as in the nearly syno- nymous phrases, a sound understanding, and a sound judgment. . If there be any difference between these two modes of expression, it appears to me to consist chieflv in this, that the former imi)lies ;i ffreater degree of positive ability than the latter ; which indicates rather an exemption from those biasses which lead the mind astray, than the possession of any uncommon reach of capacity. To under- . standing we apply the epithets strong, vigorous, comprehensive, profound: to judgment, those of correct, cool, unprejudiced, impar- * Dr. Campljcll. See his Pliilosophy of Rhetoric, vol. i. p. 103, 1st edit. PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 291 dal, solid. It was in this sense that the word seems to have bv3eii understood by Pope, in the following couplet : " Tis with our judgments as our watches ; none Go just alike, yet each believes his own.' For this meaning of the word, its primitive and literal applica- tion to the judicial decision of a tribunal accounts suflftciently. Agreeably to the same fundamental idea, the name of judgment is given with peculiar propriety to those acquired powers of dis- cernment which characterize a skilful critic in the fine arts ; powers which depend, in a very great degree, on a temper of mind free from the undue influence of authority and of casual associations. The power of taste itself is frequently denoted by the appellation of judgment; and a person who possesses a more than ordinary share of it is said to be a judge in those matters which fall under its cognizance. The meaning annexed to the word by logical writers is con- siderably different from this ; denoting one of the simplest acts or operations of which we are conscious, in the exercise of our rational powers. In this acceptation, it does not admit of definition, any more than sensation, will, or belief. All that can be done, in such cases, is to describe the occasions on which the operation takes place, so as to direct the attention of others to their own thou^-hts. With this view, it may be observed, in the present instance, that when we give our assent to a mathematical axiom ; or when, after perusing the demonstration of a theorem, we assent to the conclusion ; or, in general, when we pronounce concerning the truth or falsity of any proposition, or the probability or improbability of any event, the power by which we are enabled to perceive what is true or false, probable or improbable, is called by logicians the faculty of judg- ment. The same word, too, is frequently used to express the par- . ticular acts of this power, as when the decision of the understandin^'• on any question is called a judgment of the mind. '^ In treatises of logic, judgment is commonly defined to be an act ' of tlie mind, by which one thing is affirmed or denied of another • a definition which, though not unexceptionable, is perhaps less so than most that have been given on similar occasions. Its defect, » as Dr. Reid has remarked, consists in this ;~-that although it be by aflfirmation or denial that we express our judgments to others, yet judgment is a solitary act of the mind, to which this affirmation or denial is not essential ; and, therefore, if the definition be admitted, it must be understood of mental affirmation or denial only ; in which case, we do no more than substitute, instead of the thing defined, another mode of speaking perfectly synonymous. The definition has, however, notwithstanding this imperfection, the merit of a conciseness and perspicuity not often to be found in the attempts of logicians to explain our intellectual operations. Mr. Locke seems disposed to restrict the word judgment to that C 2 292 P'^RT 1^' faculty which pronounces concerning the verisimilitude of doubtful propositions; employing the word knowledge to express the faculty which perceives the truth of propositions, either intuitively or de- monstratively certain. " The faculty which God has given man to supply the want of clear and certain knowledge in cases wljere that cannot be had, is judgment; whereby the mind takes its ideas to agree or disagree ; or, which is the same thing, any proposition to be true or false, without perceiving a demonstrative evidence in the proofs. " Thus the mind has two faculties conversant about truth and falsehood. " First, knowledge, whereby it certainly perceives, and is undoubt- edly satisfied of the agreement or disagreement of any ideas. "Secondly, judgment, which is the putting ideas together, or separating them from one another in the mind, when their agree- ment or disagreement is not perceived, but presumed to be so; which is, as the word imports, taken to be so before it certainly appears. And if it so unite, or separates them as in reality things are, it is right judgment." (Essay on the Human Understanding, book iv. chap. 14.) For this limitation in the definition of judgment, some pretence is afforded by the literal signification of the word when applied to the decision of a tribunal; and also, by its metaphorical applica- tion to the decisions of the mind on those critical questions which fall under the province of taste. But, considered as a technical or scientific term of logic, the practice of our purest and niost correct writers sufficiently sanctions the most enlarged sense in which I have explained it ; and, if I do not much deceive myself, this use of it will be found more favourable to philosophical distinctness than Mr. Locke's language, which leads to an unnecessary multi- plication of our intellectual powers. What good reason can be given for assigning one name to the faculty which perceives truths that are certain, and another name to the faculty which perceives truths that are probable? Would it not be equally proper to dis- tinguish, by ditf*erent names, the power by which we perceive one proposition to be true, and another to be false ? As to knowledge, I do not think that it can, with propriety, be contrasted with judgment ; nor do I apprehend that it is at all agreeable, either to common use or to philosophical accuracy, to speak of knowledge as a faculty. To me it seems rather to denote the possession of those truths about which our faculties have been previously employed, than any separate power of the understand- ing by which truth is perceived.* * In attempting thus to fix the logical import of various words in our language which are apt to he confounded, in popular speech, with reason, and also with reasoning, some of my readers may he surjjrised that I have said nothing about the word v^isdom. The truth is, that the notion expressed by this term, as it is employed by our best writers, seems to presuppose the influence of some principles, the consideration of which belongs to a ditterent part of my wofje. In continuation of this it may be re- PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. '293 Before concluding these preliminary remarks, I cannot help expressing my regret that the subject on which I am about to enter will so frequently lay me under the necessity of criticising the language, and of disputing the opinions, of my predecessors. In doing so, I am not conscious of being at all influenced by a wish to indulge myself in the captiousness of controversy ; nor am I much afraid of this imputation from any of my readers who shall honour these speculations with an attentive perusal. My real aim is, in the first place, to explain the ground of my own deviations ; and, secondly, to facilitate the progress of such as may follow me in the same path, by directing their attention to these points of divergency in the way, which may suggest matter for doubt or hesitation. I know, at the same time, that, in the opinion of many, the best mode of unfolding the principles of a science is to state them system- atically and concisely, without any historical retrospects whatever; and I believe the opinion is well-founded in those departments of knowledge, where the difficulty arises less from vague ideiis and indefinite terms, than from the length of the logical chain v»hichthe student has to trace. But in such disquisitions as we are now engaged in, it is chiefly from the gradual correction of verbal ambiguities, and the gradual detection of unsuspected prejudices, that a progressive, though slow, approximation to truth is to be expected. It is indeed a slow approximation, at best, that we can hope to accomplish at present, in the examination of a subject where so many powerful causes (particularly those connected with marked, that whereas the province of our reasoning powers (in their application to the business of life) is limited to the choice of means, wisdom denotes a power of a more coniprohensive nature, and of a higher order ; a })ower which implies a judicious selec- tion both of means and of ends. It is vcri' precisely defined l)y Sir ^Villianl Temple to be "that v^hicii makes men jndj^e what are the best ends, and what the best means to attain them." Of these two modifications of wisdom, the one denotes a power of the mind which obviously falls under the view of the logician ; the examination of the other as ob- viously belongs to ethics. A distinction similar to this was plainly in the mind of Cudworth when he wrote the following passage, which, although drawn from the purest sources of ancient philosophy, will, I doubt not, from the uncouthncss of the phraseology, have the appearance of ex- travagance to many in the present times. To myself it appears to point at a fact of the highest importance in the moral constitution of man. " \Ve have all of us by nature ftnvTivfia n (as both Plato and Aristotle call it) a certain divination, presage, and parturient vaticination in our minds, of some higher good and perfection than either power or knowledge. Knowledge is plainly to be preferred before power, as being that which guides and directs its bhnd force and impetus ; but Aristotle himself declaies that there is \oyov rt Kpiirrov, which is \oyov apx*i ; " something better than reason and knowledge, which is the principle and original of it. For," saith he, " \oyov apxn ov Xoyng, aWa ti kphttov. The principle (or oiigin) of reason is not reason, but something better." — Intellectual System, p. 203. Lord Shaftesbury has expressed the same truth more simply aud perspicuouslv in that 1)eautiful sentence which occurs more than once in his writings : "True wisdom 1 comes more from the heart than from the head." Numberless illustrations of this ' pnifound maxim must immetUately crowd on the memory of all who are conversant '^ witli the most eidightened works on the theory of legislation ; more particularly with those whicb appeared, during the eitrliteenth century, on the science of political economv. 294 PART II. the imperfections of lanj^^uage) conspire to lead ns astray. But the study of the liunian mind is not, on that account, to be abandoned. Wlioever compares its actual state with that in which JUcon, Des Cartes, and Locke found it, must be sensible how amply their efforts for its improvement have been repaid, both by their own attain- ments, and by those of others who have since profited by their example. I am willing to hope that some useful hints for its farther advancement mav be derived even from my own researches ; and, distant as the prospect may be of raising it to a level with the physical science of the Newtonian school, by uniting the opinions of s!)eculative men about fundamental principles, my ambition as an author will !)0 fnllv gratified, if, by the few who are competent to judge, I shall be allowed to have contributed my share, however smal^'towards the attainment of so great an object. In the discussions which immediately follow, no argument will, I trust, occur beyond the reach of those who shall read thein with the attention which every inquiry into the human mind indispens- jihiy requires. I have certainly endeavoured, to the utmost of my abilities to render every sentence which I have written, not only intelligible but perspicuous: and, where I have failed in the attempt, the obscurity will, I hope, be imputed, not to an alfcctation of mystery, but to some error of judgment. I can, without much vanity, say, that with less expense of thought, I could have rivalled the obscuritv of Kant ; and that the invention of a new technical lanixuage, such as that which he has introduced, would have been an easier task than the communication of clear and precise notions (if I have been so fortunate as to succeed in this communication), without departing from the established modes of expression. To the following observations of D*Alembert (with some trifling verbal exceptions^ I give my most cordial assent ; and, mortifying as they may appear to the pretensions of bolder theorists, I should be happy to see them generally recognised as canons of philosophical criticism: "Truth in metaphysics resembles truth in matters of taste. In both cases, the seeds of it exist in every mind ; though few think of attending to this latent treasure, till, it be pointed out to them by more curious inquirers. It should seem that everything we learn from a good metaphysical book is only a sort of reminis- cence of what the mind previously knew. The obscurity, of which we are apt to complain in this science, may be always justly ascribed to the author ; because the information which he professes to com- municate requires no technical language appropriated to itself. Accordingly, we may apply to good metaphysical authors what has been said^of those who excel in the art of writing, that, in reading them, everybody is apt to imagine that he himself could have written in the same manner. " But, in this sort of speculation, if all are qualified to under- stand, all ju-e not fitted to teach. The merit of accommodating easily to the apprehension of others, notions which are at once PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 295 f simple and just, appears, from its extreme rarity, to be much greater than is commonly imagined. Sound metaphysical principles are truths which every one is ready to seize, but which few men have the talent of unfolding ; so difficult is it in this, as well as in other instances to appropriate to one's self what seems to be the common inheritance of the human race."* I am, at the same time, fully aware, that whoever, in treating of the human mind, aims to be understood, must lay his account with forfeiting, in the opinion of a very large proportion of readers, all pretensions to depth, to subtlety, or to invention. The acquisition of a new nomenclature is, in itself, no inconsiderable reward to the industry of those who study only from motives of literary vanity; and, if D'Alembert's idea of this branch of science be just, the wider an author deviates from truth, the more likely are his con- clusions to assume the appearance of discoveries. I may add, that it is chiefiy in those discussions which possess the best claims to originality, where he may expect to be told by the multitude, that they have learned from him nothing but what they knew before. The latitude with which the word metaphysics is frequently used, makes it necessary for me to remark, with respect to the foregoing passage from D'Alembert, that he limits the term entirely to an account of the origin of our ideas. " The generation of our ideas,'* he tells us, " belongs to metaphysics. It forms one of the principal objects, and perhaps ought to form the sole object of that science."t — If the meaning of the word be extended, as it too often is in our language, so as to comprehend all those inquiries which relate to the theory and to the improvement of our mental powers, some of his observations must be understood with very important restric- tions. What he has stated, however, on the inseparable connexion between perspicuity of style and soundness of investigation in metaphysical disquisitions, will be found to hold equally in every research to which that epithet can, with any colour of propriety, he applied. * " Lc vrai en metapbysi*ht, and ten added to eleven are equal to ten added to eleven, it is manifest that we could never avail ourselves for the improve- ment of science. Nor does the change of the term make any alter- ation in point of utility. The propositions, twelve are a dozen, twenty are a score, unless considered as explications of the words dozen and score, are equally insignificant with the former. But when the thing, though in effect coinciding, is considered under a different aspect ; when what is single in the subject is divided in the predicate, and conversely ; or when what is a whole in the one, is re^^arded as a part of something else in the other ; such proposi- tions lead to the discovery of innumerable and apparently remote relations. One added to four may be accounted no other than a definition of the word five, as was remarked above. But when I say, *Two added to three are equal to five,* I advance a truth which, though equally clear, is quite distinct from the preceding. Thus, if one should aflftrm, ' That twice fifteen make thirty, ' and a«>ain, that ' thirteen added to seventeen make thirty,' nobody would pretend that he had repeated the same proposition in other words. The cases are entirely similar. In both cases, the same thing is })redicated of ideas which, taken severally, are different. From these, again, result other equations, as ' one added to four are equal to two added to three,* and * twice fifteen are equal to thirteen added to seventeen. ' " Now, it is by the aid of such simple and elementary principles, that the arithmetician and algebraist proceed to the most astonish- ing discoveries. Nor are the operations of the geometrician essen- tially different." 1 have little to object to these observations of Dr. Campbell, as far as they relate to arithmetic and to algebra ; for, in these sciences, all our investigations amount to nothing more than to a comparison of difterent expressions of the same thing. Our common language, indeed, frequently supposes the case to be otherwise : as when an CHAP f. y 1/ f / 300 PART II. equation is defined to be " A proposition asserting the equality of two quantities." It would, however, be much more correct to defane it "A proposition asserting the equivalence of two expressions of the same quantity ; " for algebra is merely a universal arithmetic ; and the names of numbers are nothing else than collectives, by which we are enabled to express ourselves more concisely than could be done by enumerating all the units that they contain. Of this doc- trine, the passage now quoted from Dr. Campbell shows that he entertained a sufficiently just and precise idea. . But if Dr. Campbell perceived that arithmetical equations, such as "one and four make five," are no other than definitions, why should he have classed them with the axioms he quotes from Euclid, " That the whole is greater than a part," and that " Things equal to the same thing are equal to one another?" propositions which, however clearly their truth be implied in the meaning of the terms of which tljey consist, cannot certainly, by any interpretation, be considered in the light of definitions at all analogous to the former. The former, indeed, are only explanations of the relative import of particular names ; the latter are universal propositions, applicable alike to an infinite variety of instances.* . ^ , t^ Another very obvious consideration might have satisfied Dr. Campbell, that the simple arithmetical equations which he men- tions, do not hold the same place in that science which Euclid's axioms hold in geometry. What I allude to is, that the greater part of these axioms are equally essential to all the different branches of mathematics. That " the whole is greater than a part, " and that " things equal to the same thing are equal to one another," are propositions as essentially connected with our arithmetical com- putations, as with our geometrical reasonings ; and, therefore, to explain in what manner the mind makes a transition, in the case of numbers, from the more simple to the more complicated equations, throws no liu:ht whatever on the question, how the transition is made, either Tn arithmetic or in geometry, from what are properly called axioms, to the more remote conclusions in these sciences. The very fruitless attempt thus made by this acute writer to * D'Alenibert also has confounded these two classes of propositions. " AVliat do the jrreater part of those axioms on which geometry prides itself amount to, hut to an ex- pression hy means of two different words or signs, of the same simple idea ? lie who says that two and two make four, what more does he know than another who should content himself with i>aving, that two and two make two and two .'"—Here, a simple arithmetical equation (which is ohviously a mere definition) is brought to illustrate a remark on the nature of geometrical axioms.— With respect to these last (I mean such axioms as Euclid has prctixed to his elements) D'Alembert's opinion seems to coincide exactly wUh that of Locke, already mentioned. " J would not be understood, never- theless to condemn the use of them altogether : 1 wish only to remark, that their utility rises no hitjher than this, that they render our simple ideas more familiar by means of habit, and better adapted to the ditlerent purposes to which wc may have occasion to apply them."—" Je ne pretends point cependant en corulamner absolument Vusaffe • je veux seuleraent faire observer, a quoi il se reduit ; c'est a nous rendre les idees simples plus famiUCres par I'habitude, et plus propres aux dilferens usages aiu- qiiels nous pouvons les apv^'^"tT."— Di^-ct^urs Pr^Hmin.iin'. ^£c. cVc. OF THE FUNDAMENTAL LAWS OF HUMAN BELIEF. 301 w illustrate the importance of axioms as the basis of mathematical truth, was probably suggested to him by a doctrine which has been repeatedly inculcated of late, concerning the grounds of that pecu- liar evidence which is allowed to accompany mathematical demon- stration. " All the sciences," it has been said, " rest ultimately on first principles, which we must take for granted without proof ; and whose evidence determines, both in kind and degree, the evidence which it is possible to attain in our conclusions. In some of the sciences, our first principles are intuitively certain ; in others, they are intuitively probable ; and such as the evidence of these prin- ciples is, such must that of our conclusions be. If our first prin- ciples are intuitively certain, and if we reason from them conse- quentially, our conclusions will be demonstratively certain ; but if our principles be only intuitively probable, our conclusions will be only demonstratively probable. In mathematics, the first princi- ples from which we reason are a set of axioms which are not only intuitively certain, but of which we find it impossible to conceive the contraries to be true ; and hence the peculiar evidence which belonsrs to all the conclusions that follow from these principles as necessary consequences. To this view of the subject Dr. Reid has repeatedly given his sanction, at least in the most essential points : more particularly, in controverting an assertion of Locke's, that " no science is, or hath been, built on maxims."—" Surely," says Dr. Reid, " 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 demonstration in geometry is grounded, either upon propositions formerly demonstrated, or upon self-evident principles." Intell. Powers, Essay VI. Chap. VII. § xiv. Edit. 1843. On another occasion, he expresses himself thus ; " I take it to be certain, that whatever can, by just reasoning, be inferred from a principle that is necessary, must be a necessary truth. Thus, as the axioms in mathematics are all necessary truths, so are all the conclusions drawn from them ; that is, the whole body of that science." Ibid., Essay VI. Chap. V. § v. Edit. 1843. See also Essay VI. Chaps. IV. & VI. That there is something fundamentally erroneous in these very strong statements w ith respect to the relation which Euclid's axioms bear to the geometrical theorems which follow, appears sufficiently from a consideration which was long ago mentioned by Locke,--that from these axioms it is not possible for human ingenuity to deduce a single inference. " It was not," says Locke, " the influence of those maxims which are taken for principles in mathematics, that hath led the masters of that science into those wonderful discoveries they have made. Let a man of good parts know all the maxims gene- rally made use of in mathematics nevcF so perfectly, and contem- 302 PART 11. CHAP. I. plate their extent and consequences as much as he pleases, he will, by their assistance, I suppose, scarce ever come to know, that * the square of the hypotenuse in a right-angled triangle, is equal to tlie squares of the two other sides.' The knowledge that * the whole is equal to all its parts,' and, ' if you take equals from equals, the remainders will be equal,' helped him not, I presume, to this de- monstration : and a man may, I think, pore long enough on those axioms, without ever seeing one jot the more of mathematical truths." (Essay on Human Understanding, book iv. chap. xii. sec. 15.) But surely, if this be granted, and if, at the same time, by the first principles of a science be meant those fundamental pro- positions from which its remoter truths are derived, the axioms cannot, with any consistency, be called the first principles of mathe- matics. They have not, it will be admitted, the most distant ana- logy to what are called the first principles of natural philosophy ; — to those general facts, for example, of the gravity and elasticity of the air, from which may be deduced, as consequences, the suspen- sion of the mercury in the Torricellian tube, and its fiill when carried up to an eminence. According to this meaning of the word, the principles of mathematical science are, not the axioms but the definitions ; which definitions hold, in mathematics, precisely the same place that is held in natural philosophy by such general facts as have now been referred to.* From what principle are the various properties of the circle derived, but from the definition of a circle ? From what prin- ciple the properties of the parabola or ellipse, but from the defi- nitions of these curves? A similar observation may be extended to all the other theorems which the mathematician demonstrates ; and it is this observation (which, obvious as it may seem, does not appear to have occurred, in all its force, either to Locke, to * In order to prevent cavil, it may be necessary- for me to remark here, tliat wl»en 1 speak of mathematical axioms, I have in view only such as are of the same dcscrip- tion with the first nine of those which are prefixed to the Elements of Euclid ; for, in that list, it is well known, that there are several which belong to a class of propositiou^ altogether different from the others. That " all right angles (for example) are equal to one another ;" that " when one straight line falling on two other straight lines makes the two interior angles on the same side less than two right angles, these two straight lines, if produced, shall meet on the side, where are the two angles less than two right angles ;" are manifestly principles which bear no analogy to such barren truisms as these, "Things that are equal to one and the same thing, arc equal to one another." " If equals be added to equals, the wholes arc equal." " If equals be taken from equals, the remainders are equal." Of these propositions, the two former (the 10th and Uth axioms, to wit, in Euclid's list) are evidently theorems which, in point of strict logical accuracy, ought to be demonstrated ; as may be easily done, wth respect to the first, in a single sentence. That the second has not yet been proved in a simple and satisfactory- manner, has been long considered as a sort of reproach to mathematicians ; and I have little doubt that this reproach will continue to exist, till the basis of the science be somewhat enlarged, by the introduction of one or two new definitions, to serve as additional principles of geometrical reasoning. For some farther remarks on Euclid's axioms, see Note x. The edition of Euclid to which I uniformly refer, is that of David Gregory. Oxon. 1713. OF THE FUNDAMENTAL LAWS OF HUMAN BELIEF. 303 Reid, or to Campbell,) that furnishes, if I mistake not, the true explanation of the peculiarity already lemarked in mathematical evidence,* The prosecution of this last idea properly belongs to the subject of mathematical demonstration, of which I intend to treat after- wards. • In the mean time, I trust that enough has been said to correct those misapprehensions of the nature of axioms, which are countenanced by the speculations, and still more by the phraseo- logy, of some late eminent writers. On this article, [my own opi- nion coincides very nearly with that of Mr. Locke, both in the view which he has given of ^Ae nature and use of axioms in qeometry and m what he has so forcibly urged concerning the danger, in other branches of knowledge, of attempting a similar list of maxims, without a due regard to the circumstances by which diiferent sciences are distinguished from one another.] With Mr. Locke, too, I must beg leave to guard myself against the possibility of being misun- derstood m the illustrations which I have offered of some of his Ideas: and for this purpose, I cannot do better than borrow his words. " In all that is here suggested concerning the little use of axioms for the improvement of knowledge, or dangerous use in unde- termined ideas I have been far enough from saying or intending they should be laid aside, as some have been too forward to charge me I affirm them to be truths, self-evident truths; and so cannot be laid aside. As far as their influence will reach, it is in vain to endeavour, nor would I attempt, to abridge it. But yet, without any injury to truth or knowledge, I may have reason to think their use IS not answerable to the great stress which seems to be laid on them, and I may warn men not to make an ill use of them for the confirming themselves in error. "—(Essay, book vi. ch. vii '^ 14 ) After what has been just stated, it is scarcely necessary for me again to repeat, with regard to mathematical axioms, that altliouo-h tney are not the principles of our reasoning, either in arithmetic or in geometry their truth is supposed or implied in all our reasonings m both: and,if It were called in question, our further progress would be impossible. In both of these respects, we shall find Siem analogous to the other classes of primary or elemental truths which remain to be considered Nor let it be imagined, from this concession, that the dispute turns merely on the meaning annexed to the word principle It turns upon an important question of fact; whether the theorems of geometry rest on the axioms, in the same sense in which they rest ♦ D'Alembert, although he sometimes seems to speak a different laniniaee annroaclicd nearly to this view of the subject when he WTote the following Dassa'^e • ^PP^«^^^>^^ .;'li'" •^'' \'^- ""* '*;***''*"^ ?'^^'*" *''^* "'^t^'ematicians consider'' definitions as prin. ciples; smce it is on clear and precise definitions that our knowledge rests i^u'ose sciences where our reasomng powers have the widest field opened for their exen'ise ' —Aureste, ce n est pas sans raison que les mathematiciens regardent les d^nnitions ^ZZ^^" Pnne.pcspu.sque, dans les scie.ices ou le raison,!ement a a me lure Siemens TphiL p 4 """^ "' ''''''' ""'' ""^ connoissances sont appuyee^ 1/ 304 PART II. CUAP. I. OF THE FUNDAMENTAL LAWS OF HUMAN BELIEF. 305 on the definitions ? or (to state the question in a manner still more obvious) whether axioms hold a place in geometry at all analogous to what is occupied in natural philosophy, by those sensible pheno- mena which form the basis of that science? Dr. Reid compares them sometimes to the onesetof propositions, and Jrometimes to the other.* If the foregoing observations be just, they bear no analogy to either. Into this indistinctness of language Dr. Reid was probably led in part by Sir Isaac Newton, who, with a very illogical latitude in the use of words, gave the name of axioms to the laws of motion,f and also to those general experimental truths which form the groundwork of our general reasonings in catoptrics and dioptrics. For such a misapplication of the technical terms of mathematics, some apology might perhaps be made, if the author had been treat- ing on any subject connected with moral science ; but surely, in a work entitled " Mathematical Piinciples of Natural Philosophy," the word axiom might reasonably have been expected to be used in a sense somewhat analogous to that which every person liberally educated is accustomed to annex to it, when he is first initiated into the elements of geometry. The question to which the prec<'ding discussion relates is of the greater consequence, that the prevailing mistake with respect to the nature of mathematical axioms, has contributed much to the sup- port of a very erroneous theory concerning mathematical evidence, which is,I believe, pretty generally ado}>ted at present, — that it all * " The science (Mathematics) once fairly establis>hetl on the foundations of a few axioms and definitions, as upon a rock, has grown from age to age, so as to become the loftiest and the most solid fabric that human reason can boast." — Essay VI. on Int. Powers, Chap. IV. §. ix. Edit. 1843. " Lord Bacon first delineated the only solid foundation on which natural philosophy can be built ; and Sir Isaac Newton reduced the principles laid down by Bacon into three or four axioms, which he calls rcgul« pliilosophandi. From these, together with the phenomena observed by the senses, which he likewise lays hed on the foundations of a few axioms and definitions, as upon a rock, has grown from age to age, so as to become the loftiest and the most solid fabric that human reason can boast." — Essay VI. on Int. Powers, Chap. IV. §. ix. Edit. 1843. " Lord Bacon tirst delineated the only solid foundation on which natural philosophy can be built ; and Sir Isaac Newton reduced the principles laid down by Bacon into three or four axioms, which he calls rcgula; philosophandi. From these, together with the phenomena observed by the senses, which he likewise lays down as first principles, he deduces, by strict reasoning, the i)ropositions contained in the third book of his Prin- cipia, and in his Optics; and by this means has raided a fabric, wliich is not liable to be shaken by doubtful disputation, but stands immovable on the basi^ of self-evident prin- ciples." — Ibid. t Axiomata, sive leges Motus. Vide Philosophia? Natnralis Principia Mathematica. " Axioms or laws of motion. See the Mathematical Principles of Natural IMiilosophy." At the beginning, too, of Newton's Optics, the title of axioms is given to the following propositions : " Axiom I. The angles of reflection and refraction lie in one and the same plane with the angle of incidence. " Axiom II. The angle of reflection is equal to the angle of incidence. " Axiom III. If the refracted ray be turned directly back to the point of incidence, it shall be refracted into the line before described by the incident ray. " Axiom IV. Refraction out of the rarer medium into the denser, is made towards the perpendicular; that is, so that the angle of refraction be less than the angle of ncidence. " Axiom V. The sine of incidence is either accurately, or very nearly, in a given ratio to the sine of refraction. When the word axiom is understood by one writerin the sense annexed to it by Euclid, and by his antagonist in the sense here given to it by Sir Isaac Ne\*-ton, it is not suri)ris- ing that there should be apparently a wide diversity between their opinions concerning the logical importance of this class of propositions. OF THE FUNDAMENTAL LAWS OF HUMAN BELIEF. 305 resolves ultimately into the perception of identity : and that it is this circumstance which constitutes the peculiar and characteristical cogency of mathematical demonstration. Of some of the other arguments which have been alleged in favour of this theory, I shall afterwards have occasion to take notice. At present, it is sufficient for me to remark, (and this, I flatter myself, I may venture to do with some confidence, after the foregoing reasonings,) that in so far as it rests on the supposition that all geome- trical truths are ultimately derived from Euclid's axioms, it proceeds on an assumption totally unfounded in fact, and indeed so obviously false, that nothing but its antiquity can account for the facility with which it continues to be admitted by the learned.* II. Continuation of the same Subject, — The difference of opinion between Locke and Reid, of which I took notice in the foregoing part of this section, appears greater than it really is, in consequence of an ambiguity in the word principle, as employed by the latter. In its proper acceptation, it seems to me to denote an assumption (whether resting on fact or on hypothesis), upon which, as a datum, a train of reasoning proceeds ; and for the falsity or incorrectness of which no logical rigour in the subsequent process can compensate. Thus, the gravity and the elasticity of the air are principles of reason- ing in our speculations about the barometer. The equality of the angles of incidence and reflection ; the proportionality of the sines of incidence and refraction ; are principles of reasoning in catop- trics and in dioptrics. In a sense perfectly analogous to this, the definitions of geometry (all of which are merely hypothetical) are the firet principles of reasoning in the subsequent demonstrations, and the basis on which the whole fabric of the science rests. I have called this the proper acceptation of the word, because it is that in which it is most frequently used by the best writers. It is also most agreeable to the literal meaning which its etymology suggests, expressing the original point from which our reasoning sets out or commences. Dr. Reid often uses the word in this sense, as, for example, in the following sentence, already quoted : " From three or four * A late mathematician, of considerable ingenuity and learning, doubtful, it should seem, whether Euclid had laid a sufliciently broad foundation for mathematical science in the axioms prefixed to his Elements, has thought proper to introduce several new- ones of his own invention. The first of these is, that, " Every quantity is equal to itself;" to which he adds afterwards, that "A quantity expressed one way is equal to itself expressed any other way."— See Elements of Mathematical Analysis, by Professor Vilant, of St. Andrews. We are apt to smile at the formal statement of these propo- sitions ; and yet, according to the theory alluded to in the text, it is in truths of this very description that the whole science of mathematics not only begins but ends. " Oranes mathematicorum propositiones sunt identicai, et reprajsentantur hac formula a = a." [" All mathematical propositions are identical and represented by this formula, a = a."] This sentence, which I quote from a dissertation published at Berlin about fifty years ago, expresses, in a few words, what seems to be now the prevailing opinion, (more particularly on the Continent,) concerning the nature of mathematical evidence. The remarks which I have to offer upon it I delay till some other questionc shall be pre- viously couiidered. X 306 PART II. CHAP. I. axioms, which he calls regulae philosophandi, together with tlio phenomena observed by the senses, which he likewise lays down as first principles, Newton deduces, by strict reasoning, the i)ro- positions contained in the tiiird book of his Principia, and in his Optics. On other occasions, he uses the same word to denote those elemental truths (if I may use tiie expression), wiiich are virtually taken tor granted or assumed, in every step of our reasoning; and without which, although no consequences can be directly inferred from them, a train of reasoning would be impossible. Of tiiis kind, in mathematics, are the axioms, or (as Mr. Locke and otiiers fre- quently call them), the maxims: in physics, a belief of the con- tinuance of the Laws of Nature :— in all our reasonings, without exception, a belief m our own identity and in the evidence of memory. Such truths are the last elements into which reasoninff resolves itself, when subjected to a metaphysical analysis; and which no person but a metaiiiiysician or logician ever" thinks of stating in the form of propositions, or even of expressing verbally to himself. It is to truths of this description that Locke seems in general to apply the name of maxims: and, in this sense, it is un- questionably true, that no science (not even geometry) is founded on maxims as its first principles. [In one sense of the word principle, indeed, maxims may be called principles of reasoning ; for the words principles and elements are sometimes used as synonymous. Nor do I take upon me to sav that this mode of speaking is exceptionable. All that I assert i^ that they cannot be called principles of reasoning, in the sense which has just now been defined ; and tiiat accuracy reciuires, that the word on which the whole question binges should not be used in both senses, in the course of the same argument.] It is for this reason that I have employed the phrase principles of reasoninff ou the one occasion, and elements of reasoning on the other. It IS difhcult to find unexceptionable language to mark distinc- tions so completely foreign to the ordinary purposes of speech; but, in the present instance, the line of separation is strongly and clearly drawn by this criterion,— that from principles of reasonin"- consequences may be deduced ; from what I have called eleraente ''^"^o'""g» none ever can. ^ A process of logical reasoning has been often likened to a Cham supporting a weight. If this similitude be adopted, the axioms or elemental truths now mentioned, may be compared to the suc- cessive concatenations which connect the different links imme- diately with each other ; the principles of our reasoning resemble the hook, or rather the beam, from which the whole is suspended. The foregoing observations, I am inclined to think, coincide with what was, at bottom, Mr. Locke's opinion on this subject. Tliat he has not stated it with his usual clearness and distinctness. It IS impossible to deny; at the same time, I cannot subscribe to the following severe criticism of Dr. Reid : OF THE FU.NDAMENTAL LAWS OF HUMAN BELIEF. 307 " Mr. Locke has observed, ' That intuitive knowledge is neces- sary to connect all the steps of a demonstration.' " trom this, I think, it necessarily follows, that in every branch of knowledge, we must make use of truths that are i/tuidvdv known in order to deduce from them such as require proof ^ But I cannot reconcile this with what he says (section 8th of the same chapter): 'The necessity of this intuitive knowledge in every step of scientif^cal or demonstrative reasoning, fave occasion I miagme, to that mistaken axiom, that all reasoufng^was e™.' cognitis et pr^concessis, which how far it is mistaken TshaH C occasion to show more at large when I come to consider propos tions and particularly those propositions which are called m^axhns and to show that It IS by a mistake that they are supposed to b^ the foundation of all our knowledge and reasonings.'" (Essays on Int. Powers, Essay VI. Chap. VII I. ^ xi.) " ^ ^ rei^mng, and he first principles of reasoning, appears to myself to throw much light on these apparent contradictions. ^ Ihat the seeming difference of opinion on this point between hese two profound writers arose chiefly from the ambiguit ^ of Dr°?t1d "r^ t "'^'Z"^ ^r^ !!"' '■•'" '«'»& acknowledfmen of Dr. Ileid, which immediately follows the last quotation • T r^t.V^ carefully examined the chapter on Maxims, which Mr. Locke here refers to, and though one would expect, from the quotation last made, that it should run contrary to what I have before de ivered concerning first principles, I Ld only two or ^tlZl^^'^V: iV^"*^ 'l"*" chiefly incidental, to which I do n r ;• ^^"*- ^ ?^^'"'' ^'^*y VI. Chap. VIII. § XII.) docW^^vTT;;° *'"? '"''J^"*' ' ""'^' °"«« '"«^« repeat, that the doctrine which I have I^en attempting to establish, so far from degrading axioms from that rank which Dr. Reid would a^Tm them, tends to identify them still more than he has done with tie exercise of our reasoning powers ; inasmuch as, instead of com- paring them with the data, on the accuracy of which that of our conclusion necessarily depends, it considers them as the vincula 7ti'tt^2 ''"^TT !" ^" *''^ 1'^'"'''="'" ""•'^ »!■ the chain : or! fel U ^ f metaphor) as component elements, without which the laculty of reasoning is inconceivable and impossible.* ..^ »''*""II'1^" '"^ '*"'"!l .""' """' ••"""'''« «»<^"y in the sense in which I have .W, KJ ^\^'^- ""^P'"'.'."* '""^'f ("« ''^' »" »"« »<=^'«ion) nearly as I have done on the subject of axioms. He seems, however, on this, as well as on some otheHoSa^S " Truths of the first kind are distinguished by this— that thpv Hn r./.f rio««„j ?oTe of'- '"h' ••■"' T^ P"^"" «'"■"' "— !ves tL whol '^^1,1"^ fhr'viden"'' Some of my reader, wjl be apt to suppose that I here mean to speak of axiomt bTt th^ X 2 T^ 308 PART II. CHAP. I. III. Of certain Laws of Belief inseparably connected with the Exercise of Consciousness^ Memory, Perception, and Reasoning. — ( 1.) It is by the immediate evidenceof consciousness that we are assured of the present existence of our various sensations, whether pleasant or painful ; of all our affections, passions, hopes, fears, desires, and volitions. It is thus, too, we are assured of the present existence of those thoughts which, during our waking hours, are continually passing through the mind, and of all the different effects which they produce in furnishing employment to our intellectual faculties. According to the common doctrine of our best philosophers (see, in particular, Campbell's Philosophy of Rhetoric), it is by the evi- dence of consciousness we are assured that we ourselves exist. The proposition, however, when thus stated, is not accurately true ; for are not the tniths which I have at present in view. With respect to this last class of principles, I must refer to what I have elsewhere said of them ; that, notwithstanding their truth, they add nothing to our information ; and that the palpable evidence which accom- panies them, amounts to nothing more than to an expression of the same idea by means of two ditferent tenns. On such occasions, the mind only turns to no purjiose about its own axis, without advancing forward a single step. Accordingly, axioms arc so far from holding the highest rank in philosophy, that they scarcely deserve the distinction of being formally enunciated." [" Or quelles sont les verites qui doivent eutrcr dans des elemens de philosophic ? 11 y en a deux sortes ; celles qui fomient la tete de chaque partie de la chaine, et celles qui se trouvent au point de reunion de plusieurs branches. " Les verites du premier genre ont pour caractere distinctif de ne dependre d'aucunc autre, et de n'avoir de preuves que dans elles-memes. Plusieurs lecteurs croiront que nous voulons parler des axioms, et ils se tronjperont ; nous les renvoyons ji ce qui nous en avons dit ailleurs, que ces sortes de principes ne nous apprennent rien a force d'etre vrais, et que leur evidence palpable et grossiere se reduit a exprimer la mcme idee par deux termes ditferens, Tesprit ne fait alors autre chose que tounrer nutilemcnt sui* lui-meme sans avancer d'un seul pas. Ainsi les axioms, bien loin de tenir en philoso- phic Ic premier rang, n'ont pas meme bcsoin dV-tre enonces.'' — Elem. de Phil. pp. 24, 25.] Although, in the foregoing passage, D'Alenibert, in compliance with common phraseo- logy, has bestowed the name of principles upon axioms, it appears clearly, from a ques- tion which occurs ailenvards, that he did not consider them as well entitled to this appellation. " What are, then," he asks, " in each science, the true principles from which we ought to set out ?" (* Quels sont done dans chaque science les vrais prin- cipes d'oii Ton doit partir ?") The answer he gives to this question agrees with the doctrine I have stated in every particular, excepting in this, that it represents (and in my opinion very incorrectly) the principles of geometrical science to be (not definitions or hypotheses, but) those simple and acknowledged facts, which our senses perceive with respect to the properties of extension. '* The true principles from which we ought to set out in the ditferent sciences, are simple and acknowledged facts, which do not pre- suppose the existence of any others, and wliich, of course, it is equally vain to attempt explaining or confuting ; in physics, the familiar ))henomena which daily experience pre- sents to every eye ; in geometrj', the sensible properties of extension ; in mechanics, the impenetrability of bodies, uj>on which their mutual actions depend ; in metaphysics, the results of our sensations ; in morals, the original and common affections of the human race." — [" Les vrais principes d'ou Ton doit partir dans chaque science, sont des faits simples et reconnus, qui n'en supposent jKiint d'autres, et qu'on ne puisse par consequent ni expliquer, ni contester ; en physique, les pht-nomenes journaliers que I'obscrvation decouvre a tons les yeux ; en gtometrie les proprietes sensibles de I'etendue ; en mecha- nique, I'impenetrabilite des corps, source de leiur action mutuelle ; en metaphysique, le r^sultat de nos sensations ; en morale, les affections premieres et communes a tous les hommes." — pp. 26, 27.] In cases of this sort, where so much depends on extreme precision and niiety in the use of words, it appears to me to be proper to verify the fideUty of my tra;.: lationa by imbjoining the original passages. y OF THE FUNDAMENTAL LAWS OP HUMAN BELIEF. 309 our own existence, as I have elsewhere observed, (Philosophical Essays, p. 7,) is not a direct or immediate object of consciousness in the strict and logical meaning of that term. We are conscious of sensation, thought, desire, volition ; but we are not conscious of the existence of mind itself; nor would it be possible for us to arrive at the knowledge of it (supposing us to be created in the full pos- session of all the intellectual capacities which belong to human nature), if no impression were ever to be made on our external senses. The moment that, in consequence of such an impression a sensation is excited, we learn two facts at once ;— the existence of the sensation, and our own existence as sentient beini^s ;— in other words, the very first exercise of consciousness necessarily implies a belief, not only of the present existence of what is felt, but of the present existence of that which feels and thinks ; or (to employ plainer language) the present existence of that being which I denote by the words I and myself. Of these facts, however, it is the former alone of which we can properly be said to be conscious agreeably to the rigorous interpretation of the expression. A con- viction ot the latter, although it seems to be so inseparable from the exercise of consciousness, that it can scarcely be considered as posterior to it in the order of time, is yet (if I may be allowed to make use of a scholastic distinction) posterior to it in the order of nature ; not only as it supposes consciousness to be already awak- ened by some sensation, or some other mental affection ; but as it IS evidently rather a judgment accompanying the exercise of that power, than one of its immediate intimations concerning its appro- priate class of internal phenomena. [It appears to me, therefore I more correct to call the belief of our own existence a concomitant ' or accessory of the exercise of consciousness, than to say, that our existence is a fact falling under the immediate cognizance of con- sciousness, hke the existence of tlie various agreeable or painful \ sensations which external objects excite in our minds.] (2.) That we cannot, witllout a very blameable latitude in the use of words, be said to be conscious of our personal identity, is a proposition still more indisputable ; inasmuch as the very idea of i personal identity involves the idea of time, and consequently pre- ' supposes the exercise not only of consciousness, but of memory. 1 he belief connected ^vlth tliis idea is implied in every thoucrht and * every action of the mind, and may be justly regarded as one of the simplest and most essential elements of the understanding. Indeed It IS impossible to conceive either an intellectual or an active being to exist without It. It is, however, extremely worthy of remark with respect to this belief, tliat, universal as it is amono- our spe^' cies, nobody but a metaphysician ever thinks of expressing it in words, or of reducing into the shape of a proposition the truth to which it relates. To the rest of mankind, it forms not an object of knowledge; but a condition or supposition, necessarily and uncon- sciously involved in the exercise of all their facultit-. On a part I y \ y 310 PART 11, CHAP. r. tual operations .t is plainly unphilosopl.ical to sup^o^e thi Inv- the gradual process by which they suppo-o the .nin^ L » f '^ t.o„, I have only to obLrve. that when we sc abouUheeiro" of a phenomenon, we must proceed on fl>e suDnoJti^,? ,Y f l " possible to resolve it into soL more general lawTuw w h lib we are already acquainted But Jn tl.o «. i "^'^^^^ ^\"* ^vhicli and intelligent beings ? Every "hto^ th^r.Z ? "1 ^^^^''^"'S to account^for this c'onviction must n/cirHv !-"• •> ^'''''"'^" paralogism which logicians ca 1 rA^'^Sr* '^ *''*''' T**?^ must resolve tbe thin- to be exnlaCl Jn^I ^ ', '""^"'"d' a^it evidence of which resis uuti „", rassZ^tioT °' ''*'"'"'^ From this assumption, which is^ necessari 3^^ '" l"^'"?"" exercise of conscioisnes; and n.emorv fife nhilo.^ Z ^''f J^"'* mind, if we mean to study it a^XSl v ,nS T ^^ ''^ ''""""' and the very attempt to ^di" Sir for' ts fl "IT"'"'! '"^*'"'' total ignorance of tL logical r«Te^ acWb-t wfe^^^^^^^^ ^ ever be prosecuted with any hopes of succesl '^'o-e'tcan It was, 1 believe, first remarked by Mr Vrevn^t ^en . , the remark, obvious as it may .-Dnear r.fli,r of Geneva, (and acuteness and sagacity > that h'l^n - '""'"'' ''°''<'""" "« '"^ foundedonthehSeioftlJ Jr,2TT *=°"'='^"""g the mind, both Bonnet aniES^drc';';:St^ttr^^^^^^^^^^ 7^« '".futh altogether synthetical. To th s' erftidsS n ^T added, that their inquiries, in so far as they had for th? . "^ '"' explain the origin of our belief of our own existence Tn ?-'f* *" persona identity, assumed, as the principles of thSrs^tll"^/"/ r I'pZx-resi?^^ ^'•"""" ^''" •"« p'obLS';&tt;; ofX^,g/;;:s-{:if^^^^^^^^^^^^ experienced their powerful influence over hL;-"' ^''*' ''^^ ""' was employed in r'eflecting "n ^ab'^f^e" ™^^^^^^ up the past history of his life- and nn fhof 7 Y^^ch nave filled TaJcing for graulcd ihc disputed p<,i„t. * OF THE FUNDAMENTAL LAWS OF HUMAN BELIEF. 311 On such an occasion even the wonders of external nature seem comparatively insignificant ; and one is tempted (with a celebrate" French writer) in contemplating the spectacle of the u.Hverse to adopt the words of the Doge of Geno'a when he visited Versanie" (3.) The belief which all men entertain of the existenee of th, maler^al rrorkl, (I mean their belief of its exitencelXlditfy of that of percipient beings,) and their expectation oft/ZontinuZ u»,fo,;mt^ of the la,cs of nature, belong t^ the same class of ukf >aate or elemental laws of thought with'those which ha e bee„tsi so radically different from what are commonly called truths in tZ popular acceptation of that word, that it might peH.aps be' useful for logicians to distinguish them by some appropriate appellafon tSs%r;;Tr^;V'"* M ^^'^^-^ or t;anren!reZ' irutns. iiiey are not principles or data (as will affprwa,-^„ appear) from which any eonsequence can be Suled te fori a par of hose original stamina of hnman reason, S^ 'are equal k cTrnS Se '"' ''"'""' of science, and to 'all the Active' coS (4.) I shail only take notice farther, under this head, of the con- fidence wluch we must necessarily repose in the evwlnJ f memory (and I may add, in theUt^uance o our pers'naf ident, y,) when we are employed in carrying on any process of deduction or argumentation ;-i„ following out, for iLtCe the steps of a long mathematical demonstration In yTeS our connected the difierent links of thLhli!: ^g er.^^TTe'Se. t^: which IS often made, in the course of a demonstration to proposf tions formerly proved places the same remark i^a Zht'sti i stronger; and shows plainly that, in this branch of k„&2 wh ch IS justly considered as the most certain of any the auIS of the same laws of belief which are reco-nized in til? r ^ pursuits of life, is tacitly acknow^ledged. Cy ll" tid'^Tf memorv as a ground of certain knowledge, anS you dSrov thJ foundations of mathematical science as completelv as if t!f^ to deny the truth of the axioms assumed 3Euciid ^ " ''''' li.e foregoing examples sufficiently illustrate tlie'nature of th,f class of truths which I have called Fundamental Laws of Human Belief, or Primary ]-Jements of Human Reason. A varieWof others, no ess important, might be added to the listH- but tSe I shall not at present stop to enumerate, as my chief object „ So duciiig the subject here, was te explain the common relationTn * " That wliich surprises me most here is, to see invself here " t buch, for example, as our belief of tlie pvistenne' of ««„•• . -he existence of other intelligent beings he. WcTotseTvesf dt'5^ """'''' "" "^^ "^ ' I I ^' f 3)2 PAIIT II. CHAP. I. Which they all stand to deductive evidence. In this point of view have" btrtr '■'"''•![ '?^'"^'T\ '^^"^^" '^"^ ♦"'ths which we IZl frw j^V^-'*""'^T"?' """^ the mathematical axioms which Itice. ™'^' '""»«''i''t«'y P'-e^nt themselves to our (1.) From neither of these classes of truths can any direct in- ference be drawn for the farther enlargement of our knowled-t" SoecTrt''. '''■ ^''V^^'^^y ^hown^o hold universally & respect to the axioms of geometry ; and it applies equally to what I have called Fundamental Laws of Human Belief^ From Tuch propositions «s these,-I exist; I am the same person toTy that I was yesterday ; the material world has an exiitence independen of my m.nd ; the general laws of nature will continue, in' ?utme to operate uniformly as m time past,-no inference can be deduct of Luchd Abstracted from other data, they are perfectly barren m themselves; nor can any possible combination of them help [he t1^.^ in,3 r'.r-'V'"'' '" '*' '"•''='•«««• It i« <■«>• this reason! that, instead of calling them, with some other writers, first prin- of belief ; the former word seeming to me to denote, accordino- to common usage, some fact, or some supposition, from ;iiich a serie^ of consequences may be deduced. ' wmcu a series If the account now given of these laws of belief be iust theoreat argument which has been commonly urged in su,port ofS authority, and which manifestly confounds them with what are properly called principles of reasoning,* is not at all applicable to the subject ; or at least does not rest the point in dispute upon its "& or"t'^2 ^^ '^rr'' "" first "principles, '^^it ha^ been said,) or, in other words, if a reason could be given for every- chlsit"" r "^ ded-ction could possibly be bought to a col ck^sion The remark is indisputably true; but it only proves impossible that eventhin- should \y •>,,^^,.,t!u e , ■ *""" " '* »"o»etliw cc^would c«™,l to i li y ami ^ter Tl^ ,„^ Jcmoustrafon ; „thc™ isc the pro- the sentence intmediateW p^cerni^-,' m^laln^H^H """,f ",""''' '"= «'^'""^" '» OF THE FUNDAMENTAL LAWS OF HUMAN BELIEF. 3|3 he were first allowed to lay down his definitions; nor the natural philosopher explain or account for a single phenomenon, unless he were allowed to assume, as acknowledged facts, certain Peneral laws of nature. What inference does this afford in favour of that particular class of truths to which t!ie preceding observations relate, and against which the ingenuity of modern sceptics has been more particularly directed? If I be not deceived, these truths are still more intimately connected with the operations of the reasoning faculty than has been generally imagined ; not as the principles {ap^ai) from which our reasonings set out,' and on which they ultimately depend ; but as the necessary conditions on which every step of the deduction tacitly proceeds; or rather (if I may use the expression) as essential elements which enter into the composition of reason itself. (2.) In this last remark I have anticipated, in some measure what I had to state with respect to the second coincidence alluded to, between mathematical axioms, and the other propositions which I comprehended under the general title of fundamental laws of human belief. As the truth of axioms is virtually presupposed or imphed m the successive steps of every demonstration, so, in every step of our reasonings concerning the order of nature, we proceed on the supposition, that the laws by which it is regulated will continue uniform as in time past; and that the material universe has an existence independent of our perceptions. I need scarcely add, that, m all our reasonings whatever, whether they relate to necessary or to contingent truths, our own personal identity and the evidence of memory, are virtually taken for granted These different truths all agree in this, that they are essentially inyolved m the exercise of our rational powers ; although, in themselves they furnish no principles or data by which the sphere of our knowledge can, by any ingenuity, be enlarged. They ao-ree farther in being tacitly acknowledged by all men, learned'' or ignorant, without any formal enunciation in words, or even any conscious exercise of reflection. It is only at that period of our intellcctnal progress when scientific arrangements and metaphysical refinements begin to be introduced, that they become objects of attention to the mind, and assume the form of propositions. In consequence of these two analogies or coincidences, I should have been inclined to comprehend, under the general title of axioms, all tlie truths which have been hitherto under our review if the common usage of our language had not, in a great measure! appropriated that appellation to the axioms of mathematics • and if the view of the subject which I haye taken, did not render it necessary for me to direct the attention of my readers to the wide diversity betxveon the branches of knowledge to which thev are respectively subservient. I was anxious also to preyent these truths from being all identi- fied, in point of hgical importance, under the same name. The '*■ ' i> 3)4 PART II. CHAP. r. \l fact IS, that the one class, (in consequence of the relation in which they stand to the demonstrative conclusions of geometry,) are com- paratively of so little moment, that the formal enumeration of them was a matter of choice rather than of necessity; wiioreas the other class have unfortunately been raised, by the sceptical controversies of modem tmies, to a conspicuous rank in the philosophy of the human mind. I have thought it more advisable, therefore to bestow on the ktter an appropriate title of their own ; without however, gomg so far as to reject altogether the pliraseoloiry of those who have annexed to the word axiom a more enlarged 'meanin"- than that whicli I have usually given to it. Little inconvenienc^, indeed, can arise from this latitude in the use of the term : pro- vided only it be ahrays confined to those idtimate laws of belief which, although they form the first elements of human reason' cannot with propriety be ranked among the principles from which' any of our scientific conclusions are deduced. Corresponding to the extension which some late writers have given to axioms, is that of the })rovince which they have assio-ned to intuition ; a term which has been applied, by Dr. Beattie^'and others, not only to the power by which we perceive the truth of the axioms of geometry, but to that by which we recognise the authority of the fundamental laws of belief, when we hear them enunciated in language. My only objection to this use of the word is, that it is a departure from common practice; according'- to which, if I be not mistaken, the proper objects of intuition are propositions analogous to the axioms prefixed to Euclid's Elements. In some other respects, this innovation might periiaps be regarded as an improvement on the very limited and im])erfect vocabulary of which we are able to avail ourselves in our present discussions.* To the class of truths which I have here called laics of belief, or elements of reason, the title of principles of common sense was'lon^ ago given by Fatlier Buffier, whose language and doctrine concern- ing them bears a very striking resemblance to those of some of our later Scottish logicians. This, at least, strikes me as the meaning which these writers in general annex to the phrase; althou^r], all of them have frequently employed it with a far greater i\e«' - author whot: who was h if f "'"^f ,'^«f«'-<">'^e for established opinions, and of moder"^^ ""^ °f '"^^ --' -I'tile dispu'tants stancTof 'Ihe'^d^if i**" '' '^'"'^^ .^PP^""^' »«* ""'^ *''»* the sub- much eil ir dTT '""'"•'""^.<'. ^y tl'e^e philosophers is of a Z2e ~f. " their wntmgs; but that, in adopting the trX/, r^ i"^"'^' t« .^^Press that standard or crherion of ?ual " "vi' : /'''^' ^PP^^'^'^' '^'y did not depart from t1™?an Scesso; ^ '" "'" """^"S *''^ ''^'^^t dogmatical of their tioIVhfch Tf rij"'* T'"^ '"T ^^y'"' *''^* P^'^'°n for disputa- tr?,tl.r ;. r-u^*""? ^"'•ope. I'as so often subjected the plainest truths to the ribunal of metaphysical discussion is with 3at mSLdT'^ '" "" ""'™''^'* ■"«"-- which the 'sloi E mamtained for so many ages over the understandings of the learned And although, smce the period when Bayle wrote this iSence sneculatL ,n.n „. • f ° *',"°^"'° ''"d judging prevalent among speculative men, which are but too discernible in all the branche? for*am diTtZiSH"'- '^!,' '"S^"'""^. eloquent, and gallant nation, that it has been M^gi^'-rSat'Cwho'U'rt^''^ "1 ';"= Continent, for its' proflciencrin the aocomplia,me„t^^^^l!rdei „°JneaJ^ i^H ; •\'r "'" "^ '^^'•'^"' "^ ">is Gil Bte of his stufcat Oviedn X . '*,'™'! e'««?<;t«, in the account given by raisonner bcauconp J^taois t»„ /^ "< "PPliqua. anss. i la logique, qui m'apprit i connus no ,r lenr^^r^l '* ■'"P""'' 1"e J "in-^'ois les passans, connus ou in- Er;«seV ouiTeT' i'n "^"'"™'- •''' "'""^essois quelquefois k des riouREs Quels gcstes qu2L ^imZ oTet,'"'^ .""""'' f " ^^°^ "^"^ """^ ™'' "'^P"'". nos bouches e2umant« of ' ' ''i'' oontors.ons ! nos veux etoient pleins de fureur, et philosophS"[Tappiedmvs7 to rl'''f ?''?'*'' P°," "^^^ ^'""^'^ 1™ P«" ^e, »as so fond of dispCto"' hat I s „^^^^^^^ ''l'"' *"'""* -■'gning continually. I acquainted «-ith them or S I^iLT^^ those who were passing by, whether I was myself to Irish chmeterswirwHl^^^^^^^ "''"'• '^""ctimes addressed us disputing s.?Srrssuchi^J" nothing better It was worth while to see utmosl fur,^ and our^mouS fol^ X''Jl. contortions ! our eyes expressed the for philosophers.] ^^* ""K""* """'■ *" *»''™ ""r demoniacs than tralslMLn?,;^! a1^Te7r™Th'''' P'^^'T'"- ' ^^'' »^^«'» "'y^^' '» *••» above 322 rA.RT 11. criAP. i. of science connected with the philosophy of the mind. In ilhistra- tion of this remark, it would be easy to produce a copious list of examples from the literary history of the eighteenth century ; but the farther prosecution of the subject here would lead me aside from the conclusions which I have at present in view. I shall, therefore, content myself with opposing, to the contentious and sceptical spirit bequeathed by the schoolmen to their successors, the following wise and cautious maxims of their master, — maxims which, while they illustrate his anxiety to guard the principles of the demonstrative sciences against the captiousness of soj)hists, evince the respect which he conceived to be due by the philosopher to the universal reason of the human race. " Those thin«-s are to be regarded as first truths, the credit of which is not deprived from other truths, but is inherent in them- selves. As for probable truths, they are such as are admitted by all inen, or by the generality of men, or by wise men ; and, among these last, either by all the wise, or by the generality of the wise, or by such of the wise as are of the higliest authority."* The ar<^ument from Universal Consent, on which so much stress is laid by'^many of the ancients, is the same doctrine with the fore- goin<% under a form somewhat different. It is stated with great simplicity and force by a Platonic philosophei*, in the following sentf^nce^ » * '• In such a contest, and tumult, and disagreement, (about other matters of opinion,) you may see this one law and language acknow- ledcred by common accord. This the Greek says, and this the barbarian says; and the inhabitant of the continent, and the islander; and the wise, and the unwise."t . It cannot be denied, that against this summary species of logic, when employed without any collateral liglits,as an infallible touch- stone of philosophical truth, a strong objection immediately occurs. By what test, it may be asked, is a principle of common sense to be distino-uished from one of those prejudices to which the whole human race are irresistibly led, in the first instance, by the very constitution of their nature ? If no test or criterion of truth can be pointed out but universal consent, may not all those errors which * Eari ie aXn^n }tiv Kai Ttpwra, ra /ii? ^i' fnptov, aWa Si* avrutv ix^^ra rtjy 'TTitTTiv EvdoKa h, ra Sokovvtu xamv, fj toiq TrXuffToii, tj toiq ffo^oic icai rovro.c, V ro.c 'Tra^iv, n roiQ ffXari,c, ku! o 0aXarrioc. Kai o ffo^oj.-, Kat o affo^o^.-Max. Tyr. (speaking of the existence of ttie Deity,) Dis. I. ^ i * .» r-- i t..^^ •'Una in re eonsensio omnium gentium lex natursc putanda est. — Ci^ 1. Tusc. [Tiie consent of aU nations on any one point should be regarded as a law lad down by ''^" Multum darn solemus pnesumptioni omnium horainum : Apurl nos vcritatis argti- mentiim est, aliqui.l omnibus videri," &c. &c.-Sen. Cp. 117. [We usually allow great weight to conclusions arrived at by men collectively. It is with us a proof of truth, when a position is admitted by all.] OF THE FUNDAMENTAL LAWS OF HUMAN BELIEF. 323 Bacon has called idola tr/hun pl-iim .. ^;.,i,t .« i • • incontrovertible axioms ofteteri^^.^^^^^^^^^ cavils apinst the supposition of the ettS's £ l wS/^W obstructed the progress of the Copernican systen,, hive been S timately opposed, as a reply of para.no.uu antl oritv to ?1I T scent.hc reasonings by which it wis supported "^' ''" '^^ It IS much to be wished that this objection, of which Dr Jiru) could not fa.1 to be fully aware, had been more pari cut rlvex^^ Zt'l^^ '^T:'''"^ "' '"''"' "f '»'^ P"Wicatio„s,^lm he Lms t have thought necessary. From different parts of his works Tnw ever various nnportant hints towards a 'satisfac to y ans we; to ii m.g .t be easdy collected. (See, in particular, Essa/ vTcLu 4 that !lH • ^r"'"" •' ^'°-,"'''*- '*^-*-^-> A* present I sha^l o.dy reXk' that although universality of belief is one of the tes"s bv wW -h' according to hnn, a principle of common sense is character led k s not the only test which he represents as essenfhl t1 . r' his t me. Father Buflier, in his 'excdlL" r S on K^ut' had laid great stress on two other circumstances, as criteria ot' attended to on such occasions; and althoughl di not reco Ltan^ passage .„ Re.d where they are so explicitly stated yet the leL"a^ p.nt of Ins re^onmgs plainly shows, that he had t fern conltenUv n. view m all the practical applications of his doctrin^ ^W fiS cntenon mentioned by Bu&'er is, "That the trut^ assumed as maxims of common sense should be such tliit if ic i„, m ? / any disputant either to defend or to attS' e nf b i Trntt'^f pro,,os,tions which are neither more manifest nor more cS than tlie propositions in question." The second criterion i' " Th" the^ aTcrt^'dirL^a-utorS^^ ^^ ^ ^"°- ^^^^^^ To these remarks of Buffer, it may not be altogether suner fl ous to add, that, wherever a prejudic'e is found to obtab „n" er ally among mankind in any stage of society, this pre udice musi have some foundation in the general principfes of ourTature and must proceed upon some truth or fact inaccurately apprehend' for erroneously applied. The suspense of jud-ment therefor! 1) "T ' .s proper with respect to partic'ular opilnS i. 5":tc; S examined, can never justify sceirticism with respect to the iS laws of the human mind. Our belief of the sun's motion fsnTl conclusion to which we are necessarily led by any su"h law butln inference rashly drawn from the perceptions of sJnsewS do not warrant such an inference. All that we see is thlt » r.l!." change o position between ns and the sun taL % Lc ; and E fact, which IS made known to us by our senses no snK „ I diseovery of philosophy pretends to dlprL YtVnot " t'efoTe* the evidence of perception whicii is overturned by the Co ernicln system, but a judgment or inference of the understandinf of the rashness of which every person must be fully sensible tie raomen? he IS made to reflect with due attention on tL circumstanceTof tl2 Y 2 324 P'^RT IT. CHAP. I. case • and the doctrine which this system substitutes instead of our fir«;t 'crude apprehensions on the subject, is founded, not on any process of reasoning a ;>Won, but on the demonstrable inconsistency of these apprehensions with the various phenomena which our per- ceptions present to us. Had Copernicus not only asserted the stability of the sun, but, with some of the Sophists of old, denied that any such thing as motion exists in the universe, his theory would have been precisely analogous to that of the non-existence of matter ; and no answer to it could have been thought of more pertinent and philosophical than that which Plato is said to have given to the same paradox in the mouth of Zeno, by rising up and walking before his eyes. . , -n x * (2 ) If the foregoing observations be just, they not only illustrate the coincidence between Dr. Keid's general argument against those metaphysical paradoxes which revolt common sensc,and the maxims of philosophical discussion previously sanctioned by our soundest reasoners ; but they go far, at the same time, to refute that charge of plagiarism in which he has been involved, in common with two other Scotish writers, who have made their stand in^ opposition to Berkeley and Hume, nearly on the same ground. This charge has been stated in all its force in the Preface to an English translation of Buffier's Premieres Verites, printed at London in the year 1780 ; and it cannot be denied, that some of the proofs alleged in its sup- port are not without plausibility. But why suppose Reid to have borrowed from this learned Jesuit a mode of arguing which has been familiar to men in all ages of the world, and to which, long before the publication of BufHer's excellent book, the very same phraseology had been applied by numberless other authors ? On this point^ the passage alreadv quoted from Bayle is of itself decisive. The truth is, it is a mode of arguing likely to occur to every sincere and enlightened inquirer, when bewildered by scep- tical sophistry, and which, during the long interval between the publication of the Berkeleian theory, and that of Hcid s Inquiry, was the only tenable post on which the conclusions of the former could be combated. After the length to which the logical con- sequences of the same principles were subsequently pushed m the Treatise of Human Nature, this must have appeared com- pletely manifest to all who were aware of the irresistible force of the argument as it is there stated ; and, in fact, this very ground was taken as early as the year 1751, in a private correspondence with Mr. Hume, by an intimate friend of his own, for whose judgment, both on philosophical and literary subjects, he seenis to have felt a peculiar deference. (See note z.) I mention this, as a proof that the doctrine in question was the natural result of the state of science at the period when Reid appeared, and, conse- quently, that no argument against his originality in adopting it, can reasonably be founded on its coincidence with the views of any preceding author. OF THE FUNDA>1ENT.\L LAWS OF HUMAN BELIEF. 325 A Still more satisfactory reply to the charge of plagiarism may be derived from this consideration, that, in Buffier's Treatise, the STr :i ::?/ ^"' '"-''''^ "i'i'^''^ ^^^""^ '^ ^— ^i- - stated with far greater precision and distinctness than in Dr. Keid's first publication on the Human Mind; and that, in his subsequen performances after he had perused the writings of Buffie? h"s ulrbetfZ " ^considerably more guarded and consikent If this abservation be admitted in the case of Dr. Reid it will be found to apply with still greater force to Dr. Beattie', whose language, in various parts of his book, is so loose and unsettled, as to afford demonstrative proof that it was not from Buffier he derived the idea of his general argument. In confirmation of this. 1 bhall on y mention the first chapter of the first part of his Essay m which he attempts to draw the line between common sense and reason evidently confounding, as many other authors of hidi repu- tation have done, the two very different words, reason and reLniL. ills account of common sense, in the following passage, is liable to censure m almost every line: "The term common sense hath in modern times, been used by philosophers, both French and British to signify that po^yer of the mind which perceives truth, or com' mands belief; not by progressive argumentation, but by an instan- taneous, instinctive and irresistible impulse, derived neither from education nor from habit, but from nature, acting independently on our will, whenever its object is presented, according to an estab- lished law, and therefore properly called sense,^ and acting in a similar manner upon all, or at least upon a great majority of man- kind and there ore properly called common sense/' (Essay on Truth, p. 40, 2nd edit.) ^ n,n!iill M*^'*"f ^''^*!'^ schoolmen (revived iu later times under a form somewhat modified by Locke,) jvhich refers to sensation the origin of all our ideas hTs clv^n rise o a very unwarrantable extension of the word sense, in the writingsof modem phi o sophers. ^Vhen It was first asserted, that " there is nothing in the Intellect wWch does not come to it through the medium of sense," there cannot be a St ha by tW^^ las term were understood exclusively our powers of extenial perception In proce s si V be t^eTto 'thrr '' ''* 'rT".'' V* *^"^^ ^^^ «^^"y »' ^^ ' ^-^ cannoTpo ! I ..Li 1 ^ '! Tl'^' ^"^ '''"^^' «^ consequence, atford undeniable proof that Sni n ^ '' ^'.'"?' ^^ '*'" *^"^"' ^^ «"'• ^d^«« »^ ^^eakiutf of the ajjplication of the syllogistic theory to mathe- matics, he makes use of the following expression ; " The simple reasoning, ' A is equal to B, and B to C, therefore A is equal to C,' cannot be brouglit into any syllogism in figure and mode." — See Analysis of Aristotle's Logic, in Keid's "Works. (Vol. ii. Svo. edit. London, 1843.) OP REASONING AND OF DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE. 333 think that my own opinion does not differ essentially from his, whatever inferences to the contrary may be drawn from some of his casual expressions. The misapprehensions into which these have contributed to lead various writers of a later date, will, I hope, furnish a sufficient apology for the attempt which I have made, to place the question in a stronger light than he seems to have thought requisite for its illustration. In some of tlie foregoing quotations from his Essay, there is another fault of still greater moment ; of which, although not im- mediately connected with the topic now under discussion, it is proper for me to take notice, that I may not have the appearance of acquiescing in a mode of speaking so extremely exceptionable. What I allude to is, the supposition which his language, concern- ing the powers both of intuition and of reasoning, involves, that knowledge consists solely in the perception of the agreement or the disagreement of our ideas. The impropriety of this phraseology has been sufficiently exposed by Dr. Reid, whose animadversions I would beg leave to recommend to the attention of those readers who, from long habit, may have familiarised their ear to the pecu- liarities of Locke's philosophical diction. In this place, I think it sufficient for me to add to Dr. lieid's strictures, that Mr. Locke's language has, in the present instance, been suggested to him by the partial view which he took of the subject ; his illustrations being chiefly borrowed from mathematics, and the relations about which it is conversant. When applied to these relations, it is undoubtedly possible to annex some sense to such phrases as comparing ideas, — the juxta-position of ideas, — the perception of the agreements or disagreements of ideas : but, in most other branches of know- ledge, this jargon will be found, on examination, to be altogether unmeaning ; and, instead of adding to the precision of our notions, to involve plain facts in technical and scholastic mystery. This last observation leads me to remark farther, that even when Locke s])eaks of reasoning in general, he seems in many cases to have had a tacit reference, in his own mind, to mathematical demonstration ; and the same criticism may be extended to every logical writer whom I know, not excepting Aristotle himself. Perhaps it is chiefly owing to this, that their discussions are so ofien of very little practical utility; the rules which result from them being wholly superfluous, when applied to mathematics ; and, when extended to other branches of knowledge, being unsuscep- tible of any precise or even intelligible interpretation. II. Conclusions obtained by a Process of Deduction often mistaken for Intuitive Judgments.— \t has been frequently remarked, that the justest and most efficient understandings are often possessed by men who are incapable of stating to others, or even to themselves, the grounds on which they proceed in forming their decisions! [In some instances, I have been disposed to ascribe this to the faults of early education ; but in other cases, I am persuaded, that 334 PART II. CHAP. II. it was the effect of active and imperious habits m quickening the evanescent processes of thou-ht, so as to render them untraceable by the memory ; and to give the apptarance of tntiation to what was in fact the result of a train of reasoning so rapid as to escape notice. This I conceive to be the true theory of what is generally called common sense, in opposition to book learnmg ; and it serves to account for the use which has been made of this phrase, by various writers, as synonymous with intuition.] These seemingly instantaneous judgments have always appeared to me as entitled to a greater share of our confidence than many of our more deliberate conclusions ; inasmuch as they have been forced, as it were, on the mind by the lessons of long experience ; and are as little liable to be biassed by temper or passion, as the estimates we form of the distances of visible objects. Tliey consti- tute, indeed, to those who are habitually engaged in the busy scenes of life, a sort of peculiar faculty, analogous, both in its origin and iii it-^use' to the coup (Vceil of the military engineer, or to the quick and sure tact of the medical practitioner, in marking the diagnostics of disease. ,,...,. • ^ • For this reason, I look upon the distinction between our intui- tive and deductive judgments as, in many cases, merely an object of theoretical curiosity. In those simple conclusions which all men are impelled to form by the necessities of their nature, and in which we find an uniformity not less constant than in the acquired perceptions of sight, it is of as little consequence to the logician to spend his time in efforts to retrace the first stej)s of the infant understanding, as it would be to the sailor or the sportsman to study, with a view to the improvement of his eye, the Berkcleian theory of vision. In both instances, the original faculty and the acquired judgment are equally entitled to be considered as the work of nature ; a'nd in both instances we find it equally impossible to shake off her authority. It is no wonder, therefore, that, in popular lan"^uao-e, such words as common sense and reason should be used with a considerable degree of latitude; nor is it of much import- ance to the philosopher to aim at extreme nicety in defining their province, where all mankind, whether wise or ignorant, think and speak alike. /. . j . n In some rare and anomalous cases, a rapidity of judgment m the more complicated concerns of life, appears in individuals who have had so few opportunities of profiting by experience, that it seems, on a superficial view, to be the immediate gift of heaven. But, in all such instances (although a great deal must undoubtedly be ascribed to an inexplicable aptitude or predisposition of the intel- lectual powers), we may be perfectly assured, that every jud^jment of the understanding is preceded by a process of reasoning or deduction, whether the individual himself be able to recollect it or not. Of this I can no more doubt, than I could bring myself to believe that the arithmetical prodigy, who has, of late, so justly OF REASONING AND OF DEDUCTIVE EVIDENCE. 335 attracted the attention of the curious, is able to extract square and cube roots by an instinctive and instantaneous perception, because the process of mental calculation, by which he is led to the result, eludes all his efforts to recover it. (See note bb.) It is remarked by Mr. Hume, with respect to the elocution of OHvcr Cromwell, that "it was always confused, embarrassed, and unintelligible." "The great defect, however," he adds, "in Oliver's speeches consisted, not in his want of elocution, but in his want of ideas ; the sagacity of his actions and the absurdity of his discourse, forming the most prodigious contrast that ever was known." " in the great variety of human geniuses,*' says the same historian, uj)on a dittbrent occasion, " there are some which, thou^h they see their object clearly and distinctly in general ; yet, when they come to unibld its parts by discourse or writing/lose that luminous conception which they had before attained. All accoujits agree in ascribing to Cromwell a tiresome, dark, unintelligible elocution, even when he had no intention to disguise his meaning: yet. no man s actions were ever, in such a variety of difficult inci- dents, more decisive and judicious." The case here described may be considered as an extreme one ; but every person of common observation must recollect facts some- what analogous, which have fallen under his own notice. Indeed, it is no more than we should expect, a priori, to meet with in every individual whose early habits have trained him more to the active business of the world, than to those pursuits which prepare the mind for communicating to others its ideas and feelings with clear- ness and effect. An anecdote which I heard, many years ago, of a late very emi- nent Judge (Lord Mansfield) has often recurred to my memory, while reflecting on these apparent inconsistencies of intellectual character. A friend of his, who possessed excellent natural talents, but who had been prevented, by his professional duties as a naval officer, froni bestowing on them all the cultivation of which they were susceptible, having been recently appointed to the government of Jamaica, happened to express some doubts of his competency to preside in the Court of Chancery. Lord Mansfield assured him that he would find the difficulty not so great as he apprehended. " Trust," he said, " to your own good sense in forming your opin- ions ; but beware of attempting to state the grounds of your judg- ments. The judgment will probably be right—the argument wTu infallibly be wrong." (See note cc.) From what has been said, it seems to follow, that although a man should happen to reason ill in support of a sound conclusion, we are by no means entitled to infer with confidence, that he judord right merely by accident. It is far from being impossible that^'he may have committed some mistake in stating to others (perhaps i i retracing to himself) the grounds upon which his judgineiit\vas really founded. Indeed, this must be the case, wherever a shrewd 336 PART n. CHAP. II. understanding in business is united with an incapacity for clear and luminous reasoning; and something of the same sort is incident, more or less, to all men (more particularly to men of quick parts) when they make an attempt, in discussions concerning human affairs, to remount to first principles. It may be added, that in the old, this correctness of judgment often remains, in a surprising degree, long after the discursive or argumentative power would seem, from some decay of attention, or confusion in the succession of ideas, to have been sensibly impaired by age or by disease. In consequence of these views, as well as of various others foreign to the present subject, I am led to entertain great doubts about the solidity of a very specious doctrine laid down by Condorcet, in his " Essay on the Application of Mathematical Analysis to the Proba- bilities of Decisions resting upon the Votes of a Majority.** " It is extremely possible," he observes, "that the decision which unites in its favour the greatest number of suffrages, may comprehend a variety of propositions, some of which, if stated apart, would have liad a plurality of voices against them ; and, as the truth of a system of propositions supposes that each of the propositions composing it is true, the probability of the system can be rigorously deduced only from an examination of the probability of each proposition, separately considered."* When the theory is applied to a court of law, it is well known to involve one of the nicest questions in practical jurisprudence; and, in that light, I do not presume to have formed any opinion with respect to it. It may be doubted, perhaps, if it be not one of those problems, the solution of which, in particular instances, is more safely entrusted to discretionary judgment than to the rigorous application of any technical rule founded on abstract principles. I have introduced the quotation here, merely on account of the proof which it has been supposed to afford, that the seeming diversities of human belief fall, in general, greatly short of the reality. On this point, the considerations already stated, strongly incline me to entertain an idea directly contrary. My reasons for thinking so may be easily collected from the tenor of the preceding remarks. It is time, however, to proceed to the examination of those discursive processes, the different steps of which admit of being distinctly stated and enunciated in the form of logical arguments, and which, in consequence of this circumstance, furnish more certain and palpable data for our speculations. I begin with some remarks on the Power of General Reasoning, for the exercise of which (as I formerly endeavoured to show) the use of language, as an instru- ment of thought, is indispensably requisite. * Essai siir I'Application de TAnaljse a la Probabilite des Decisions rendues a la pluralite des Voix. — Disc. Prel. pp. 46, 47. Some of the expressions in the above quotation are not agreeable to the idiom of our lanejuajje ; but I did not think myself entitled to depart from the phraseology of the original. The meaning is sufficiently obvious. OF GENERAL REASONING. 337 CHAPTER III. OF GENERAL REASONING. I. Illvstratiom of some Remarks formerly stated in treating of Abstraction. — I should scarcely have thought it necessary to resume the consideration of Abstraction here, if I had not neglected, in my First Part, to examine the force of an objection to Berkeley's doc- trine concerning abstract general ideas, on which great stress is laid by Dr. Reid, in his Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man ; and which some late writers seem to have considered as not less conclusive against the view of the question which I have taken. Of this objection I was aware from the first, but was unwilling, by replying to it in form, to lengthen a discussion which savoured so much of the schools, more especially as I conceived that I had guarded my own argument from any such attack, by the cautious terms m which I had expressed it. Having since had reason to believe that I was precipitate in forming this judgment, and that Keid s Strictures on Berkeley's theory of General Signs have pro- duced a deeper impression than I had expected,* I shall endeavour to obviate them, at least as far as they apply to myself, before entering on any new speculations concerning our reasoning powers, and shall, at the same time, introduce some occasional illustrations of the principles which I formerly endeavoured to establish. To prevent the possibility of misrepresentation, I state Dr. Reid's objection in his own words. " Berkeley, in his reasoning against abstract general ideas, seems unwilhngly or unwaringly to grant all that is necessary to support abstract and general conceptions. " A man," says Berkeley, " may consider a figure merely as tri- angular, without attending to the particular qualities of the angles, or relations of the sides. So far he may abstract. But this will never prove that he can frame an abstract general inconsistent idea of a triangle." Upon this passage Dr. Reid makes the following remark : " If a man may consider a figure merely as triangular, he must have some conception of this object of his consideration ; for no man can con- sider a thing which he does not conceive. He has a conception, therefore, of a triangular figure, merely as such. I know no more that is meant by an abstract general conception of a triangle." " He that considers a figure merely as triangular (continues the same author) must understand what is meant by the word triangular. If to the conception he joins to this word, he adds any particular * See a book entitled, Elements of Intellectual PhUosophy, by the late learned and •'ilfn/x'^ff"^'^ ^'^'' ^*^"' **^ *^'<' ^°"^&^' Aberdeen, p. 118, et seq. (Edinburgh, IHOo.) I have not thought it necessary to reply to Mr. Scott's own reasonings, which do not appear to me to throw much new light on the question ; but I thought it right to refer to them here, that the reader may, if he pleases, have an opportunity of judeine for himself. / ^ o o 338 PART II. CIIAP. III. quality of angles or relation of sides, he misunderstands it, and does not consider the figure merely as triangular. Whence I think it is evident, that he who considers a figure merely as triangular, must have the conception of a triangle, abstracting from any qua- lity of angles or relations of sides." (Reid's Intellectual Powers, Essay V. chap. vi. § 13. 8vo. edit. 1843.) For what appears to myself to be a satisfactory answer to this reasoning, I have only to refer to the First Part of these Elements. The remarks to which 1 allude are to be found in the third section of chapter fourth ; and I must beg leave to recommend them to the attention of my readers, as a necessary preparation for the following discussion. In the farther prosecution of the same argument, Dr. Reid lays hold of an acknowledgment which Berkeley has made, " That we may consider Peter so far forth as man, or so far forth as animal, inasmuch as all that is perceived is not considered.'* — " It may here," says Reid, " be observed, that he who considers Peter so far forth as man, or so far forth as animal, must conceive the meaning of those abstract general words man and animal ; and he who con- ceives the meaning of them, has an abstract general conception.** According to the definition of the word conception, which I have given in treating of that faculty of tlie mind, a general conception is an obvious impossibility. But, as Dr. Reid has chosen to annex ' a more extensive meaning to the term than seems to me consistent with precision, I would be far from being understood to object to his conclusion, merely because it is inconsistent with an arbitrary definition of my own. Let us consider, therefore, how far this doctrine is consistent with itself; or rather, since both parties are evidently so nearly agreed about the principal fact, which of the two have adopted the more perspicuous and philosophical mode of stating it. In the first place, then, let it be remembered as a thing admitted on both sides, " that we have a power of reasoning concerning a figure considered merely as triangular, without attending to the particular qualities of the angles, or relations of the sides ;'* and also, that " we may reason concerning Peter or John, considered so far forth as man, or so far forth as animal." About these facts there is but one opinion ; and the only question is. Whether it throws additional light on the subject, to tell us, in scholastic language, that " we are enabled to carry on these general reasonings, in con- sequence of the power which the mind has of forming abstract general conceptions." To myself it appears, that this last statement (even on the supposition that the word conception is to be under- stood agreeably to Dr. Reid's own explanation), can serve no other purpose than that of involving a plain and simple truth in obscurity and mystery. If it be used in the sense in which I have invariably employed it in this work, the proposition is altogether absurd and incomprehensible. OF GENERAL REASONING. 339 For the more complete illustration of this point, I must here recur to a distinction formerly made between the abstractions which are subservient to reasoning, and those which are subservient to imagination. " In every instance in which imagination is employed m forming new wholes, by decompounding and combining the perceptions of sense, it is evidently necessary that the poet or the painter should be able to state or represent to himself the circum- stances abstracted, as separate objects of conception. But this is by no means requisite in every case in which abstraction is subser- vient to the power of reasoning; for it frequently happens, that we can reason concerning the quality or property of an object abstracted from the rest, while, at the same time, we find it impossible to conceive it separately. Thus, I can reason concerning extension and hgure, without any reference to colour, although it may be doubted, if a person possessed of sight, can make extension and hgure steady objects of conception, without connecting with them the idea of one colour or another. Nor is this always owing (as it IS in the instance just mentioned) merely to the association of ideas ; for there are cases, in which we can reason concerning things sepa- rately, which it is impossible for us to suppose any mind so consti- tuted as to conceive a part. Thus we can reason concerning length, abstracted from any other dimension ; although, surely, no understanding can make length, without breadth, an object of con- ception."— (First Part, page 84). In like manner, while I am studying Euclid's demonstration of the equality of the three angles of a triangle to two right angles, I find no difficuhv in following his tram of reasoning, although it has no reference whatever to the specific size or to the specific form of the diagram before me. I abstract therefore, in this instance, from both of these circumstances presented to my senses by the immediate objects of my perceptions ; and yet, it is manifestly impracticable for me either to delineate on paper, or to conceive in the mind, such a figure as shall not include the circumstances from which I abstract, as well as those on which the demonstration hinges. In order to form a precise notion of the manner in which this process of the mind is carried on, it is necessary to attend to the close and inseparable connexion which exists between the faculty of general reasoning, and the use of artificial language. It is in consequence of the aids which this lends to our natural faculties, that we are furnished with a class of signs, expressive of all the circumstances which we wish our reasonings to comprehend ; and, at the same time, exclusive of all those which we wish to leave out of consideration. The word triangle, for instance, when used without any additional epithet, confines the attention to the three angles and three sides of the figure before us ; and reminds us, as we proceed, that no step of our deduction is to turn on any of the specific varieties which that figure may exhibit. The notion, bow- ever, which we annex to the word triangle, while we are reading Z "'"?X' \ '^^^^^^ make no apology for prosecuting the subject a little larther, before leaving this branch of my argument. !„„,„,., ««.♦ It will not, I apprehend, be denied, that when a learner first enters on the study of geometry, he 5'^°*'^/'•^*•'^.*^'Tn!"L Tn him as individual objects, and as individual objects alone In reading, for example, the demonstration just referred to, ot the equality of the three angles of every triangle to two right angles he thinks only of the triangle which is presented to h«>nj>« ''e margin of the page. Nay, so completely does this particular figure engross his attention, that it is not without some difficulty he, m the first instance, transfers the demonstration to another triangle whose form is very different, or even to the same triangle placed in an inverted position. It is in order to correct this natural bias of the mind, that a judicious teacher, after satisfymg himself that the student comprehends perfectly the f"--" <>f t''!.f/"*'"^l^*;";i' as applicable to the particular triangle which Euchd has selected, is led to vary the diagram in different ways, with a view to show him, that the very same demonstration, expressed "' tl^f. y^J *»^^^ form of words, is equally applicable to them all. In this manner h J comes, by s ow degrees, to comprehend the nature of genera reasoning establishing insensibly in his mind this fundamental logical principle, that when the enunciation of a mathematical pro- position involves only a certain portion of the attributes of he diagram which is employed to illustrate it, the same P^*^' 'O" must hold true of any other diagram involving the same attnbutes how much soever distinguished from it by other specific pecu- liintiGS t * ** By'thi* imposition of names, some of larger, some of fj^^^ f^^jj^^^^^^^^ tumtheLkoningof the consequences of ^Wngs imagined .n the m^^^^^^^ ing of the consequences of appellations. ^^ ^^^if ' * Tmh? if he «1 l^fore hU 8i5ech at all (such as is bom and remains perfectly deaf and dumb) if he ^^^""J^^^ efes a triangll and by it two right angles i-^^^^^^^^ a"^eTof^h\tTrngira:^ he raav by meditation compare and find, that the three a"£^* "IJ"" , f ^.f. equal to those right angles that stand by it. But if »»«*^f J^^^^^^J^, ^^J^er* the ferent in shape from the former, he cannot ^"«%^;'\«"* Vh\^.^^^^^ three angle/of that also be equal to the same. But ^« ^^ J*^ ^^**^i*^^^ when he observes that such equality was conseciuent, not to the length of J^« «'^^;^"J to any particular thing in this triangle; but only to this, that the s des ™« s^''/»K«^ and ih? angles threet and that that was all ^f ^'^^^^ »»« ^f »* J,f *^^^^ boldly conclude universally, that such equality of angles is m all ^^^^^^ ^^^'^^^J^ and register his invention in these general terms, Every *"*.»«^^«„^»i^ .f/ .^^^^^ i^oual to two rijrht anries. And thus the consequence found in one particular, comes, o Trerist ^dandr^^^^^^^^ an universal rule ; and discharges our n^ental recko^i- ^JofZe and place ; and delivers us from all labour of ^l»^«""f ' ^^^J^^^tU ^- makes that which was found true here, and now, to be true m all times and places. "tt'o?Lr\^o im^Tess fh& still mo. forcibly with the --o-i.^^^^^ have supposed that it might be useful, in an elementary work, such as tluit of Euchd, Of all the gensralisatlons in geometry, there are none into which the mind enters so easily, as those which relate to diversities in point of size or magnitude. Even in reading the very first demon- strations of Euclid, the learner almost immediately sees, that the scale on which the diagram is constructed, is as completely out of the question as the breadth or the colour of the lines which it pre- sents to his external senses. The demonstration, for example of the fourth proposition, is transferred, without any conscious process oi reflection, from the two triangles on the margin of the pa^e to those comparatively large ones which a public teacher exhibits'on his board or slate to a hundred spectators. I have frequently however, observed in beginners, while employed in copying such elementary diagrams, a disposition to make the copy, as nearly as po^ible, both m size and figure, a fac-simile of the original. The generalisations which extend to varieties of form and of position, are accomplished much more slowly ; and, for this obvious reason, that these varieties are more strongly marked and discrimi- nated froni one another, as objects of vision and of conception. How difficult (comparatively speaking) in such instances, the generalising process is, appears manifestly from the embarrassment which students experience, in applying the fourth proposition to the demonstration of the fifth. The inverted position, and the partial coincidence of the two little triangles below the base seem to render their mutual relation so different from that of the two separate triangles which had been previo-isly familiarised to the eye, that it is not surprising this step of the reasoning should be to omit the diagrams altogether, leaving the student to deUneate them for himself agreeably to the terms of the enunciation and of the construction. And were the study of geometry to be regarded merely as subservient to that of logic, much miffht be aUeged in confirniat.on of this idea. Where, however, it is the m'aii purpose of the teacher (as almost ^ways happens) to familiarise the mind of his pupil with the funda- mental pnnc^les of the science, as a preparation for the study of physics and of the other parts of mixed mathematics, it cannot be denied, that such a practice would be far less favourable to the memory than the plan which Euclid has adopted, of annexing o each theorem an appropriate diagram, with which the general truth comes very soon to be strongly associated. Nor is this circumstance found to be attended in practice with he inconvenience it may seem to threaten ; inasmuch as the student, without any reflection whatever on logical principles, generalises the particular example, according to the different cases which may occur, as easily and unconsciously as he could have applied to these cases the general enunciation. «fp"<=" J^^ ^T^"'?,''!' T^ ^^ exteiwle.1 to the other departments of our knowledge- in all of which It will be found useful to associate v^nth every important general conclusion some particular example or iUustration, calculated as much as possible, to presen an .mpressive image to the power of conception. By this means, wiiilc the example give us a firmer hold, and a readier command of the general theorem, the theorem in its turn serv es to correct the errors into which the judgment might be led bTthr specific pract^e recommended by Bacon, of connecting emblems and prsnotions as the most powerful of all adminicles to the faculty of memory'; and heLe the a^d which X' faculty may be expected to receive, in point of promptitude, if not of con-ectTies s f^om a lively .Imagination Nor is it the least advantage of this ^actice? thatTs^PpU^^^^^ at aU times with ready and apposite dlustrations to facilitate the communication of our TLT! '^T 'T' *^.«',^^7- ^B»t *^e prosecution of these hints would lead me too lar astrn- from the subject of this section. v 342 PART II. CHAP. III. followed, by the mere novice, with some degree of doubt and hesi- tation. Indeed, where nothing of this sort is manifested, I should be more inclined to ascribe the apparent quickness of his appre- hension to a retentive memory, seconded by implicit faith in his instructor ; than to regard it as a promising symptom of mathe- matical genius. Another, and perhaps a better, illustration of that natural logic which is exemplified in the generalisation of mathematical reason- ings, may be derived from those instances where the same demon- stration applies, in the same words, to what are called, in geometry, the different cases of a proposition. In the commencement of our studies, we read the demonstration over and over, applying it successively to the different diagrams ; and it is not without some wonder we discover, that it is equally adapted to them all. In process of time, we learn that this labour is superfluous; and if we find it satisfactory in one of the cases, can anticipate with con- fidence tlie justness of the general conclusion, or the modifications which will be necessary to accommodate it to the different forms of which the hypothesis may admit. The algebraical calculus, however, when applied to geometry, places the foregoing doctrine in a point of view still more striking ; "representing," to borrow the words of Dr. Halley, "all the possible cases of a problem at one view ; and often in one general theorem comprehending whole sciences ; which deduced at length into propositions, and demonstrated after the manner of the ancients, might well become the subject of large treatises." (Philos. Transact. No. 205. Miscell. Cur. vol. i. p. 348.) Of this remark, Halley gives an instance in a formula, which when he first published it, was justly regarded " as a notable instance of the great use and comprehensiveness of algebraic solutions." I allude to his formula for finding universally the foci of optic lenses ; an example which I purposely select, as it cannot fail to be familiarly known to all who have the slightest tincture of mathematical and physical science. In such instances as these, it will not surely be supposed, that while we read the geometrical demonstration, or follow the succes- sive steps of the algebraical process, our general conceptions embrace all the various possible cases to which our reasonings extend. So very difterent is the fact, that the wide grasp of the conclusion is discovered only by a sort of subsequent induction ; and, till habit has familiarised us with similar discoveries, they never fail to be attended with a certain degree of unexpected delight. Dr. Halley seems to have felt this strongly when the optical formula, already mentioned, first presented itself to his mind. [In the foregoing remarks, I have borrowed my examples from mathematics, because, at the period of life when we enter on this study, the mind has arrived at a sufficient degree of maturity to be able to reflect accurately on every step of its own progress; OF GENERAL REASONING- 343 whereas, in those general conclusions to which we have been habituated from childhood, it is quite impossible for us to ascertain by any direct examination, what the processes of thought were' which originally led us to adopt them.] In this point of view, the' first doubtful and unassured steps of the young geometer, present to the logician a peculiarly interesting and instructive class of phenomena, for illustrating the growth and development of our reasoning powers. The true theory, more especially of general reasoning, may be here distinctly traced by every attentive observer and may hence be confidently applied (under due limitations) to all the other departments of human knowledge.* From what has been now said, it would appear, that, in order to arrive at a general conclusion in mathematics (and the same ob«?er- vation holds with respect to other sciences) two different processes of reasoning are necessary. The one is the demonstration of the proposition in question ; in studying which we certainly think of nothing but the individual diagram before us. The other is, the train of thought by which we transfer the particular conclusion to which we have been thus led, to anv other diagram to which the same enunciation is equally applicable. As this last train of thought is, m all cases, essentially the same, we insensibly cease to repeat It when the occasion for employing it occurs, till we come at length, ♦The view of general reasoning which is given above, appears to mvself to afford (without any comment) a satisfactorj- answer to the following argument of the late worthy and learned Dr. Price : "That the universality consists in the idea, and not merely in the name, as used to signify a number of particulars, resembling that which IS the immediate object of reflection, is plain ; because, was the idea to which the name answers, and which it recalls into the mind, only a particular one, we could not know to what other ideas to apply it, or what particular objects had the resemblance neces- sary to bring them within the meaning of the name. A person, in reading over' a mathematical demonstration, certainly is conscious that it relates to somewhat else than just that precise tigure i)resented to him in the diagram. But if he knows not what else of what use can the demonstration be to him? How is his knowledge enlarged bv It ? Or how shall he know afterwards to what to apply it ?" In a note upon this passage. Dr. Price observes, that, '« according to Dr. Cudworth abstract ideas are implied in the cognoscitive power of the mind ; which he says con' tarns m itself virtually (as the future plant or tree is contained in the seed) general notions or exemplars of all things, which are exerted by it, or unfold and discover themselves, as occasions invite, and proper circumstances occur." " This no doubt " Dr. Price adds, " many will very freely condemn as whimsical and extravagant. I have 1 own, a ditfen'nt opinion of it ; but yet I should not care to be obliged to defend it "~ Review of the Principal Questions in Morals, pp. 38-39, 2nd edit. For my own part, I have no scruple to say, that I consider this fancy of Cudworth as not only whimsical and extravagant, but as altogether unintelhgible ; and yet it appears to me, that some confused analogy of the same sort must exist in the mind of ever\- person who imagines that he has the power of forming general conceptions with- out the intermediation of language. In the continuation of the same note, Dr. Price seems disposed to sanction another remark of Dr. Cudworth : in which he pronounces the opinion of the Nominalists to be so ridiculous and false, as to deserve no confutation. I suspect, that when Dr Cudworth wrote this splenetic and oracular sentence, he was out of humoSr with some argument of Hobhes, which he found himself unable to answer. It is not a Httle re> markable, that the doctrine which he here treats with so great contempt, should, with a ver)' few exceptions, have united the suffrages of all the soundest philosophers of the eighteenth century. , I i I 344 PART II. CHAP. Hi, OF GENERAL REASONING. without any reflection, to generalise our particular conclusion the moment it is formed ; or, in other words, to consider it as a propo- sition comprehending an indefinite variety of particular trutlis. When this habit is established, we are apt to imagine, — forgetting the slow steps by which the habit was acquired, — that the general conclusion is an immediate inference from a general demonstration ; and that, although there was only one particular diagram present to our external senses, we must have been aware, at every step, that our thoughts were really conversant, not about this diagram, but about general ideas, or, in Dr. Reid's language, general concep- tions. Hence the familiar use among logicians of these scholastic and mysterious phrases, which, whatever attempts may be made to interpret them in a manner not altogether inconsistent with good sense, have unquestionably the effect of keeping out of view the real procedure of the human mind in the generalisation of its knowledjje. Dr. Reid seems to be of opinion, that it is by the power of form- ing general conceptions that man is distinguished from the brutes ; for he observes, that " Berkeley's system goes to destroy the barrier between the rational and animal natures." I must own I do not perceive the justness of this remark, at least in its application to the system of the Nominalists, as I have endeavoured to explain and to limit it in the course of this work. On the contrary, it appears to me, that the account which has been just given of general reasoning, by ascribing to a process of logical deduction (presup- posing the previous exercise of abstraction or analysis) what Dr. Reid attempts to explain by the scholastic and not very intelligible phrase of general conceptions, places the distinction between man and brutes in a far clearer and stronger light than that in which philosophers have been accustomed to view it. That it is to the exclusive possession of the faculty of abstraction, and of the other powers subservient to the use of general signs, that our species is chiefly indebted for its superiority over the other animals, I shall afterwards endeavour to show. It still remains for me to examine an attempt which Dr. Reid has made to convict Berkeley of an inconsistency in the statement of his argument against abstract general ideas. *• Let us now con- sider," says he, " the bishop's notion of generalising. An idea," he tells us, "which, considered in itself, is particular, becomes general, by being made to represent or stand for all other particular ideas of the same sort. To make this plain by an example. * Sup- pose,* says Berkeley, * a geometrician is demonstrating the method of cutting a line into two equal parts. He draws, for instance, a black line of an inch in length. This, which is in itself a particular 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 345 becomes general by being made a sign, so the same line, which, taken absolutely, is particular, by being a sign, is made general." ' " Here," continues Dr. Reid, " I observe, that when a particular idea is made a sign to represent and stand for all of a sort, this sup- poses a distinction of things into sorts or species. To be of a sort, implies having those attributes which characterise the sort, and are common to all the individuals that belong to it. There cannot, therefore, be a sort without general attributes ; nor can there be' any conception of a sort without a conception of those general attri- butes which distinguish it. The conception of a sort, therefore, is an abstract general conception. *|The particular idea cannot surely be made a sign of a thin^ of which we have no conception. I do*^ not say, that y'ou must have an idea of the sort ; but surely you ought to understand or conceive what it means, when you make a particular idea a representative of it; otherwise your particular idea represents you know not what." Reid's Intel. Powers. Essay V. Chap. vi. § 16. &c. Although I do not consider myself as called upon to defend all the expressions which Berkeley may have employed in support of his opinion on this question, I must take the liberty of remarking-, that, in the present instance, he appears to me to have been treated with an undue severity. By ideas of the same sort, it is plain he meant nothing more than things called by the same name, and, con- sequently (if our illustrations are to be borrowed from mathematics) comprehended under the terms of the same definition. In such cases, t!ie individuals thus classed together are completely identified as subjects of reasoning; insomuch, that what is proved with respect to one individual must hold equally true of all the others. As it is an axiom in geometry, that things which are equal to one and the same thing, are equal to one another ; so it may be stated, as a maxim in lo^ic, that whatever things have the same name applied to them, in consequence of their being comprehended in the terms of the same definition, may all be considered as the same identical subject, in every case where that definition is the principle on which our reasoning proceeds. In reasoning, accordingly, con- cerning any sort or species of things, our thoughts have no occasion to wander from the individual sign or representative to which the attention happens to be directed, or to attempt the fruitless task of grasping at those specific varieties which are avowedly excluded from the number of our premises. As every conclusion which is logically deduced from the definition must, of necessity, hold equally true of all the individuals to which the common name is applicable, these individuals are regarded merely as so many units, which go to the composition of the multitude comprehended under the collective or generic term. Nor has the power of conception anything more to do in the business, than when we think of the units expressed by a particular number in an arith- metical computation. I 'i! m 346 PART II. CHAP. lU. OF GENERAL REASONING. 347 The word sort is evidently transferred to our intellectual arrange- ments, from those distributions of material objects into separate heaps or collections, which the common sense of mankind univer- sally leads them to make for the sake of the memory ; or (which is perhaps nearly the same thing) with a view to the pleasure arising from the perception of order. B^ A familiar instance of this pre- sents itself in the shelves, and drawers, and parcels, to which every shop-keeper has recourse for assorting, according to their respective denominations and prices, the various articles which compose bis stock of goods. In one parcel (for example) he collects and incloses under one common envelope, all his gloves of a particular size and quality; in another, all his gloves of a different size and quality; and, in like manner, he proceeds with the stockings, shoes, hats, and the various other commodities with which his warehouse is filled. By this means, the attention of his shop-boy, instead of being bewildered among an infinitude of particulars, is confined to parcels or assortments of particulars ; of each of which parcels a distinct idea may be obtained from an examination of any one of the individuals contained in it. These individuals, therefore, are, in his apprehension, nothing more than so many units in a multi- tude, any one of which units is perfectly equivalent to any other ; while, at the same time, the parcels themselves, notwithstanding the multitude of units of wliich they are made up, distract his attention, and burden his memory as little, as if they were indivi- dual articles. The trutli is, that they become to his mind individual objects of thought, like a box of counters, or a rouleau of guineas, or any of the other material aggregates with which his senses are conversant; or, to take an example still more apposite to our present purpose, like the phrases one thousand, or one million, when considered merely as simple units entering into the compo- sition of a numerical sum. The task which I have here supposed the tradesman to perform, in order to facilitate the work of his shop-boy, is exactly analogous, in its effect, to the aid which is furnished to the infant underst^and- ing by the structure of its mother-tongue; the generic words which abound in language assorting, and (if I may use the expression) packing uj), under a comparatively small num'ber of comprehensive terms, the multifarious objects of human knowledge.* In conse- quence of the generic terms to which, in civilised society, the mind IS early familiarised, the vast multiplicity of things which compose the furniture of this globe are presented to it, n >t as they occur to the senses of the untaught savage, but as they have been arranged and distributed into parcels or assortments by the successive observ- ations and reflections of our predecessors. Were these arrange- ments and distributions agreeable, in every instance, to sound philosophy, the chief source of the errors to which we are liable in * The same analogy had occurred to Locke. •* To shorten its way to knowled'^, and make each perception more cornprrhrn>iv.'. the mind binds thmt mtn hundles." " all our general conclusions, would be removed ; but it would be too much to expect, with some late theorists, that, even in the most advanced state either of physical or of moral science this supposition is ever to be realised in all its extent At the same time, It must be remembered, that the obvious tendency of the pro- gressive reason and experience of the species, is to diminish more and more the imperfections of the classifications which have been transmitted from ages of comparative ignorance ; and, of conse- quence, to render language more and more a safe and powerful organ for the investi^^ation of truth. The only science which furnishes an exception to these observa- tions IS mathematics ; a science essentially distinguished from every other by this remarkable circumstance, that the precise import of Its generic terms is fixed and ascertained by the definitions which form the basis of all our reasonings, and in which, of consequence the very possibihty of error in our classifications is precluded by the virtual identity of all those hypothetical objects of thought to which the same generic term is apphed. I intend to prosecute this subject farther, before concluding my observations on general reasoning. At present, I have only to add to the foregoing remarks, that, [in the comprehensive theorems of the philosopher, as well as in the assortments of the tradesman, I cannot perceive a single step of the understanding, which implies anything more than the notion of number, and the use of a common Upon the whole, it appears to me, that the celebrated dispute concerning abstract general ideas, which so long divided the schools IS novv reduced, among correct thinkers, to this simple question of fact, C ould the human mind, without the use of signs of one kind or another, have carried on general reasonings, or formed general conclusions ? Before arguing with any person on the subject, I should wish for a categorical explanation on this preliminary point. Indeed, every other controversy connected with it turns on little more than the meaning of words. A difference of opinion with respect to this question of fact (or rather, I suspect, a want of attention in some of the disputants to tbe great variety of signs of which the mind can avail itself, inde- pendently of words) still continues to keep up a sort of distinction between the Nominalists and the Conceptualists. As for the Realists, they may, I apprehend, be fairly considered, in the present state of science, as having been already forced to lay down their arms. That the doctrine of the Nominalists has been stated by some writers of note in very unguarded terms, I do not deny,* nor am I * ff**fl*^f,\y ^y "oW>es, some of whose incidental remarks and expressions would certainly, it followed strictly out to their logical consequences, lead to the complete subversion of truth, as a thing real, and independent of human opinion. It is to this, 1 presume, that Leibnitz alludes, when he says of him, "Thomas llobbes, qui ut verum I .) I'. ^^1 h }\ k 348 PART II. CHAP. III. OF GENERAL REASONING. 349 certain that it was ever delivered by any one of the schoolmen in a form completely unexceptionable ; but after the luminous, and, at the same time, cautious manner in which it has been unfolded by Berkeley and his j^uccessors, I own it appears to me not a little surprising, that men of talents and candour should still be found inclined to shut their eyes against the light, and to shelter them- selves in the darkness of the middle ages. For my own part, the longer and the more attentively that I reflect on the subject/ the more am I disposed to acquiesce in the eulogium bestowed on RosceUinus and his followers by Leibnitz ; one of the very few philosophers, if not the only philosopher, of great celebrity, who seems to have been fully aware of the singular merits of those by whom this theory was originally proposed : ** Secta NominaUum . omnium inter scholasticas prof undissima, ethodiernce reformatcp philo sophandi rationi congruentissima .** f It is a theory, indeed, much more congenial to the spirit of the eighteenth than of the eleventh century ; nor must it be forgotten, that it was proposed and main- tained at a period when the algebraical art, (or to express myself more precisely, universal arithmetic,) from which we now borrow our best illustrations in explaining and defending it, was entirely unknown. II. Of Language considered as an Instrument of Thought.— lIaL}fing been led, in defence of some of my own opinions, to introduce a few additional remarks on the controversy with respect to the theory of general reasoning, I shall avail myself of this opportunity to illustrate a little farther anothertopic,(intimately connected with the foregoing argument) on which the current doctrines of modern fdtear, raihi, plus quam nomlnalis videtur." [Thomas Hobbes, who to say the truth appears to be more than a Nominalist.] I shall afterwards point out the mistake by which Hobbes seems to me to have been misled. In the meantime, it is but justice to him to say, that I do not think he had any intention to estabUsh those sceptical conclusions which, it must be owned may be fairly deduced as corollaries from some of liis principles. Of this I would not wish for a stronger proof than his favourite maxim, that - words are the counters of wis*- men, but the money of fools ;" a sentence which expresses, with mar\'ellous concise- ness, not only the proper function of language, as an instrument of reasoning, but the abuses to which it is liable, when in unskilful hands. Dr. Gillies, wlio has taken much pains to establish Aristotle's claims to all that is valuable in the doctrine of the Nominalists, has. at the same time, represented him as the only favourer of this opinion, by whom it has been taught without any admixture of those errors which are blended with it in the works of its modern renvcrs Even Bishop Berkeley himself is involved with Hobbes and Hume in the same sweepine sentence of condemnation. "The language of the NominaUsts seems to have been ext treraely hable to be perverted to the purposes of scepticism, as taking awav the specific chstmctions of things ; and is in fact thus perverted by Hobbes, Berkeley, Hume, and their innumerable followers. But Aristotle's language is not Uable to this abuse." trdlies s Aristotle, vol. i. p. 71, 2nd edit. Among those sceptical followers of Berkeley, we must, I presume, include the late learned and ingenious Ur. Campbell ; whose remarks on this subject I will nevertho- lesb, venture to recommend to the particular attention of my reader:, Indeed I de not know of any writer who has treated it with more acuteness and perspicuity .-See I'hilosophy of Rhetonc, Book li. chap. vii. t " The Nominalists the most profound of the schobstic sects, and most in ac- cordance with the reformed philosophy of the present ilav." logicians seem to require a good deal more of explanation and restriction than has been commonly apprehended. Upon this subject I enter the more willingly, that, in my first volume, I have alluded to these doctrines in a manner which may convey, to some of my readers, the idea of a more complete acquiescence, on my part, in their truth, than I am disposed to acknowledge. In treating of abstraction, I endeavoured to show that we think, as well as speak, by means of words, and that, without the use of language, our reasoning faculty, if it could have been at all exer- cised, must necessarily have been limited to particular conclusions alone. The effects, therefore, of ambiguous and indefinite terms are not confined to our communications with others, but extend to our private and solitary speculations. Dr. Campbell, in his Philo- sophy of Rhetoric, has made some judicious and important observa- tions on this subject ; and, at a much earlier period, it drew the attention of Des Cartes ; who, in the course of a very valuable discussion with respect to the sources of our errors, has laid parti- cular stress on those to which we are exposed from the employ- mtnt of language as an instrument of thought. " And, lastly, in consequence of the habitual use of speech, all our ideas become associated with the words in which we express them ; nor do we ever commit these ideas to memory, >Yithout their accustomed signs. Hence it is, that there is hardly any one subject, of which we have so distinct a notion as to be able to think of it abstracted from all use of language; and, indeed, as we remember words moie easily than things, our thoughts are much more conversant with the former than with the latter. Hence, too, it is, that we often yield our assent to propositions, the meaning of wliich we do not understand ; imagining that we have either examined formerly the import of all the terms involved in them, or that we have adopted these terms on the authority of others upon whose judgment we can rely."* * " Et denique, propter loquclaj usum, conceptus omnes nostros verbis, quibus eos ex|)rimimus, aUigamus, nee eos, nisi siniul cum istis verbis, memoriae mandamus. Cumque facilius postea verborum quam renim recordemur, \ix unquam ulhus rei conceptum habemus tarn (Ustinctum, ut ilium ab omni verborum conceptu separemus ; cogitationesque hominum fere omnium, circa verba magis quam circa res versantiu- ; adeo ut persa?pe vocibus non intellectis pncbeant assensum, qui putant se illos ohm intellexisse, vel ah aliis qui eas recte intelligebant, accepisse." — Princ. Phil. Pars Prima, Ixxiv. I have quoted a very curious passage, neaily to the same purpose, from Leibnitz, in a note annexed to my First Part (sec note l.) I was not then aware of the previous attention which had been given to this source of error by Des Cartes ; nor did I ex- pect to find so explicit an allusion to it in the ^^Titings of Aristotle, as I have since observed in the folio wng paragraph : Aio Kai rutv irapa Tr\v \i^iv ovtoq 6 rpoTrog Oirtoi' Trpd/ror /xcv, 6rt ftaWov ?/ airaTti yivirai fier^ aWojv (TKOTrovfid'OiQ rj Ka9* kavTOvg' >/ fitp yap fiET^ aXXwv ffKe^^ig dia \oyov' >/ h icaO' avrovs, ovx vttov Si avrov tov irpayfiaTOQ' £tra, jcai KaO* av- Tovg airarattQai vvfifiaivii, orav tm tov \oyov Trotijrat ttiv ciceypiv' f rt, »; fiev aTrarri fK TTiQ oftoioTTjroC' ofioiOTrjg, IK r»;c Xt^fwf. — De Sophist. Elenchis, Lib. i. cap. vii. " Wherefore, this sort is to be regarded as one of those in which language is concern- ed. In the first place, because the error happens to those considering along with others rather than by themselves, for consideration with others is by means of words, but by oiurselves it is in a no less degree by means of the object itself ; and in considering by I II ■h t , ^^n^ 350 PART II. CHAP. III. I< To these important considerations, it may be worth while to add that whatever improvements may yet be made in language by philo- sophers, they never can relieve the student from the indispensable task of analysing with accuracy the complex ideas he annexes to the terms employed in his reasonings. The use of general terms as Locke has remarked, is learned, in many cases, before it is pos^ sible for us to comprehend their meaning; and the greater part of mankmd continue to use them through life, without ever being at the trouble to examine accurately the notions they convey. This IS a study which every individual must carry on for himself; and of which no rules of logic (how useful soever they may be in directing our labours) can supersede the necessity. Of the essential utility of a cautious employment of words both as a medmm of communication and as an instrument of thought many strikmg illustrations might be produced from the history of science during the time that the scholastic jargon was current among the learned ; a technical phraseology, which was not only 111 calculated for the discovery of truth, but which was dexterously contrived for the propagation of error; and which gave to those who were habituated to the use of it, great advantages in controversy at least m the ludgment of the multitude, over their more enlio-ht- ened and candid opponents. " A blind wrestler, by fightinor ?n a dark chamber," to adopt an allusion of Des Cartes, " may no? only conceal his defect, but may enjoy some advantages over those who ^e. It is the light of day only that can discover his inferiority " Ihe imperfections of this philosophy, accordingly, have been ex- posed by Des Cartes and his followers, less by the force of their ourselves it happens that we fall into error, when one considers by means of words Mill farther the error is from resemblance, but the resemblance is in consequence of language."— Concerning the Refutation of Sophisms. consequence " Quocirca inter eos (Paralogismos) (|iii in dictione consistunt, hie fallcntU modus est iK)nendus. Pnmum, quia magis decipimur considerantes cum aliis, quam apud nosmetipsos: nam considcratio cimi aliis i>er sermoncra instituitur; apud nosmetinsos autem non nunus fit i)er rem ipsam. Deinde et per nosmetipsos ut fallanuir accidit cum m rebus considcrandis sermo adhiljctur: Pneterea deceptio est ex similitudine ' simihtudo autem ex dictione."— Edit. l)u Val. Vol. i. p. 289. ""t"ine . Lest it should be concluded, however, from this detached remark, that Aristotle had completely anticipated Locke and Condillac in their speculations with respect to Ian guage, considered as an instrument of thought, I must beg of mv readers to compare it With the previous enumeration given by the same author, of those paralogisms or fal- acies which he m the diction, (De Sophist. Elenchis, lib. i. cap. 4 ,.)-recommending to them at the same time, as a useful comment on the original, the twentieth chapter of he third book of a work entitled Institutio Loyica, by the learned and justly cele- brated Dr. Wallis. of Oxford. I select this work in preference to any other modem one on the same subject, as it has l>een lately pronounced, bv an authority for which I entertain a sincere respect, to be "a complete and accurate' treatise of loeic strictly according to the Aristotelian method;" and as we are farther told that it 'is "still used by many in the University to which WaUis belonged, as the lecture-book in that department of s tmly I intend to quote part of this chapter on another occasion. At presi-nt, I shall only observe, that it does not contain the sUghtest reference to the passage which has led me to introduce these observations ; and which, I believe will be now very generally flowed to be of greater value than all those puerile distinc'tions put together, which Dr. Wallis has been at so much pains to illustrate and to exemphfy. OF GENERAL REASONING. 351 reasonings, than by their teaching men to make use of their own faculties, instead of groping in the artificial darkness of the schools ; and to perceive the folly of expecting to advance science by ringing changes on words to which they annexed no clear or precise ideas. In consequence of the influence of these views, the attention of our soundest philosophers was more and more turned, during the course of the last century, to the cultivation of that branch of logic which relates to the use of words. Mr. Locke's observations on this subject, form, perhaps, the most valuable part of his writings ; and, since his time, much additional light has been thro\\ n upon it by Condillac and his successors. Important, however, as this branch of logic is in its practical applications ; and highly interesting, from its intimate connexion with the theory of the human mind, there is a possibility of pushin"-, to an erroneous and dangerous extreme, the conclusions to vvhicli it has led. Condillac himself falls, in no inconsiderable a degree, under this censure ; having, upon more than one occasion, expressed himself as if he conceived it to be possible, by means of precise and definite terms, to reduce reasoning in all the sciences, to a sort of mechanical operation, analogous in its nature to those which are practised by the algebraist on letters of tiie alphabet. " The art of reasoning (he repeats over and over) is nothing more than a lan- guage well arranged." — " L art deraisonner sereduit a une langue bien faite.*'* One of the first persons, as far as I know, who objected to the vagueness and incorrectness of this proposition, w^as M. de Gerando ; to whom we are further indebted for a clear and satisfactory expo- sition of the very important fact to which it relates. To this fact Condillac approximates nearly in various parts of his works ; but never, perhaps, without some degree of indistinctness and of exaggeration. The point of view in which it is placed by his ingenious successor, strikes me as so just and happy, that I cannot deny myself the pleasure of enriching my book with a few of his observations. " It is the distinguishing characteristic of a lively and vigorous conception, to push its speculative conclusions somewhat beyond their just limits. Hence, in the logical discussions of this estimable writer, these maxims (stated without any explanation or restriction), ' That the study of a science is nothing more than the acquisition of a language ;' and, * that a science properly treated is only a language well contrived.* Hence the rash assertion, * That mathematics possess no advantage over other sciences, but what they derive from a better phraseology ; and that all of these might attain to the same characters of simplicity and of certainty, if we knew how to give them signs equally perfect.' " (Des Signes et de I'Art de Penser,t &c. Introd. pp. xx. xxi.) * *• The art of reasoning resolves itself into a well-constructed language." t "Concerning Symbols and the Art of Thinking." \\ 352 PART 11. CHAP. III. OF GENERAL UEA80?iING. It: U "The same task which mast have been executed by those who contributed to the first formation of a language, and which is exe- cuted by every child when he learns to speak it, is repeated over in the mind of every adult when he makes use of his mother tongue ; for it is only by the decomposition of his thoughts that he can learn to select the signs which he ought to employ, and to dis- pose them in a suitable order. Accordingly, those external actions which we call speaking or writing, are always accompanied with a philosophical process of the understanding, unless we content our- selves, as too often happens, with repeating over mechanically what has been said by others. It is in this respect that languages, with their forms and rules, conducting (so to speak) those who use them into the path of a regular analysis ; tracing out to them, in a well-ordered discourse, the model of a perfect decomposition, may be regarded in a certain sense as analytical methods. But I stop short ; Condillac, to whom this idea belongs, has developed it too well to leave any hope of improving upon his statement." In a note upon this passage, however, M. de Gerando has cer- tainly improved not a little on the statement of Condillac. " In asserting," says he, " that languages may be regarded as analytical methods, I have added the qualifying phrase in a certain sense, for the word method cannot be employed here with exact propriety. Languages furnish the occasions and the means of analysis ; that is to say, they afibrd us assistance in following that method : but they are not the method itself. They resemble signals or finger-posts placed on a road to enable us to discover our way ; and if they help us to analyse, it is because they are themselves the results, and, as it were, the monuments of an analysis which has been previously made; nor do they contribute to keep us in the right path, but in proportion to the degree of judgment with which that analysis has been conducted.** (Ibid. pp. 158, 159, torn, i.) I was the more solicitous to introduce these excellent remarks, as I suspect that I have myself indirectly contributed to propagate in this country the erroneous opinion which it is their object to correct. By some of our later writers it has not only been im- plicitly adopted, but has been regarded as a conclusion of too great value to be suffered to remain in the quiet possession of the modems. " Aristotle,'' says the author of a very valuable analysis of his works, " well knew that our knowledge of things chiefly depending on the proper application of language as an instrument of thought, the true art of reasoning is nothing but a language accurately defined and skilfully arranged ; an opinion which, after many idle declamations against his barren generalities and verbal trifling, philosophers have begun very generally to adopt."* After this strong and explicit assertion of the priority of Aris- totle's claim to the opinion which we are here told " philosophers * Aristotle's Ethics, &c. by Dr. Gillies, vol. i. p. 94, 2nd edit. 353 begin very generally to adopt,"* it is to be hoped, that M de rhTifenV^^^^^^ ^«.-J«y ^J- undisputed honoJ InX^lt^gf^^^^ "^^^ ^^^^ ^-^^--^^^ article of logic III. Visionary Theories of some Logicians, occasioned by their in- Sr lT.f:T' f'^'r'^'' 'r^^^ Mathematics'anZZr ^ciences^^ln a passage already quoted from De Gerando he takes notice of what he justly calls a rash assertion of Condillac "Tha mathematics possess no advantage over other science but wha ti^LZleZ^^ better phraseology ; and that all of them in gh^^ attain to the same characters of simplicity and of certaintv if we knew how to give them signs equally perfect." ^' Leibnitz seems to point at an idea of the same sort, in those obscure and enigmatical hints (not altogether worthy in my opinion, of his powerful and comprehensivS genius) wwJh he hZ thrown out, about the miracles to be effected by a nJw art of hi own invention ; to which art he sometimes gives^he name of A s G:ir7^::^^^^^^ and o i^ef of Ars CombintoH: ueneraiis ac Vera. In one of his letters to Mr. OldenburP- he speaks of a plan he had long been meditating, of t^S^ of'tJe wrdTrf. iT^ ^y«;-ans of mathematical demonstrations. ^^Many wonderful things,; he adds, "of this kind have occurred to me^ which, at some future period, I shall explain to the public wTth that logical precision which the subject requires."t In^ the sime .fall our modes of expression, is the most simple, the most exact and th. hllf'J . ^ particular sciences, I did not think it necc^^ if il'^^rS'l"" '•"* ^"^^' "^ mot ont in ,vhat manner CondilL' p^pS'ns were o '^ iSd*". 7 ™*; !." an, truly happy, for the sake of M. De cfrando, h^t T haotned t^ t™ T^^' m ,he same vague and very exceptionable tem.s "n wtch iTZ thL^nT "" ^T .he names « Condillac and one of the most illustriouTorhil Splef '""""""' "' . ^"^1: Ti.herT<;:'''e«7ifrlrVa;':;tH:t" r'^"^ "' "^^ "'»*<'• ^ unparalleled brevity ,hich he LnetiLs affects ti ^^ ' T, <=°r '•"'""'' "^ *''^ "uJtTvrr^Tot ^ -v:^"i^S--S=e-- -rr Satel in^y'tr: rii.^e:X'l\tZr'"'" "'"^ '' "■" '""' »"''"»"'■ •"« a«q-.d„,,uo par est A A I r. ^i 354 PART II. CHAP. in. letter, he intimates his belief in the possibility of inventing an art, "which, with an exactitude resembling that of mechanism, may render the operations of reason steady and visible, and, in their effects on the minds of others, irresistible."* After which he pro- ceeds thus : " Our common algebra, which we justly value so highly, is no more than a branch of that general art which I have here in view. But, such as it is, it puts it out of our power to commit an error, even although we should wish to do so ; while it exhibits truth to our eyes like a picture stamped on paper by means of a machine. It must at the same time be recollected, that algebra is indebted for whatever it accomplishes in the demonstration of general theo- rems to the suggestions of a higher science ; a science which I have been accustomed to call characteristical combination, very different, however, in its nature, from that which these words are likely at first to suggest to the hearer. The marvellous utility of this art I hope to illustrate, both by precepts and examples, if I shall be so fortunate as to enjoy health and leisure. " It is impossible for me to convey an adequate idea of it in a short description. But this I may venture to assert, that no instru- ment (or organ) could easily be imagined of more powerful efficacv for promoting the improvement of the human understanding ; and that, supposing it to be adopted, as the common method of philo- sophising, the time would very soon arrive, when we should be able to form conclusions concerning God and the mind, with not less certainty than we do at present concerning figures and num- bers." (Wallisii Opera, vol. iii. p. 621.) The following passage is translated from another letter of Leib- nitz to the same correspondent : " The matter in question depends on another of much higher moment ; I mean, on a general and true art of combination, of the extensive influence of which I do not knoAV that any person has yet been fully aware. This, in truth, does not differ from that sublime analysis, into the recesses of which Des Cartes himself, as far as I can judge, was not able to penetrate. But, in order to carry it into execution, an alphabet of human thoughts must be previously formed : and for the invention of this alphabet, an analysis of axioms is indispensably necessary. I am not, however, surprised that nobody has yet sufiiciently considered it; for we are, in general, apt to neglect what is easy, and to take many things for granted from their apparent evidence; faults which, while they remain uncorrected, will for ever prevent us from reaching the summit of things intellectual, by the aid of a calculus adapted to moral as well as to mathemathical science." (Wallisii Opera,p.C33.)t * " Quod velut mechanica ratione fixara et visibilem et (ut ita dicam) irresistibilem reddat rationem." t As these reveries of this tndy great man are closely connected with the «ubse- queut hi&tor>' of logical speculation in niore than one country of Europe, I have becu OF CiKXElfAL REASONING. in these extracts from JLeibnitz, as well as in that quoted from Conaillac, m the begmnmg of this article, the essential distinction between mathematics and the other sciences, in point of phraseoloo-v is entirely overlooked. In the former science, where the use of an ambigiious word is impossible, it may be easilv conceived how the solution of a problem may be reduced to something re=;embiinff the operation of a mill^the conditions of the problem, when once translated from the common language into that of algebra disao pearing entirely from the view ; and the subsequent process beiii^ almost mechanica ly regulated by general rules, till the final result IS obtained. In the latter, the whole of the words about which our reasonmgs are conversant, admit, more or less, of diire rent shades of meamng ; and it is only by considering attentively the relation in which they stand to the immediate context, that ihe precise idea of the author m any particular instance is to be ascertained In these sciences, accordingly, the constant and unremitting exercise of the attention is indispensably necessary, to prevent us, at every step of our progress, from going astray. ^ On this subject 1 have made various remarks in a volume lately published ; to which I beg leave here to refer, in order to save the trouble of unnecessary repetitions. (Philosophical Essays p 153 et seq.) From what I have there said, 1 trust it appears that in fol-' lowing any tram of reasoiniig, beyond the circle of the mathematical sciences, the mmd must necessarily carry on, along with the logical deduction expressed in words another logical process of a far nicer and more difficult nature ;— tliat of fixing, with a rapidity which escapes our memory, the precise sense of every word which is am biguous, by the relation iji wliich it stands to the general scope of the argument. In proportion as the language of science becomeb more and more exact, the difficulty of this task will be graduallv diminished; but let the improvement be carried to any conceivable extent, not one step will have been gained in accelerating that era so sanguinely anticipated by Leibnitz and Condillac, when our rea- sonings in morals and poHtics shall resemble, in their mechanical regularity, and in their demonstrative certainty, the investigations ot algebra. Ihe improvements which language receives in conse- tjuence of the progress of knowledge, consisting rather in a more precise distinction and classification of the various meanings of words than in a reduction of these meanings in point of number, the task of mental induction and interpretation may be rendered more easy and unerring ; but the necessity of this task can never be superseded till every word which we employ shall be as fixed and invariable in its signification as an algebraical character, or as the name of a geometrical figure. efDresslnt"''';^'? '^'"'' "\r ^'"^'^'^ version Hith my own .iisquisitions. Some W.r.r^wiri ' r '"""^r'"' ^"•%"?Vf:»?fhcr agreeable to the idiom of our raS' «f :r ^r ^^•^>\''''^'>\^^'': '^» ^^ n«t felt it incumbent on me, in iranslatuig an autlior whose meaning, in this instance, I was able but very imuerfectlv to comprehend, to deviate as little as possible from his own words. »«»peneciiy A a2 \^ ■'i'' M 1 '' I i 'f * CHAP. III. I i 356 PART II. In the mean time, the intellectual superiority of one man above another, in all the different branches of moral and political philoso- phy, will be found to depend chiefly on the success with which he has cultivated these silent habits of inductive interpretation— much more, in my opinion, than on his acquaintance with those rules which form the great objects of study to the professed logician. In proof of this, it is sufficient for me to remind my readers, that the whole theory of syllogism proceeds on the supposition that the same word is always to be employed precisely in the same sense, (for otherwise, the syllogism would be vitiated by consisting of more than three terms;) and, consequently, it takes for granted, in every rule which it furnishes for the guidance of our reasoning powers, that the nicest and by far the most difficult part of the logical pro- cess has been previously brought to a successful termination. In treating of a different question, I have elsewhere remarked, that although many authors have spoken of the wonderful mechun- isra of speech, no one has hitherto attended to the far more wonder- ful mechanism which it puts into action behind the scene. A simi- lar observation will be found to apply to what is commonly called the art of reasoning. The scholastic precepts which ))rofess to teach if, reach no deeper than the very surface of the subject ; being all of them confined to that part of the intellectual process which is embodied in the form of verbal propositions. On the most favourable supposition which can be formed with respect to them, they are superfluous and nugatory ; but, in many cases, it is to be apprehended that they interfere with the right conduct of the understanding, by withdrawing the attention from the cultivation of that mental logic on which the soundness of our conclusions essentially depends, and in the study of which, although some general rules may be of use, every man must be, in a great measure, his own master.* In the practical application of the foregoing conclusions, it can- not fail to occur, as a consideration equally obvious and important, that, in proportion as the objects of our reasoning are removed from the particular details with which our senses are conversant, the difficulty of these latent inductive processes must be increased. This is the real source of that incapacity for general speculation, which Mr. Hume has so well described as a distinguishing character- istic of uncultivated minds. " General reasonings seem intricate, merely because they are general ; nor is it easy for the bulk of mankind to distinguish, in a great number of particulars, that common circumstance in which they all agree, or to extract it, pure and unmixed, from the other superfluous circumstances. Every j udg- ment or conclusion with them is particular. They cannot enlarge their views to those universal propositions which comprehend under * Those who are interested in this discussion, Mrill enter more completely into my views, if they take the trouble to combine what is here stated with some observations I have introduced in the First Part, chap iv. sec. 2. OF GENERAL REASONING. 357 them an mfinite number of individuals, and include a whole science m a snigle theorem. Their eye is confounded with such an exten- sive prospect, and the conclusions deduced from it, even thoudi clearly expressed, seem intricate and obscure." (Essay on Com- merce.) ^ • Difficult, however, and even impossible as the task of general speculation IS to the bulk of mankind, it is nevertheless true, that jtis the path which leads the cautious and skilful reasoner to all his most certain, as well as most valuable conclusions^in morals and 111 politics. If a theorist, indeed, should expect, that these con- clusions are m every particular instance to be realised, he would totally misapprehend their nature and application ; inasmuch as they are only to be brought to an experimental test, by viewing them on an extensive scale, and continuing our observations durini a long period of time. " When a man deliberates," says Mr Hume, concerning his conduct in any particular affair, and forms schemes m politics, trade, economy, or any business in life he never ought to draw his arguments too fine, or connect too lonff a chain of consequences together. Something is sure to happen that will disconcert his reasoning, and produce an event different from wliat he expected. But when we reason upon general subjects, one may justly afjirm, that our speculations can scarcely ever be too line, provided they be just; and that the difference between a com- mon man and a man of genius is chiefly seen in the shallowness or depth of the prim-ip es on which they proceed." The same author afterwards excellently observes, "That general principles, however intricate they may seem, must always jirevail, if they be just and sound, m the general course of things, though they may fall in particular cases; and that it is the chief business of philosophers to regard the general course of things."-" I may add," continues Mr Hume, "that it is also the chief business of politicians, espe- cially m the domestic government of the state, where the public good, which IS, or ought to be, their object, depends on the con- currence of a multitude of causes; not, as in foreign politics, on accidents and chances, and the caprices of a few persons." (E^sav on ( ommerce.)* ^ ^ J To these profound reflections of Mr. Hume, it may be added although the remark does not bear directly on our present argu- ment, that, m the systematical application of general and refined rules to their private concerns, men frequently err from calculating their measures upon a scale disproportionate to the ordinary dura- tion of human life. This is one of the many mistakes into which tl.a*n lit ?n"\7 '^/r^''"'" '^^ "^^""f '' ^"'' ^''" ^'^'"'S" ^^'^^y "f ^ s^^t^N occurs more than once m Mr Hump's writings; (see in particular the first paragraphs of his Essay wu r ^''"^^ ^"^^ *^'" ^^^>^ ''>' ''^"c>i everv kind of Rovernmenl is destrovfd • i S IfpJ^ - n ""i" ^^' ''o' "m '^^''^y'^^y to foresee; hut the latter is certain ami dctennijiatc. —Hook vi. ex. 3. (Hampton's Translation.) * '.I it P ■ ' \ If I 358 PART ff. CHAP. IJI. / projectors are apt to fail ; and hence the ruin which so often over- takes tlicm, while sowing the seeds of a harvest which others are to reap. A few years more might liave secured to themselves the prize which they had in view ; and changed the opinion of the world (which is always regulated by the accidental circumstances of failure or of success) from contem})t of their folly, into admiration of their sagacity and perseverance. It is observed by the Comte de Bussi, that " time remedies all mischances ; and that men die unfortunate, only because they did not live long enough. Mareschal d'Estn'e, who died rich at a hundred, would have died a beggar, had he lived only to eighty." Tlie maxim, like most other apophthegms, is stated in terms much too unqualified ; but it may furnish matter for many interesting reflections to those who have surveyed with attention the clia- racters which have passed before them on the stage of life ; or who amuse themselves with marking the trifling and fortuitous circum- stances by which the nmltitude are decided, in pronouncing their verdicts of foresight or of improvidence. IV. Peculiar and superemineiit Advantages possessed by Mathema- ticunis, in consequence of their definite Phraseology . — If the remarks contained in the foregoing articles of this section be just, it will follow, that the various artificial aids to our reasoning powers which have been projected by Leibnitz and others, proceed on the suppo- sition — a supposition which is also tacitly assumed in the syllogistic theory — that, in all the sciences, the words which we employ have, in the course of our previous studies, been brought to a sense as unequivocal as the phraseology of mathematicians. They proceed on the supposition, therefore, that by far the most difficult }nirt of thf logical problem has been already solved. Should the period ever arrive when the language of moralists and politicians shall be rendered as perfect as that of geometers and algebraists, then, in- deed, may such contrivances as the Ars Combinatoria and the Alphabet of Iluir.an Thoughts become interesting subjects of philo- sophical discussion ; although the probability is, that, even were that era to take place, they v/ould be found nearly as useless in morals and politics as the syllogistic art is acknowledged to be at present, in the investigations of pure geometry. Of the peculiar and supereminent advantage possessed by mathe- maticians, in consequence of those fixed and definite relations which f )rm the objects of their science, and the correspondent precision in their language and reasonings, I can think of no illus- tration more striking than w^hat is afforded by Dr. H alley's Latin version from an Arabic manuscript, of tlie two books of Apollonius Pergffius de Sectione Rationis. The extraordinary circumstances under which this version was attempted and completed, (which I presume are little known beyond the narrow circle of mathematical readers,) appear to me so highly curious, considered as matter of literary history, that T shall copy a short detail of them from Ilal- ley's preface. OF GENERAL REASONING, 3j9 After mentioning the accidental discovery in the Bodleian Library by Dr. Bernard, Savilian Professor of Astronomy, of the Arabic version of Apollonius, inpi Aoyov a7roro/ir;c, Dr. Halley proceeds thus : " Delighted, therefore, with the discovery of such a treasure, Bernard applied himself diligently to the task of a Latin translation. But before he had finished a tenth part of his undertaking, he abandoned it altogether, either from his experience of its growing difficulties, or from the pressure of other avocations. Afterwards, when, on the death of Dr. Wallis, the Savilian professorship was bestowed on me, I was seized with a strong desire of making a trial to complete what Bernard had begun ;— an attempt, of the bold- iiess of which the reader may judge, when he is informed, that, in addition to my own entire ignoranceof the Arabic language, I had to contend with the obscurities occasioned by innumerable passages which were either defaced or altogether obliterated. With the assistance, however, of the sheets which Bernard had left, and which served me as a key for investigating the sense of the original, I began first with making a list of those words, the signification of which his version had clearly ascertained ; and then proceeded, by comparing these words, wherever they occurred, with the train of reasoning in which they were involved, to decypher, by slow decrees, the import of the context ; till at last I succeeded in mas- tering the whole work, and in bringing my translation (without the aid of any other person) to the form in which I now give it to the public." (Apollon. Verg. de Sectione Hationis, &c. Opera et Studio Etlm. Halley. Oxon. 1706. In Pricfat.) M hen a similar attempt shall be made with equal success, in decyphering a moral or a political treatise written in an unknown tongue, then, and not till then, may w^e think of comparing the phraseology of these two sciences with the simj)le and rigorous language of the Greek geometers ; or with the more refined and abstract, but not less scrujndously logical system of signs, employed by modern mathematicians. It must not, however, be imagined, that it is solely by the nature of the ideas which form the objects of its reasonino-s, even when combined with the precision and unambiguity of itl phraseology, that mathematics is distinguished from the other branches of our knowledge. The truths about which it is conversant, are of an order altogether peculiar and singular ; and the evidence of which they admit resembles nothing, either in degree or in kind, to which the same name is given, in any of our other intellectual pursuits. On these points, also, Leibnitz and many other great men have adopted very incorrect opinions ; and, by the authority of their names, have given currency to some logical errors of fundamental importance. iVIy reasons for so thinking I shall state as clearly and fully as I c:\n, in the following section. J ;i 360 PART II. OIIAP. IV. II II CHAPTER IV. OF MATHEMATICAL DEMONSTRATION. I . Of the Circumstance on which Demonstrative Evidence essentially depends. — The peculiarity of that species of evidence wbicli is called demonstrative, and which so remarkably distinguishes our mathe- matical conclusions from those to which we are led in other branches of science, is a fact which must have arrested the attention of every person who possesses the slightest acquaintance with the elements of geometry. And yet, I am doubtful if a satisfactory account has been hitherto given of the circumstance from which it arises. Mr. Locke tells us, that " what constitutes a demonstration is intuitive evidence at every step ;" and I readily grant, that if in a single step such evidence should fail, the other parts of the demonstration would be of no value. [It does not, however, seem to me that it is on this consideration that the demonstrative evidence of the con- clusion depends, — not even when we add to it another which is much insisted on by Dr. Reid, — that, " in demonstrative evidence, our first principles must be intuitively certain." The inaccuracy of this remark I formerly pointed out when treating of the evidence of axioms ; on which occasion I also observed, that the first princi- ples of our reasonings in mathematics are not axioms, but definitions. It is in this last circumstance (I mean the peculiarity of reasoning from definitions) that the true theory of mathematical demonstration is to be found ; and I shall accordingly endeavour to explain it at considerable length, and to state some of the more important con- sequences to whicli it leads.] That I may not, however, have the appearance of claimiiig, in behalf of the following discussion, an undue share of originality, it is necessary for me to remark, that the leading idea which it contains has been repeatedly started, and even to a certain length prosecuted, by different writers, ancient as well as modern ; but that, in all of them, it has been so blended with collateral consider- ations, altogether foreign to the point in question, as to divert the attention, both of writer and reader, from that single principle on which the solution of the problem hinges. The advantages which mathematics derives from the peculiar nature of those relations about which it is conversant; from its simple and definite phra- seology ; and from the severe logic so admirably displayed in the concatenation of its innumerable theorems, are indeed immense, and well entitled to a separate and ample illustration ; but they do not appear to have any necessary connexion with the subject of this section. How far I am right in this opinion, my readers will be enabled to judge by the sequel. It was already remarked, in the first chapter of this l*art, that whereas, in all other sciences, the propositions which we attempt to establish, express facts real or supposed, — in mathematics, the OF MATHEMATICAL DEMONSTRATION. 361 propositions which we demonstrate only assert a connexion between certain suppositions and certain consequences. Our reasonings, therefore, in mathematics, are directed to an object essentially dif- ferent from what we have in view in any other employment of our intellectual faculties ; — not to ascertain truths with respect to actual existences, but to trace the logical filiation of consequences which follow from an assumed hypothesis. If from this hypothesis we reason with correctness, nothing, it is manifest, can be wanting to complete the evidence of the result ; as this result only asserts a necessary connexion between the supposition and the conclusion. In the other sciences, admitting that every ambiguity of language were removed, and that every step of our deductions were rigor- ously accurate, our conclusions would still be attended with more or less of uncertainty ; being ultimately founded on principles which may, or may not, correspond exactly with the fact.* Hence it appears that it might be possible, by devising a set of arbitrary definitions, to form a scienie which, although conversant about moral, political, or physical ideas, should yet be as certain as geometry. It is of no moment whether the definitions assumed correspond with facts or not, provided they do not express impos- sibilities, and be not inconsistent with each other. From these principles a series of consequences may be deduced by the most unexceptionable reasoning ; and the results obtained will be per- fectly analogous to mathematical propositions. The terms true and false, cannot be applied to them ; at least in the sense in which they are aj)plicable to propositions relative to facts. All that can be said is, that they are or are not connected with the definitions which form the principles of the science ; and, therefore, if we choose to call our conclusions true in the one case, and false in the other, these epithets must be understood merely to refer to their connexion with the data, and not to their correspondence with things actually existing, or with events which we expect to be re- alised in future. An example of such a science as that which I have now been describing, occurs in what has been called by some writers theoretical mechanics ; in which, from arbitrary hypothesis concerning physical laws, the consequences are traced which would follow, if such was really the order of nature. In those branches of study which are conversant about moral and political propositions, the nearest approach which I can imap-ine to a hypothetical science, analogous to mathematics, is to be found in a code of municipal jurisprudence; or rather might be conceived to exist in such a code, if systematically carried into execution, * This distinction coincides with one which has been very ingeniously iUustrated by M. Preyost in his philosophical essays. See his remarks on those sciences which have for their object absolute truth, considered in contrast with those which are occupied only about conditional or hypothetical truths. Mathematics is a science of the latter 'iescription ; and is therefore called by M. Prevost a science of pure reasoning. In v.hat respects my opinion on this subject differs from his, will appear afterwards. — Essais de Plii'osophip, torn. ii. p. 9, ct scq. !■ 362 PART II. CHAP IV. i ' ( II agreeably to certain general or fundamental principles. Whether these principles should or should not be founded in justice and expediency, it is evidently possible, by reasoning from them conse- quentially, to create an artificial or conventional body of knowledge, more systematical, and, at the same time, more complete in all its parts, than, in the present state of our information, any science can be rendered, which ultimately appeals to the eternal and immutable standards of truth and falsehood, of right and wrong. This con- sideration seems to me to tlu'ow some light on the following very curious parallel which Leibnitz has drawn, with wliat justness 1 presume not to decide, between the works of the Roman civilians and those of the Greek geometers. Few writers certainly have been so fully qualified as he was to pronounce on the characteristical merits of both. " I have often said, that, after the writing of geometricians, there exists nothing which, in point of force and subtilty, can be com- pared to the works of the Roman lawyers. And, us it would be scarcely possible, from mere intrinsic evidence, to distinguish a demonstration of Euclid's from one of Archimedes or of Apollo- nius (the style of all of them appearing no less uniform than if Reason herself was speaking through their organs), so also the Roman lawyers all resemble each other like twin-brothers ; inso- much that, from the style alone of any particular opinion or argu- ment, hardly any conjecture could be formed with respect to the author. Nor are the traces of a refined and deeply meditated system of natural jurisprudence anywhere to be found more visible, or in greater abundance. And, even in tho?e cases where its prin- ciples are departed from, either in compliance with the language consecrated by technical forms, or in consequence of new statutes, or of ancient traditions, the conclusions which the assumed hypo- thesis renders it necessary to incorporate with the eternal dictates of right reason, are deduced with the soundest logic and with aii ingenuity which excites admiration. Nor are these deviations from the law of nature so frequent as is commonly imagined. " (Leibnitz, Op. torn. iv. p. 254.) I have quoted this passage merely as an illustration of the anaK»gy already alluded to, between the systematical unity of mathematical science, and that which is conceivable in a system of municipal law. How far this unity is exemplified in the Roman code, I leave to be determined by more competent judges.* As something analogous to the hypothetical or conditional con- clusions of mathematics may thus be fancied to take place in specu- * It is not a little curious that the same code whicli furnislied to this very Icarneil and philosophical jurist the subject of the culo^ium quoted above, shoidd have Ix'cn lately stigmatised by an Eng;lish lawyer, eminentU distinguished for his acutf'ness and originality, as " an enormous mass of confusion and inconsistency." Making all due allowances for the exaggerations of Leibnitz, it is (htfii uU to conceive that his opinion, on a subject which hr t\ad sfi profoundly studied, .should be so ven wiflcly at variance with the tiutl>. OF MATHEMATICAL DEMONSTRATION. 363 lations concerning moral or political subjects, and actually does take place in theoretical mechanics ; so, on the other hand, if a mathematician should affirm, of a general property of the circle, that it applies to a particular figure described on paper, he would at once de"-rade a geometrical theorem to the level of a fact resting uhi- niately on the evidence of our imperfect senses. The accuracy of his reasoning could never bestow on his proposition that peculiar evidence which is properly called mathematical, as long as the fact remained uncertain whether all the straight lines drawn from the centre to the circumference of the figure were mathematically equal. These observations lead me to remark a very common miscon- ception concerning mathematical definitions ; which are of a nature essentially different from the regulations employed in any of the odier sciences. It ir, usual for writers on logic, after taking notice of the errors to which we are liable in consequence of the ambiguity of words, to appeal to the example of mathematicians, as a proof of the infinite advantage of using, in our reasonings, such expres- sions only as have been carefully defined. Various remarks to this purpose occur in the writings both of Mr. Locke and of Dr. Reid. [But the example of mathematicians is by no means applicable to the sciences in which these eminent philosophers propose that it should be followed ; and, indeed, if it were copied as a model in any other branch of human knowledge, it would lead to errors fully as dangerous as any which result from the inqjerfections of language. The°real fact is, that it has been copied much more than it ought to have been, or than would have been attenq:)ted, if the peculiarities of mathematical evidence had been attentively considered.] That in mathematics there is no such thing as an ambiguous v;ord, and that it is to the proper use of definitions we are indebted for tliis advantage, must unquestionably be granted. But this is an advantage easily secured, in consequence of the very limited voca- bulary of mathematicians, and the distinctness of the idea about V. Inch their reasonings are employed. The difference, besides, in this respect, between mathematics and the other sciences, however great, is yet only a difference in degree ; and is by no means sufficient to account for the essential distinction which every person must per- ceive between the irresistible cogency of a mathematical demonstra- tion, and that of any other process of reasoning. From the foregoing consideration it appears, that in mathematics, definitions answer two purposes : first, to prevent ambiguities of language ; and, secondly, to serve as the principles of our reasoning. It appears further, that it is to the latter of these circumstances (I mean to the employment of hypotheses instead of facts, as the data on which we proceed) that the peculiar force of demonstrative evi- dence is to be ascribed. It is, however, only in the former use of definitions that any parallel can be drawn between mathematics and those branches of knowledge which relate to facts; and, there- i m li' 'n, I I 364 PART II. CHAP. IV. fore, it is not a fair argument in proof of their general utility, to appeal to the unrivalled certainty of mathematical science, — a pre-eminence which that science derives from a source altogether different, though comprehended under the same name, and which she will for ever claim as her own exclusive prerogative.* Nor ought it to be forgotten that it is in pure mathematics alone that definitions can be attempted with propriety at the outset of our investigations. In most other instances, some previous discus- sion is necessary to show that the definitions which we lay down correspond with facts; and, in many cases, the formation of a just definition is the end to which our inquiries are directed. It is very judiciously observed by Mr. Burke, in his Essay on Taste, that " when we define, we are in danger of circumscribing nature within the bounds of our own notions, which we often take up by hazard, or embrace on trust, or form out of a limited and partial considera- tion of the object before us, instead of extending our ideas to take in all that nature comprehends, according to her manner of com- bining. We are limited in our inquiry by the strict laws to which we have submitted at our setting out." The same author adds, that " a definition may be very exact, and yet go but a very little way towards informing us of the nature of the thing defined :" and that, " in the order of things, a definition, let its virtue be what it will, ought rather to follow than to pre- cede our inquiries, of which it ought to be considered as the result." From a want of attention to these circumstances, and from a blind imitation of the mathematical arrangement, in speculations where facts are involved among the principles of our reasonings, numberless errors in the writings of philosophers might be easily traced. The subject is of too great extent to be pursued any farther here ; but it is well entitled to the examination of all who may turn their thoughts to the reformation of logic. That the ideas of Aristotle himself, with respect to it, were not very precise, must, I think, be granted, if the following statement of his inge- nious commentator be admitted as correct. "Every general term," says Dr. Gillies, "is considered by Aris- totle as the abridgment of a definition ; and every definition is denominated by him a collection, because it is the result always of observation and comparison, and often of many observations and of many comparisons." (GilHes's Aristotle, vol. i. p. 92, second edition.) These two propositions will be found, upon examination, not very consistent with each other. The first, *' That every general term is the abridgment of a definition," applies indeed admirably * These two classes of definitions are very generally confounded by logicians ; ;»monfr others, by the Abbe de Condlllac. See I.a liOiritiue, ou les premiers devcloppf- mens de I'Art de Penser. chap. vi. [Logic, or the First Development of the Art of Thinking.] OF MATHEMATICAL DEMOI^STRATION. 365 to mathematics ; and touches with singular precision on the very circumstance which constitutes, in my opinion, the peculiar cogency of mathematical reasoning. But it is to mathematics that it applies exclusively. If adopte 1 as a logical maxim in other branches of knowledge, it would prove an endless source of sophistry and error. —The second proposition, on the other hand, " That every defini- tion is the result of observation and comparison, and often of many observations and many comparisons; however applicable to the definitions of natural history, and of other sciences which relate to facts, cannot in one single instance apply to the definitions of geo-^ nietry ; inasmuch as these definitions are neither the result of observations nor of comparisons, but the hypotheses, or first prin- ciples, on which the whole science rests. If the foregoing account of demonstrative evidence be just, it follows, that no chain of reasoning whatever can deserve the name of a demonstration (at least in the mathematical sense of that word) which is not ultimately resolvable into hypotheses, or defini- tions.* It has been already shown, that this is the case with geometry. And it is also manifestly the case with arithmetic, another science to which, in common with geometry, we apply the word mathematical. The simple arithmetical equations 2x2=4; 2 X 3=5, and other elementary propositions of the same sort, are, as was formerly observed mere definitions, (see page 298, et seq.) per- fectly analogous, in this respect, to those at the beginning of Euclid ; and it is from a few fundamental principles which are essentially of the same description, that all the more complicated results in the science are derived. To this general conclusion, with respect to the nature of mathe- matical demonstration, an exception may perhaps be, at first sight apprehended to occur, in our reasonings concerning geometrical problems ; all of these reasonings, as is well known, resting ulti- mately upon a particular class of principles called postulates, which are commonly understood to be so very nearly akin to axioms, that both might, without impropriety, be comprehended under the same name. "The definition of a postulate," says the learned and ingenious Dr. Hutton, " will nearly agree also to an axiom, which is a self evident theorem, as a postulate is a self evident problem." (Mathematical Dictionary, art. Postulate.) The same author, in * Although the account given by Locke of what constitutes a demonstration, be different from that which I have here proposed, he admits the converse of this doctrine as manifest ; viz. That if we reason accurately from oiu- own definitions, our conclu- sions wiU possess demonstrative evidence; and "hence," he observes with great truth, "it comes to pass, that one may often meet with very clear and coherent discourses, that amount yet to nothing." He afterxiards remarks, that " one may make demon- strations and undoubted propositions in words, and yet thereby advance not one jot in the knowledge of the truth of things." " Of this sort," he adds, " a man may find an infinite number of propositions, reasonings, and conclusions, in books of metaphysics, school-divinity, and some sort of natural philosophy; and, after all, know as little of God, spirits, or bodies, as he did before he set out."— Essay on Human Understana- ing, book iv. chap. viii. H ! I If r I II i \ I t 366 PART H. CHAP. IV OF MATHEMATICAL DEMONSTRATION. 367 1 i another part of his work, quotes a remark from Dr. Barrow, that " there is the same affinity between postulates and problems, as between axioms and theorems." (Ibid. art. Hypothesis.) Dr. Wallis, too, appears, from the following passage, to have had a decided leaning to this opinion : — " According to some, the differ- ence between axioms and postulates is analogous to that between theorems and problems ; the former expressing truths which are self-evident, and from which other propositions may be deduced ; the latter, operations which may be easily performed, and by the help of which more difficult constructions may be effected." He afterwards adds, ** This account of the distinction between postu- lates and axioms seems not ill adapted to the division of mathe- matical propositions into problems and theorems. And, indeed, if both postulates and axioms were to be comprehended under either of these names, the innovation would not, in my opinion, aflbrd much ground for censure." (Wallisii Opera, vol. ii. pp. 667, 668.) [In opposition to these very high authorities, I have no hesitation to assert, that it is with the definitions of Euclid, and not with the axioms, that the postulates ought to be compared, in respect of their logical character and importance; — inasmuch as all the demonstra- tions in plain geometry are ultimately founded on the former, and all the constructions which it recognisos as legitimate, may be resolved ultimately into the latter.] To this remark it may be added, that, according to Euclid's view of the subject, the problems of geometry are not less hypothetical and speculative, (or, to adopt the phraseology of some late writers, not less objects of pure reason,) than the theorems ; the possibility of drawing a mathematical straight line, and of describing a mathematical circle, being as- sumed in the construction of every problem, in a way quite analo- gous to that in which the enunciation of a theorem assumes the existence of straight lines and of circles corresponding to their mathematical definitions. The reasoning, therefore, on which the solution of a problem rests, is not less demonstrative than that which is employed in proof of a theorem. Grant the possibility of three operations described in the postulates, and the correctness of the solution is as mathematically certain as the truth of any pro- perty of the triangle or of the circle. The three postulates of Euclid are, indeed, nothing more than the definitions of a circle and a straight line thrown into a form somewhat different ; and a similar remark may be extended to the corresponding distribution of propositions into theorems and problems. Notwithstanding the many conveniences with which this distribution is attended, it was evidently a matter of choice rather than that of necessity ; all the truths of geometry easily admitting of being n.oulded into either shape, according to the fancy of the mathematician. As to the axioms, there cannot be a doubt, whatever opinion nu\y be enter- tained of their utility or of their insignificance, that they stand precisely in the same relation to both classes of propositions.* II. How far it is true that all Mathematical Evidence is resolvahle into Identical Propositions. — I had occasion to take notice, in the first section of the preceding chapter, of a theory with respect to the nature of mathematical evidence, very different from that which I have been now attempting to explain. According to this theory (originally, I believe, proposed by Leibnitz) we are taught, that all mathematical evidence ultimately resolves into the perception of identity; the innumerable variety of propositions which have been discovered, or which remain to be discovered in the science, being- only diversified expressions of the simple formula, a = a. A writer of great eminence, both as a mathematician and a philosopher, has lately given his sanction, in the strongest terms, to this doctrine ; asserting, that all the prodigies performed by the geometrician are accomplished by the constant repetition of these words, — the same is the same. " Le goomctre avance de supposition en supposition. Et rctournant sa pensee sous mille formes, c'est en rcpetant sans cesse, le mtjme est le m^-me, qu'il oprre tous ses prodigcs." As this account of mathematical evidence is quite irreconcilable with the scope of the foregoing observations, it is necessary, before proceeding farther, to examhie its real import and amount ; and what the circumstances are from which it derives that plausibility which it has been so generally supj)osed to possess. That all mathematical evidence resolves ultimately into the per- ception of identity, has been considered by some as a consequence of the commonly received doctrine, which represents the axioms of Euclid as the first principles of all our subsequent reasonings in geometry. Upon this view of the subject I have nothing to offer in addition to what I have already stated. The argument which I * In fai-ther illustration of vvliat is sjiid above, on the subject of postulates and of problems, 1 transcribe witb pleasure, a short passage from a learned and interesting memoir, just published, by an author intimately and critically conversant with the classical remains of Greek geonietiy. " The description of any geoniotrioal line from the date by which it is defined, must always be assumed as jwssible, and is achnitted as the legitimate means of a geome- trical construction: it is therefore projierly regarded as a postulate. Thus, the description of a straight line and of a circle are the postulates of plain geometry assumed by Euclid. The description of the three conic sections, according to the definitions of them, must also Ihj regarded as postulates; and though not formally stated like those of Euclid, are in truth admitted as such by Apollonius, and all other writers on this branch of geometry. The same principle must be extended to all superior lines. " It is true, however, that the properties of such superior Unes may be treated of, and the description of them may be assumed in the solution of problems, without an actual delineation of them. For it must be observed, that no hnes whatever, not even the straight line or circle, can be truly represented to the senses according to the strict mathematical definitions ; but this by no means affects the theoretical conclusions which are logically deduced from such definitions. It is only when geometry is apphed to practice, either in mensuration, or in the arts connected with geometrical principles, that accuracv of delineation becomes important." — See an Account of the Life and Writings of 'Robert Simson, M.D. By the Rev. William Trail, LL.D. Published by C. ant! W. Nicol, London, 1812. '.I- ♦ CHAP. IV. I I. « I 368 PART II. mean to combat at present, is of a more subtile and refined nature ; and, at the same time, involves an admixture of important truth, which contributes not a little to the specious verisimiHtude of the conclusion. It is founded on this simple consideration, that the I'eometrical notions of equality and of coincidence are the same ; and that, even in comparing together spaces of different figures, all our conclusions ultimately lean with their whole weight on the imaginary aj)i>lication of one triangle to another ;— the object of which imaginary application is merely to identify the two tnangh's too-ether, m every circumcitance connected both with magnitude and figure.''^ Of the justness of the assumption on which this argument pro- ceeds, I do not entertain the slightest doubt. Whoever has the curiosity to examine any one theorem in the elements of plane geometry, in which different spaces are compared together, will easily perceive, that the demonstration, when traced back to its first principles, terminates in the fourth proposition of Euclid's first book : a proposition of which the proof rests entirely on a supposed apphcation of the one triangle to the other. In the case of equal triangles which differ in figure, this expedient of ideal superposition cannot be directly and immediately employed to evince their equal- ity ; but the demonstration will nevertheless be found to rest at bottom on the same species of evidence. BSf In illustration of this doctrine, I shall only appeal to the thirty-seventh proposition of the first book, in wl)ich it is proved that triangles on the same base, and between the same parallels, are equal; a theorem which appears, from a very simple construction, to be only a few steps removed from the fourth of the same book, in which the supposed application of the one triangle to the other, is the only medium of comparison from which their equality is inferred. In general, it seems to be almost self-evident, that the equality of two spaces can be demonstrated only by showing, either that the one might be applied to the other, so that their boundaries should exactly coincide ; or that it is possible, by a geometrical construction, to divide them into compartments in such a manner that the sum of parts in the one may be proved to be equal to the sum of parts in the other, upon the principle of superposition. * It was probably with a view to the establishment of this doctrine, that same foreign elementary wTiters have lately given the name of identical triangles to such as agree with each other, both in sides, in angles, and in area. The differences which may exist between them in respect of place, and of relative position (differences which do not at all enter into the reasonings of the geometer) seem to have been considered as of so httle account in discriminating them as separate olijccts of thought, that it has been concluded they only form one and the same triangle, in the contemplation of the logician. This idea is very expUcilly stated, more than once, by Aristotle : tea utv to ttovov iv. "Those things are equal whose quantity is the same ;" (Met. iv. e. 16;) and still more precisely in these remarkable words, tv tovtoiq ij Krorijc ivorriq; " In mathematical quantities, equahty is identity." (Met. x. c. :i.) For some remarks on this last passage, see Note do MATHEMATICAL DEMONSTRATIO.X. 3G9 To devise the easiest and simplest constructions for attaining this end, is the object to which the skill and invention of the geometer is chiefly directed. Nor is it the geometer alone who reasons upon this principle. If you wish to convince a person of plain understanding, who is (juite unacquainted with mathematics, of the truth of one of Euclid's theorems, it can only be done by exhibiting to his eye operations exactly analogous to those which the geometer presents to the understanding. A good example of this occurs in the sensible or experimental illustration w^iich is sometimes given of the forty-seventh proposition of Euclid's first book. For this pur- pose, a card is cut into the form of a right-angled triangle, and square pieces of card are adapted to the different sides; after which, by a simple and ingenious contrivance, the different squares are so dissected, that those of the two sides are made to cover the same si)ace with the square of the hypotenuse. In truth, this mode of comparison by a superposition, actual or ideal, is the only test of equality to which it is possible to appeal ; and it is from this,^ as seems from a passage in Proclus to have been the opinion of Apollonius, that, in point of logical rigour, the defini- tion of geometrical equality should have been taken.* The subject is discussed at great length and with much acuteness, as well as learning, in one of the mathematical lectures of Dr. Barrow ; to which I must refer those readers who may wish to see it more fully illustrated. I am strongly inclined to suspect, that most of the w riters who liave maintained that all mathematical evidence resolves ultimately into the perception of identity, have had a secret reference in their own minds to the doctrine just stated ; and that they have imposed on themselves, by using the words identitij and equality as literally synonymous and convertible terms. This does not seem to be at all consistent, either in point of expression or of fact, with sound logic. * I do not think, however, that it would be fair, on this account, to censure Euclid for the arrangement wliich he has adopted, as he has thereby most ingeniously and dexterously contrived to keep out of the view of the student some very puzzUng ques- tions, to which it is not possible to give a satisfactory answer till a considerable pro- gress has been made in the Elements. Wlien it is stated in the form of a self-evident tnith, that magnitudes which coincide, or which exactly fill the same space, are equal to one another, the beginner readily yields his assent ' to the proposition ; and this assent, %yithout going any farther, is all that is required in any of the demonstrations of the first six books : whereas, if the proposition were converted into a definition, by sa>ing, " Equal magnitudes are those which coincide, or which exactly fill the same space ;" the question would immediately occur, Are no magnitudes equal, but those to which this test of equality can be applied ? Can the relation of equality not subsist I'otween magnitudes which diflfer from each other in figure ? In reply to this question, H would be necessary to explain the definition, by adding. That those magnitudes like- Nvise are said to be equal, which are capable of being divided or dissected in such a n^anner that the parts of the one may severally coincide with the parts of the other:— a conception much too refined and compUcated for the generality of students at their nj>t outset ; and which, if it were fully and clearly apprehended, would plunge them at once into the profound speculation concerning the comparison of rectilinear with curvilinear figures. BB i 1 I ( i; (11 \' 1 I f 370 PART II. CHAP. IT. OF MATHEMATICAL DEMONSTRATION. 371 I 11 i| When it is affirmed, for instance, that - if two straight hnes in a circle intersect each other, the rectangle contained by the segmen U of the one is equal to the rectangle contained by the segments of tlie other;" Un it with any propriety be said, that the relation between these rectangles may be f P^f^^^^ ^^ ^*^^^^""" ?,Llrea Or, to take a case yet stronger, when it is affirmed, that the area of k circle is equal to that of a triangle having the circumterence for its base, and the radius for its altitude; would it not be an obvious paralogism to infer from this proposition, tha the triangle and the circle are one and the same thing? In this last instance, Dr. Barrow himself has thought it necessary, in order to reconcile the lanLniage of Archimedes with that of Euclid, to have recourse to a scholastic distinction between actual and potential comcidence; and, therefore, if we are to avail ourselves of the principle of sup;rposition, in defence of the fashionable theory concerning mathematical evidence, we must, I apprehend, introduce a corre- spondent distinction between actual and potential identity. That I may not be accused, however, of misrepresenting the opinion which I am anxious to refute, I shall state it m the words of an author who has made it the subject of a particular disser a- tion ; and who appears to me to have done as much justice to his argument as any of its other defenders. "Omnes mathematicorum propositiones sunt idcnticae, et repra- sentantur hac formula, a = a. Sunt veritates identical, sub varia forma express^, imo ipsum,quod diciturcontradictionisprincipium, vario modo enunciatum et involutum; siquidem omnes hujus generis propositiones revera in eo continentur. Secundum nostram autem intellieendi facultatem ea est propositionum difterentia, quod quae- dam longa ratiociniorum serie, alia autem breviorevia, ad primum * " Cum demonstravit Archimedes circulum icquari rectangulo triangulo cujus l^jsis radio eiradi Tathetus peripheric ex^quetur, nil ille, f ^^ /3- j^ ^.jl^ 'uet^ quicquam quam areani circuli seu polygoni regu ans ""^j^.^"'^^. .' 'j f Jf'^^J in tot divii posse minutissima triangula, qua; totule.u '^^^'^^^^''^ ;> ^ ^^' dTnJo,Sratr n a^quentur; eomm vero triangulonua a..quahtas c sola ^«"^^X /si^^c^ 2 dementis. Undc consequeuter Archinjedcs <^»'-^"^\.^^^"\ *"; f i%tlar,rdL^ dissimih^ contrruentiam demonstravit. Ita congrucntia; mhd obstat figurarum (lis.imi uS erSnf seu similes sive dissimiles sint, modo .equalcs. semper l-ter-t se.^^ posse debebunt congruere. Igitur oclavum axiou.a vel nuUo .^tr To ' ment^^^^^^^^^^^ aut universaliter converti j)otest ; nullo modo si qux isthic "j/^f ^^^"^^"^".^^^^ .ignet actualem congruentiam ; univcrsim si de potentiali \^» "" .^^^'i^f/^^-j " jua tiones Mathematicx, Sect. V. ["When Archimedes demonstrated hat a circle is e( U to a riKht-anded triangle, the base of vvhich is equal to he radms and the alt. ulc othe circifmLence, hf meant nothing more, if one considers the ^^J^^' /jf ^^^^ that the area of a circle, or of a regular polygon having }'l''}^^''^^^'f'^\^^^^ divided into so many extremely small triangles vvhich would be equa to as „,anj^cx tremelv small triangles of the given triangle; but the equality of ^"angles is (lemon Snrthe Elements from agreement'alone. Whence, consequently, Archnnedes deraonstJated the agreement of the circle with the triangle, however dissimilar to it. tTSarity of Sure is no obstacle to agreement, but -Ifier sj^^^^^^^^^^^^ provided they be equal, they always can, a ways must agree. J^^';^^^^[,\^^^^^^^^ axiom, when converted, cannot at all stand gootl, or can be ""'^"J**^^;-'. ^^'^^^^^ j^ not at all if the agreement mentioned there means actual agreement umversally, U be taken to mean potential agreement merely." omnium principium reducantur, et in illud resolvantur. Sic v. g. propositio2 + 2 = 4 statim hue cedit 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 = 1 + 1+1 + 1; i. e. idem est idem; et proprie loquendo, hoc modo enunciari debet. — Si contingat, adesse vel existere quatuor entia, turn exist- uiit quatuor entia ; nam de existentia non agunt geometrae, sed ea hypothetice tantum subintelligitur. Inde summa oritur certitudo ratiocinia perspicienti ; observat ncrape idearum identitatem ; et haec est evidentia assensum immediate cogens, quam mathematicam aut geometricam vocamus. Mathesi tamen sua natura priva non est et propria ; oritur etenini ex identitatis perceptione, quae locum habere potest, etiamsi ideas non repraesentent extensum."* With respect to this passage I have only to remark (and the same thing is observable of every other attempt which has been made to support the opinion in question), tiiat the author confounds two things essentially different; — the nature of the truths which are the objects of a science, and the nature of the evidence by which these truths are established. Granting, for the sake of argument, that all mathematical propositions may be represented by the formula a = a, it would not therefore follow, that every step of the reason- ing leading to these conclusions, was a proposition of the same nature ; and that, to feel the full force of a mathematical demon- stration, it is sufficient to be convinced of this maxim, that every- thing may be truly predicated of itself; or, in plain English, that the same is the same. A paper written in cipher, and the inter- pretation of that paper by a skilful decipherer may, in like manner, be considered as, to all intents and purposes, one and the same thing. They are so, in fact, just as much as one side of an alge- braical equation is the same thing with the other. But does it therefore, follow, that the whole evidence upon which the art of deciphering proceeds, resolves into the perception of identity ? It may be fairly questioned, too, whether it can, with strict eor- * "All mathematical propositions are identical, and represented by this formula a = a. They are identical truths expressed under various forms, even that which is called the principle of contradiction variously enunciated and involved. Thence all propositions of this sort are in reality contained in it. But according to our way of understanding, the difference of projjositions is of this nature, that some are re- duced to the first principle, and resolved into it, by a long train of reasoning, some by a shorter one. Thus for example, the proposition 2 + 2 r= 4, amounts to this l + l + l+l—l+l + l + l. That is, the same >s the same, and in strict pro- priety ought to be expressed in this way — if it should happen that four things exist, or be anywhere, then four things exist, for geometers do not treat of existence, that being only understood hypothetically. Therefore the highest degree of certainty results to him who examines such arguments, for he observes the identity of ideas, and this is the evidence immediately forcing our assent, which we call mathematics or geometry. However, it is not peculiar and proi)er to mathematical science, for it arises from the perception of identity which can have place, although the ideas do not represent exten- sion." — [The above extract (from a dissertation printed at Berlin in 17G4) has long had a very extensive circulation in this country, in consequence of its being quoted by Dr. Beattie, in his Essay on Truth, (see p. 221; 2nd edit.) As the learned author of the essay has not given the slightest intimation of his own opinion on the subject, the doctrine in question has, I suspect, been considered as in some measure sanctioned by his authority. It is only in this way tliat I can account for the facility with which it has been admitted by so many of our northern logicians.] bb2 ! < ll '}i \ r I r 372 PART 11 CHAP. IV, rectness, be said even of the simple arithmetical equation 2+2 = 4, that it may be represented by the formula a = a. The one is a proposition asserting the equivalence of two ditferent expres- sions ;— to ascertain wliich equivalence may, in numberless cases, be an object of the highest importance. The other is altogether unmeaning and nugatory, and cannot, by any possible supposition, admit of the slightest application of a practical nature. What opinion then shall we form of the proposition a = a, when con- sidered as the representative of such a formula as the binomial theorem of Sir Isaac Newton? When applied to the equation 2 + 2 = 4, (which from its extreme simplicity and familiarity is apt to be regarded in the light of an axiom,) the paradox does not appear To be so manifestly extravagant ; but, in the other case, it seems quite impossible to annex to it any meaning whatever. I should scarcely have been induced to dwell so long on this theory of Leibnitz concerning mathematical evidence, if I had not observed among some late logicians (particularly among the fol- lowers of Cond iliac) a growing disposition to extend it to all the ditferent sorts of evidence resulting from the various employments of our reasoning powers. Condillac himself states his own opinion on this point with the most perfect confidence:—** L'evidence de raison consiste uniqucment dans I'identite : c'est ce que nous avons demontre. 11 faut que cette vtrite soit bien simple pour avoir echappe u tous les philosophes, quoiqu ils eussent tant d'intertt a s' assurer de I'^'vidence, dont ils avoient continuellement le mot dans la bouche." (La Logique, chap, ix.)* The demonstration here alluded to is extremely concise ; and if we grant the two data on which it proceeds, must be universally acknowledged to be irresistible. The first is, ** That the evidence of every niathematical equation is that of identity :" the second, **That what are called, in the other sciences, propositions or judgments, are, at bottom, precisely of the same nature with equa- tions." — But it is proper, on this occasion, to let our author speak for himself. ** Mais, dira-t-on, c'est ainsi qu'on raisonne en mathematiques, oil le raisonnement se fait avec des equations. En sera-t-il de meme dans les autres sciences, ou le raisonnement se fait avec des propositions ? Je ruponds, qu equations, propositions, juge- mens, sont au fond la me me chose, et que par constiiuent on raisonne de la mcme maniere dans toutes les sciences." (Ibid. chap. viii.)t * ** The evidence of reason consists altogether in identity, as we have demonstrated. Tliis truth must be very simple to have escaped the notice of all philosophers, although they are so much interested to establish the grounds of the evidence, the name of which they have incessantly in their mouths." t •• But it will be said that it is thus that we reason in mathematics, where reasoning takes place in equations ; will it be the same in other sciences where reasoning takes place by means of propositions ? I answer, that equations, propositions, judgments, are in reality the same ; and that, consequently, we reason in the same manner in all the tdences." OF MATHEMATICAL DEMONSTRATION. 373 If Upon this demonstration I have no comment to offer. The truth of the first assumption has been already examined at sufficient length ; and the second (which is only Locke's very erroneous account of judgment, stated in terms incomparably more exception- able) is too puerile to admit of refutation. It is melancholy to reflect, that a writer who, in his earlier years, had so admirably unfolded the mighty influence of language upon our speculative conclusions, should have left behind him in one of his latest publi- cations, so memorable an illustration of his own favourite doctrine. It was manifestly with a view to the more complete establishment of the same theory, that Condillac undertook a work, which has appeared since his death, under the title of La Langue des Calculs ; and wliich, we are told by the editors, was only meant as a prelude to other labours, more interesting and more difficult. From the circumstances which they have stated, it would seem that the inten- tion of the author was to extend to all the other branches of know- ledge, inferences similar to those which he has here endeavoured to establish with respect to mathematical calculations ; and much regret is expressed by his friends, that he had not lived to accom- plish a design of such incalculable importance to human happiness. 1 believe I may safely venture to assert, that it was fortunate for his reputation he proceeded no farther ; as the sequel must, from the nature of the subject, have aftbrded to every competent judge, an experimental and palpable proof of the vagueness and fallacious- ness of those views by which the undertaking was suggested. In his posthumous volume, the mathematical precision and perspicuity of his details appear to a superficial reader to reflect some part of their own light on the general reasonings with which they are blended ; while, to better judges, these reasonings come recom- mended with many advantages and with much additional authority, from their coincidence with the doctrine of the Leibnitzian school. It would probably have been not a little mortifying to this most ingenious and respectable philosopher, to have discovered, that, in attempting to generalize a very celebrated theory of Leibnitz, he liad stumbled upon an obsolete conceit, started in this island upwards of a century before. **When a man reasoneth," says Ifobbes, **he does nothing else but conceive a sum total, from addition of parcels ; or conceive a remainder from subtraction of one sura from another, which, if it be done by words, is conceiving of the consequence of the names of all the parts to the name of the whole ; or from the name of the whole and one part, to the name of the other part. These operations are not incident to numbers only, but to all manner of things that can be added together, and taken one out of another. In sura, in what manner soever there is place for addition and subtraction, there also is place for reason ; and w hero these have no place, there reason has nothing at all to do. ** Out of all which we may define what that is which is meant by the word reason, when we reckon it amongst the faculties of the ,!• i^i ^ If ' , lilll y \ i:V # J\\ n I .\ 374 PART II. CHAP. IV. OF MATHEMATICAL DEMONSTRATION. 375 ^ mind. For reason. In this sense, is nothing but reckoning, (that is, addin- and subtracting) of the conseciuences of general names a-reed upon for the marking and signifying of our thoughts;-! say marking them, when we reckon by ourselves; and sigmtymg, when we demonstrate or approve our reckonings to other men. (Leviathan, chap, v.) , . . .1 i2 ^ * Agreeably to this definition, Hobbes has given to the hrst part of his elements of philosophy, the title of Computatw, sive Logica; evidently employing these two words as precisely synonymous. From this tract! shall quote a short paragraph, not certainly on account of its intrinsic value, but in consequence of the interest which it derives from its coincidence with the speculations of some of our contemporaries. ! transcribe it from the Latin edition, as the antiquated English of the author is apt to puzzle readers not familiarized to the peculiarities of his philosophical diction. " Per ratiocinationem autem intelligo computationem. Compu- tare vero est plurium rerum simul additarum summam colligere, vel una re ab alia detracta, cognoscere residuum. Ratiocman igi- tur idem est quod addere et subtrahere, vel si quis adjungat his raultiplicare et dividere, non abnuam, cum multiphcatio idem sit quod aequalium additio, divisio quod a^iuali urn quotes fieri potest subtractio. Recidit itaque ratiocinatio omnis ad duas operationes animi, additionem et subtractionem."* How wonderfully does this jargon agree with the assertion of Condillac, that all equations are propositions, and all propositions equations ! , ^ ^^ , , , These speculations, however, of Condillac and of Hobbes relate to reasonin- in £?eneral ; and it is with mathematical reasoning alone that we are immediately concerned at present. !hat the peculiar evidence with which this is accompanied is not resolvable into the perception of identitv, has, ! flatter myself, been sufficiently proved in the beginning of this article ; and the plausible extension by Condillac of the very same theory to our reasonings in all the different branches of moral science, affords a strong additional pre- sumption in favour of our conclusion. M , 1 1 TFrom this long dicrression into which I have been insensibly led by the errors of some illustrious foreigners concerning the nature * « But bv reasoning I mean computation. Now to compute is to collect the sum of manv tinners addo.l topctb.or, or, one tiling being acducted fron, another, to asccrtam the remainder To reason, therefore, is to add or st»btract ; or, if any one will add o these, to multiply and divide, I do not object, since mult.phcat.on .s the same as the addition of e.,ual quantities, and division the same an the subtraction of equal quant - JieTas often a. it can be done. So all reasoning re.olvo. itself into two operations of mind addition and subtraetion."-The " Lopca," of Hobbes - been latdy trans- lated into French, under the title of -Calcul,ou Logique " by M. Destutt-Trac>. It is anncKed to the third volume of his " Elemens d'Idcologie," where ,t is honoured with the hichest eulo-ies bv the ingenious translator. " L'ouvrage en masse,' he observes in c^ie pS^aL^^^!^ d'etre Vgarde comme un produit precieux des meditations de Bacon et de Descartes sur le svst.-me d'Aristote, et comme le genne des progres ulttri- e in^dP irscliice."-Disc. Prel. p. 117. [The work altogether is worthy of being re- Lrded as a valuable result of the meditations of Bacon and Pes Cartes on the system of AriMotle, and as the germ of sub.etiuent adv.vue. of knowledge.] of mathematical demonstration, ! now return to a further examina- tion of the distinction between sciences which rest ultimately on facts, and those in ^vhich definitions or hypotheses are the sole prin- ciples of our reasonings.] III. Ecidence of the Mechajiical Philosophy, not to he confounded with that which is properbj called Demonstrative or Mathematical. — Opposite Error of some late Writers, — Next to geometry and arith- metic, in point of evidence and certainty, is that branch of general physics which is now called mechanical philosophy : — a science in which the progress of discovery has been astonishingly rapid, during the course of the last century ; and which, in the systematical con- catenation and filiation of its elementary princii)les, exhibits every day more and more of that logical simplicity and elegance which we admire in the works of the Greek mathematicians. It may, I think, be fairly questioned, whether, in this department of knowledge, the affectation of mathematical method has not been already carried to an excess; the essential distinction between mechanical and mathematical truths being, in many of the physical systems which have lately appeared on the Continent, studiously kept out of the reader's view, by exhibiting both, as nearly as possible, in the same form. A variety of circumstances, indeed, conspire to identify in the imagination, and, of consequence, to assimilate in the mode of their statement, these two very different classes of propositions ; hut as this assimilation, beside its obvious tendency to involve experimental facts in metaphysical mystery, is apt occasionally to lead to very erroneous logical conclusions, it becomes the more necessary, in proportion as it arises from a natural bias, to point out the causes in which it has originated, and the limitations with wiiich it ought to be understood. The following slight remarks will sufficiently explain my general ideas on this important article of logic. (1.) As the study of the mechanical philosophy is, in a great measure, inaccessible to those who have not received a regular mathematical education, it commonly happens, that a taste for it is, in the first instance, grafted on a previous attachment to the researches of pure or abstract mathematics. Hence a natural and insensible transference to physical pursuits, of mathematical habits of thinking ; and hence an almost unavoidable propensity to give to the former science that systematical connexion in all its various conclusions which, from the nature of its first principles, is essential to the latter, but which can never belong to any science which has its foundations laid in facts collected from experience and obs-ervation. (2.) Another circumstance which has co-operated powerfully with the former in producing the same effect, is that proneness to simplification which has misled the mind, more or less, in all its researches, and which, in natural philosophy, is peculiarly encou- raged by those beautiful analogies which are observable among •■ 1! ^^^ " Hi 37G PART 11. CHAP. IV. OF MATHEMATICAL DEMONSTRATION. 377 (il 1 1 .1 different pl.ysical phenomena-analogies at the same t.me which, however &ng to the fancy, cannot a wavs be resolved by our ealonTntoone |eneral law. 'in a remarkab e analogy, for exam- ple whch presents Itself between the equality of ac. on and re- action in the collision of bodies, and what obtams m their mutual attractions, the coincidence is so perfect as to enable us to com- Sed all the various facts in the sauie theorem; and .t is d.fhcult o resist the temptation which it seems to offer to our mgenu.ty, of attempting tJ^traee it, in both cases, to some common principle. Such t iatof theoretical skill I would not be understood to censure sucti trials o. present nstanco, I am fully per- indiscrunmately ; uut, m me pic.t . ,, ;„,,„;„. of sound suaded that it is at once more unexceptionable in point ot souna Wic and more satisfactory to the learner, to establish the fact in rrrUcuSr cases, by an apLal to experiment ; and to s^ate the la.^ of action and re-action in the collision of bodies as well as that which re.^ulates the mutual tendencies of bodies towards each ot er me^relv as -eneral rules which have been obtained by induc- tion, kndwlLh are found to hold invariably as far as our know- ]t'd<^e of nature extends.* « , « i -n ^ ^- r ai « An additional example may be useful for the illustration of the ^am^subiec•t t^ It IS well known to be a general prmciple m mechanics/that when, by means of any machine, two heavy bodu^s Tunterp^^^^^ each other,' and are then made to move together, the Isaac Newton, iu the general ^^'^'f "«^^^"J\^^^^^^^^^ the elations of ideas. But e,ua,ity of ^^^^J^;^^:^ Z^ "e a n.agnet causes the iron to ap- ' Vt'warls it n^ that we necessarily suppose that iron also attracts proach to^vards it, it e^ «" ««"^^ ^"^^^ ^""''^ ''^'''^' we cannot rul ourselves ot ^^^^ .P*'''^^"^;";" /Jl^ " ^"^^ ob8er%ation he subjoins a conjee intlucnces all the matter in the ;"" e^^ oMhis llidpL or cause. For an outline of ^Z::^T::::r;r:'^^^^^ ^^^-^ ^f Mechanical Philosophy. ^"^,^Xt!^t;l— ofsynth.^ cannot be a stronger ?">«/' than 1_he ^'^^^^^^^^ ^^e third law of motion rests. Irtt^Uint' rS^t^^^S^^ the views of Sir Isaac Newton On this point a (ur^ friend and commentator, Mr. Maclaunn; the former seeming to and of his »»"^ "«' ^;"^"\' it s a corollary deducible a priori from abstract principles; loan to the suppoMtion, that « »\^/^«[*^^^^ ^y^^ effect of an arbitrarv- arrangement) Tti^ngW ^^^^^^^^^^ -^« delight in the inves-tigation of final My own idea is, '^^'I'^^'^^J^^yVl^^^^ truth, without venturing to decide ';:^t "tli^rS o/r q^^r ^As to the doctrine of final causes, it fbrtu- liatdy 7anations of Dr. Hamilton places this question in its true point of view : " However, as the theorem above mentioned is a very elegant one, it ought cer- tainly to be taken notice of in every treatise of mechanics ; and may serve as a very good index of an equilibrium in all machines ; but I do not tliink that we can from thence, or from any one general principle, explain the nature and effects of all the mechanic powers in a satisfactory manner." To the same purjwse, it is remarked by Mr. Maclaurin, that " though it be useful and agreeable to observe how uniformly this principle prevails in engines of every sort throu^out the whole of mechanics, in all cases where an equilibrium takes place ; yet that it would not be right to rest tlie evidence of so important a doctrine upon a proof of this kind only." — Account of Newton's Discoveries, b. ii. c. 3. Il 4 m ^ f If iil 378 PART II. CHAP. IV. OF MATHEMATICAL DEMONSTRATION. 379 '?! f|l v. n • of this incorporation was, to give to natural philosophy a mathe- matical form; and to systematize its conclusions, as far as possible, agreeably to rules su-gested by mathematical method, "in i)ure mathematics, where the truths which we invest gate are all co-existent in point of time, it is universally a lowed, that one proposition is said to be a consequence of another only with a reference to our established arrangements. Thus all the properties of the circle might be as rigorously ded.,ced from any one genera property of the curve, as from the equality of the radii. But it does not therefore follow that all these arrangements would be equally convenient; on the contrary, it is evidently useful, and indeed necessary, to lead the mind, as far as the thing is pr^cUca^^^^^ from what is simple to what is more complex. Ihe misfortune is, that it seems impossible to carry this rule universally into execution ; and, accordingly, in the most elegant geometrical treatises which have vet appeared, instances occur, in which consequences are de- duced from principles more comjdicated than themselves, feuch inversions, however, of what may justly be regarded as the natural order must always be felt by the author as a subject of regret; and, in proportion to their frequency, they detract both from the beauty, and from the didactic simplichy of his general design. The same thing often happens in the elementary doctrines ot natural philosophy. A very obvious example occurs in the different demonstrations given by writers on mechanics, from the resolution of forces, of the fundamental proposition concerning the lever ;— demonstrations in which the proposhion, even m the simple case when the directions of the forces are supposed to be parallel, is inferred from a process of reasoning involving one of the most refined principles employed in the mechanical philosophy. 1 do not object to tiiis arrangement as illogical; nor do I presume to sav that it is injudicious.* 1 would only suggest the propriety, m such * la some of these demonstrations, however, there is a logical inconsistency so glaring that I cannot resist the temptation of pointing it out '^c'^^' ^« « ^^^^ "f^^;''.;' .;!'^^ un.l.ie prc.lilection for mathematical evidence, in the cxjwsition «f ph>sical pn u iplt., ^4ich is conspicnons in many elementary treatises. I all.ule to tho^e demonstrations of the proper! V of the lever, in which, after attempting to prove the general theorem, on the supposilion'that the directions of the forces meet in a i»oint. ^^^f ,^7^^F»"f 1^"^" '* ^Yt tended to the sitnple case in which these directions are parallel, hy tlie he .on (for t deserves no other name) of conceiving parallel lines to meet at an inhmte '1 'Stance or to form with each other an angle infinitely small. It is strange that such a prcmf should ever have ])cen thought nu)re satisfactor>- than the direct evidence of our senses, llou much more reasonable ar.d pleasing to hegin with the simpler case, which may »>e.easiiy hiought to the test of experiment, and then to deduce froni it hy the resolution of forced the general proi>o.ition ! Even Dr. llamiUon himself who has treated of c m, . hauical powers with much ingenuity, seems to have imagined, that hy demonstrating the tlicorcm. in all its cases, from the composition and resolution of forces alone, he had hrou-ht the whole sul)ject within the compass of pure geometry. It could s^^-art'^ >'. however, (one should think,) have escaped him, that ever>' valid demonstration of he composition of forces must necessarily assume as a fact, that - when a body is acted upon hy a for.'e parallel to a straight line given in i>osition this force has no effect either to accelerate or to retard the progress of the body towards that hue. s not this fatt mu-h farther removed from common ohser>ation than the fundamental propertj oi the Wr, which is familiar to every peasant, and even to every savage ? And yet the same instances, of confirming and illustrating the conclusion, by an appeal to experiment ; an appeal which, in natural philosophy, possesses aa authority equal to that which is generally, but very improperly considered as a mathematical demonstration of physical truths. In pure geometry, no reference to the senses can be admitted, but in the way of illustration ; and any such reference, in the most trifling step of a demonstration, vitiates the whole. But, in natural philo- sophy, all our reasonings must be grounded on principles for which no evidence but that of sense can be obtained ; and the propositions which we establish, differ from each other only as they are deduced from such principles immediately,orby the intervention of a mathe- matical demonstration. An experimental proof, therefore, of any particular physical truth, when it can be conveniently obtained, although it may not always be the most elegant or the most expe- dient way of introducing it to the knowledge of the student, is as rip^orous and as satisfactory as any other; for the intervention of a process of mathematical reasoning can never bestow on our conclusions a greater degree of certainty than our principles possessed.* I have been led to enlarge on these topics by that unqualified application of mathematical method to physics, which has been fashionable for many years past, among foreign writers, and which seems to have originated chieHy in the commanding influence wlilcii the genius and learning of Leibnitz have so long maintained over the scientihc taste of most European nations.f In an account, author objects to the demonstration of Iluyghens that it depends upon a principle which, he says, ought not to be granted on this occasion, — that "when two equal bodies are placed on the arms of a lever, that which is furthest from the fulcrum will preponderate." * Several of the foregoing remarks were suggested by certain peculiarities of opinion relative to the distinct provinces of experimental and of mathematical evidence in the study of physics, which were entertained by my learned and excellent friend, the late Mr. Robison. Though himself a most enlightened and zealous advocate for the doc- trine of final causes, he is well known to have formed his scientific taste chiefly upon the nicchanical philosophers of the Continent, and, in consequence of this circumstance, to have underAalued experiment, wherever a possibility oflfered of introducing mathema- tical, or even metaphysical reasoning. Of tliis bias various traces occur, both in his Elements of Mechanical Philosophy, and in the valuable articles which he furnished to the Encyclop;cdia Britannica. t The following very extraordinary passage occurs in a letter from Leibnitz to Mr. Oldenburg : " Ego id agere constitui, ubi primum otium nactus ero, ut rem omnem mechanicam reducam ad puram geometriam ; jiroblemataque circa elateria, et aquas, et pendula et jirojecta, et solidorum rcsistentiam, et frictiones, &c. definiam. Quae hactenus, attjgit nemo. Cri'do autem rem omnem nunc esse in potestate ; ex quo circa regulas niotuum mihi |)enitus perfcctis demonstrationibus satisfeci ; neque quicquam amplius in CO gencre desidero. Tota autem res, quod mireris, peridet ex axiomate metaphysico pulcherrimo, quod non mirioris momenti est circa motum, quam hoc. totum esse majus parte, circa magnitudinem." — Wallisii Opera, vol. iii. p. G33.) [I have determined, J»s soon as I shall have leisure, to reduce all mechanics to pure geometry, and to J'trictly state the problems concerning impulse, water, pendulums and projectiles, and tiie resistance of solids and friction, which no one has as yet meddled with. But I believe that I have the whole atfair within my reach, since 1 have tiu>roughly satisfied nivself with irrefragable demonstrations about the laws of motion, nor reqiure any- ^ • ■' I a ii : k ll I I / I I 380 PART II. CHAP. IV. OF MATHEMATICAL DEMONSTRATION. 381 lately published, of the Life and Writings of Dr. Reid, I have taken notice of some other inconveniences resulting from it, still more important than the introduction of an unsound logic into the elements of natural philosophy ; in particular, of the obvious ten- dency which it has to withdraw the attention from that unity of design which it is the noblest employment of philosophy to illus- thing in that branch. But you will be surprised to learn, that the whole matter de. pends on a very beautiful metaphysical axiom, which is not of less importance as regards motion, than the axiom that the whole is greater than a part, is concerning magnitude.] The beautiful metaphysical axiom here referred to by I.eibnitz, is plainly the princi- pie of " the sufficient reason ;" and it is not a little remarkable, that the highest praise which he had to bestow upon it was, to compare it to Euclid's axiom, " That the whole is greater than its part." Upon this principle of the sufficient reason, Leibnitz, as is well known, conceived that a complete system of physical science might be built, as he thought the whole of mathematical science resolvable into the principles of identity and of contradiction. By the first of these principles, it may not be altogether superfluous to add, is to be understood the maxim, " Whatever is, is ;" by the second, the maxim, that " It is impossible for the same thing to be, and not to be :" — two maxims wliich, it is evident, are only different expressions of the same proposition. In the remarks made by Locke on the logical inutility of mathematical axioms, and on the logical danger of assuming metaphysical axioms as the principles of our reasonings in other sciences, I think it highly probable that he had a secret reference to the philo- sophical ^\Titings and epistolary correspondence of Leibnitz. This appears to me to furnish a key to some of Loclic's observations, the scope of which Dr. Reid professes his inability to discover. One sentence, in particular, on which he has animadverted with some severity, is, in my opinion, distinctly pointed at the letter to Mr. Oldeuburgh, quoted in the beginning of this note. *' Mr. Locke farther says," I l)orrow Dr. Keid's own statement, " that maxims are not of use to help men forward in the advancement of the sciences, or new discoveries of yet unknown truths ; that Newton, in the discoveries he has made in his never enough to be admired book, has not been assisted by the general maxim, Whatever is, is ; or The ^vhole is greater than a part, or tVie like." As the'letter to Oldeuburgh is dated in 1670, (twelve years before the publication of the Essay on Human Understanding,) and as Leibnitz expresses a desire that it may l>e communicated to Mr. Newton, there can scarcely be a doubt that Locke had read it ; and it reflects infinite honour on his sagacity, that he seems, at that early period, to have foreseen the extensive influence which the errors of this illustrious man were so long to maintain over the opinions of the learned world. The truth is, that even then he pre- pared a reply to some reasonings which, at the distance of a century, were to mislead, both in physics and in logic, the first philosophers in Europe. If these conjectures be well founded, it must be acknowledged that Dr. Reid has not only failed in his defence of maxims against Locke's attack : but that he has totally mis- apprehended the aim of Locke's argument. " I answer," says he, in the paragraph immediately following that which was quoted above, "the first of these maxims (Whatever is, is) is an identical proposition, of no use in mathematics, or in any other science. The second (that The whole is greater than a part) is often used by Newton, and by all mathematicians, and many demon- strations rest upon it. In general, Newton, as well as all other mathematicians, grounds his demonstrations of mathematical propositions upon the axioms laid down by EucUd, or upon proiwsitious which have been before demonstrated by help of these axioms. " But it deserves to be particidarly obsened, 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 calls Regula; Philosophandi, and in his Phe- nomena, the first principles which he assumes in his reasoning. •' Nothing, therefore, couUl liave been more unluckily adduced by Mr. Locke to sup- port his aversion to first principles, than the example of Sir Isaac Newton." — Int. Powers, Essay VI. Chap. vii. § xv. edit. 8vo. London, 1813. trate, by disguising it under the semblance of an eternal and ne- cessary order, similar to what the mathematician dehghts to trace among the mutual relations of quantities and figures. The conse- quence has been, (in too many physical systems,) to level the study of nature, in point of moral interest, with the investigations of the algebraist ; — an eifect too which has taken place most remarkably, where, from the sublimity of the subject it was least to be ex- pected, — in the application of the mechanical philosophy to the phenomena of the heavens. But on this very extensive and im- portant topic 1 must not enter at present. In the opposite extreme to the error which I have now been endeavouring to correct, is a paradox which was broached, about twenty years ago, by the late ingenious Dr. Beddoes ; and which has since been adopted by some writers whose names are better entitled, on a question of this sort, to give weight to their opinions.* By the partisans of this new doctrine it seems to be imagined that, so far from physics being a branch of mathematics, mathematics, and more particularly geometry, is, in reality, only a branch of physics. ** The mathematical sciences,'' says Dr. Beddoes, " are sciences of experiment and observation, founded solely on the induction of particular facts; as much so as mechanics, astronomy, optics, or chemistry. In the kind of evidence there is no differ- ence ; for it originates from perception in all these cases alike ; but mathematical experiments are more simple, and more perfectly within the grasp of our senses, and our perceptions of mathematical objects are clearer ."+ A doctrine essentially the same, though expressed in terms not quite so revolting, has been lately sanctioned by Mr. Leslie : and it is to his view of the argument that I mean to confine my atten- tion at present. " The whole structure of geometry," he remarks, " is grounded on the simple comparison of triangles ; and all the fundamental theorems which relate to this comparison derive their evidence from the mere superposition of the triangles themselves ; a mode of proof which, in reality, is nothing but an ultimate appeal, though of the easiest and most familiar kind, to external * I allude here more particularly to my learned friend, Mr. Leslie, whose high and justly merited reputation, both as a mathematician and an experimentalist, renders it inilispcusably necessary for me to take notice of some fundamental logical mistakes which he appears to me to have connnittcd in the course of those ingenious excursions, in which he occasionally indulges himself, beyond the strict hmits of his favourite studies. t Into this train of thinking. Dr. Beddoes informs us, he was first led by Mr. Home Tooke's speculations concerning language. " In whatever study you are engaged, to leave difficulties behind is (Ustressing ; and when these difficulties occur at yoiu: very entrance upon a science professing to be so clear and certain as geometry, your feelings become still more imcomfortable ; and you are dissatisfied with your own powers of comprehension. I therefore think it due to the author of EIIEA riTEPOENTA, to acknowledge my obligations to him for relieving me from this sort of distress. For although I had often made the attempt, I could never solve certain difficulties in Euchd, till my reflections were re\ived and assisted by Mr. Tooke's discoveries." — See Obser>'a- tions on the Nature of Demonstrative Evidence, London, 1793, pp. 5 and 15. I I I 'I '• i i^ .11 382 PART II. CHAP. IV. OF MATHEMATICAL DEMONSTRATION. 383 observation."* And, in another passage, : " Geometry, like the other sciences which are not concerned about the operations of mind, rests ultimatelv on external observations. But those ultimate facts are so few, so distinct and obvious, that the subsequent train of reasoning is safely pursued to unlimited extent, without ever appealing again to the evidence of the senses." (Elements of Geometry and of Geometrical Analysis, j). 4/33.) [Before proceeding to make any remarks on thns theory, it is proper to premise, that it involves two separate considerations, which it is of material consequence to distinguish from each other. The first is, that extension and figure, the subjects of geometry , are qualities of body which are made known to us by our cxUrnal senses alone, and which actually fall under the consideration of the natural philosopher, as well as of the mathematician. The second, that the whole fabric of geometrical science rests on the comparison of triangles, in forming which comparison we are ultimately obliged to appeal (in the same manner as in establishing the first principles of physics) to a sensible and expeiimental j)rooJ\ (1.) In answer to the first of these allegations, it might perhaps be sufficient to observe, that in order to identify two sciences, it is not enough to state, that they are both conversant about the same objects ; it is necessary farther to show, that, in both cases, tliese objects are considered in the same point of view, and give employ- ment to the same faculties of the mind. The poet, the painter, the gardener, and the botanist, are all occupied in various degrees and modes, with the study of the vegetable kingdom ; yet who has ever * Elements of Geometry and of Geometrical Analysis, &c. By Mr. Leslie. Edin- burgh, 1H09. The assertion that the whole structure of geometry is founded on the comparison of triangles, is. expressed in terms too unqualified. li'Aleiuhert has men- tioned another principle as not less fundamental, the measurement of angles hy circular arches. •' Les propositions fondamentales de geonittrie peuvent etre ri-duitcs* a deux ; la mesure des angles par h^s arcs dc cercle, ct la principe de la sui)eri)oiitiou." (El,'- mens de Philosophic, art. Geometrie.) [The fundamental principles of geometry may be resolved into two, the measure of angles by the arcs of circles, and the principle of superposition.] The same writer, however, justly observes, in another part of his works, that the measure of angles by circular arches, is itself dependent on the principle of super|)osition ; and that, consequently, however extensive and important in its apjili- cation, it is entitled only to rank with what he calls principles of a second order. " La mesure des angles par les arcs de cercle decrit de leur sommet, est elle-meme dependante du principe de la superposition. Car quaiul on dit que la meSure d'un dans cette science le sentira facilement." — Ecclaircissemens sur les EU'mens de Philo- sophie, sec. iv. [The measure of angles by the arcs of circles, described from their vertices, is itself dependent on the principle of super|>osition ; for when we say that the measure of an angle is the circular arc described from its vertex, we mean to say that if two angles be ecjual, the arc described with the same radius from their vertices will be equal — a truth wliicli is demonstrated by superposition, as all geometers a little initiated in that science will readily perceive. — Illustrations of the Elements of Philo- sophy.] Instead therefore, of saving that the w hole structure of geometry is grounded on the comparison of triangles, it \Nould be more correct to say, that it is grounded on the principle of superposition. thought of confounding their several pursuits under one common name ? The natural historian, the civil historian, the moralist, the lo^'^ician, the dramatist, and tiie statesman, are all engaged in the fc;tudy of man, and of the principles of human nature ; yet how widely discriminated are tlijese various departments of science and of art ! how different are the kinds of evidence on which they respectively rest ! how different the intellectual habits which they have a tendency to form ! Indeed, if this mode of generalization were to be admitted as legitimate, it would lead us to blend all the objects of science into one and the same mass ; inasmuch as it is by the same impressions on our external senses, that our intellec- tual faculties are, in the first instance, roused to action, and all the first elements of our knowledge unfolded. In the instance, however, before us, there is a very remarkable speciality, or rather singularity, which renders the attempt to iden- tify the objects of geometrical and of physical science, incomparably more illogical than it would be to classify poetry with botany, or the natural history of man with the political history of nations. This speciality arises from certain peculiarities in the metaphysical nature of those sensible qualities which fall under the consideration of the geometer ; and which led me, in a different work, to distin- guish them from other sensible qualities (both primary and secon- dary), by bestowing on them the title of mathematical affections of matter. (Philosophical Essays, pp. 94, 95.) Of these mathematical affections (magnitude and figure), our first notions are, no doubt, derived (as well as of hardness, softness, roughness, and smoothness) from the exercise of our external senses ; but it is equally certain, that when the notions of magnitude and figure have once been acquiredT^the mind is immediately led to consider them as attributes of space no less than of body ; and (abstracting them entirely from the other sensible qualities perceived in conjunction with them), becomes impressed with an irresistible conviction that their exist- ence is necessary and eternal, and that it would remain unchanged if all the bodies in the universe were annihilated. It is not our business here to inquire into the origin and grounds of this convic- tion. It is with the fact alone that we are concerned at present ; and this I conceive to be one of the most obviously incontrovertible which the circle of our knowledge embraces. Let those explain it as they best can, who are of opinion, that all the judgments of the human understanding rest ultimately on observation and experience. Nor is this the only case in which the mind forms conclusions concerning space, to 'which those of the natural philosopher do not bear the remotest analogy. Is it from experience we learn that space is infinite ? or, to express myself in more unexceptionable terms, that no limits can be assigned to its immensity? Here is a fact, extending not only beyond the reach of our personal observa- tion, but beyond the observation of all created beings ; and a fact . 1 I I » i\ I 1 '] f A ;i I\ \ 384 PART II. CHAP. IV. OF MATHEMATICAL DEMONSTRATION. 38,i on which we pronounce with no less confidence, when in imapna- tion we transport ourselves to the utmost verge of the material uni- verse, than when we confine our thou-hts to those regions of the globe which have been explored by travellers. How unlike those general laws which we investigate in physics, and which, how far soever we may find them to reach, may still, for any thing we are able to discover to the contrary, be only contingent local, and temporary. It must indeed be owned, with respect to the conclusions hitherto mentioned on the subject of space, that they are rather of a metaphysical than of a mathematical nature ; but they are not, on that account, the less applicable to our purpose; for if the theory of Beddoes had any foundation, it would ead us to identify with phvsics the former of these sciences as well as tlie latter ; at least, all that part of the former which is employed about space or exteii- sion —a favourite object of metaphysical as well as of mathematical speculation. The truth, however, is, that some of our inetaphysi- cal conclusions concerning space are more nearly allied to geome- trical theorems than we might be disposed at first to apprehend ; bein- involved or implied in the most simple and fundamental propositions which occur in Euclid's Elements When it is as- serted, for example, that " if one straight line falls on two other straiirht lines, so as to make the two interior angles on the same side together equal to two right angles, these two strai-h hues, thou-h indefinitely produced, will never meet; -is not the bound- less immensity of space tacitly assumed as a thmg unquestionable? And is not a universal affirmation made with respect to a fact which experience is equally incompetent to disprove or to confirm ? In like manner, when it is said, that "triangles on the same base, and between the same parallels are equal," do we feel ourselves the less ready to give our assent to the demonstration, if it should be sup- posed that the one triangle is confined within the limits of the paper' before us, and that the other, standing on the same base, has its vertex placed beyond the sphere of the fixed stars? In various instances, we are led, with a force equally imperious, to acquiesce in conclusions, which not only admit of no illustration or proof from the perceptions of sense, but which, at first sight, are a])t to staffffcr and confound the faculty of imagination. It is sufficient to mention, as examples of this, the relation between the hyperbola and its asymptotes; and the still more obvious truth of the infinite divisibility of extension. What analogy is there between such propositions as these, and that which announces, that the mercury in the Torricellian tube will fall, if carried up to the top of a mountain ; or that the vibrations of a pendulum of a given length will be performed in the same time, while it remains in the same latitude ? W^ere there, in reality, that analogy between mathe- matical and physical propositions, which Beddoes and his followers Lave fancied, the equality of the square of the hypotenuse of a right-angled triangle to the squares described on the two other sides, and the proportion of 1, 2, 3, between the cone and its cir- eaniscribed hemisphere and cylinder, might, with fully as great propriety, be considered in the light of physical phenomena, as of geometrical theorems : Nor would it have been at all inconsistent with the logical unity of his work, if Mr. Leslie had annexed to his Elements of Geometry a scholium concerning the final causes of circles and of straight lines, similar to that which, with such siihlime effect, closes the Principia of Sir Isaac Newton.* (2.) It yet remains for me to say a few words upon that super- position of triangles which is the groundwork of all our geometrical reasonings concerning the relations which different spaces bear to one another in respect of magnitude. And here I must take the liberty to remark, in the first place, that the fact in question has been stated in terms much too loose and incorrect for a logical argument. When it is said, that " all the fundamental theorems which relate to the comparison of triangles, derive their evidence from the mere superposition of the triangles themselves," it seems difficult, or rather impossible, to annex to the adjective mere, an * In the course of my own experience, I have met with one person of no common ini,'cnuity, who seemed seriously disposed to consider the trutlis of geometry very nearly ill this light. The person I allude to was James Ferguson, author of the justly popular works on Astronomy and Mechanics. In the year 1768 he paid a visit to Edinbur'^h, when I had not only an opportunity of attending his pjihlic course of lectures, but'of frequently enjoying, in private, the pleasure of his very interesting conversation. I remember distinctly to have heard him say, that he had more than once attempted to i>tudy the Elements of Euchd; but found himself quite unable to enter into that species of reasoning. The second proposition of the first book he mentioned particularly as one of his stumbling-blocks at the very outset ; — the circuitous process by which Euclid sets about an operation which never could puz/le, for a single moment, any man who had seen a pair of compasses, appearing to him altogether capricious and ludicrous. He added, at the same time, that as there were various geometrical theorems of which he had daily occasion to make use, he had satisfied himself of their truth, either by means of his compasses and scale, or by some mechanical contrivances of his own inven- tion. Of one of these I have still a perfect recollection ; — his mechanical or experi- mental demonstration of the 47th proposition of Euchd's first book, by cutting a card so as to afford an ocular proof that the squares of the two sides actually filled the same space with the square of the hypotenuse. To those who reflect on the disadvantages under which Mr. Ferguson had laboured in point of education, and on the early and exclusive hold which experimental science had taken of his mind, it will not perhaps seem altogether unaccountable, that the refined and scrupulous logic of EucUd should have struck him as tedious, and even unsatisfactory, in comparison of that more summary and palpable evidence on which his judgment was accustomed to rest. Considering, however,, the great number of years which have elapsed since this conversation took place, I should have hesitated About recording, solely on my own testimony, a fact so singular with respect to .so distinguished a man, if I had not lately found, from Dr. Hutton's Mathematical Dic- tionar}', that he also had heard from Mr. Ferguson's mouth, the most important of those particulars which I have now stated ; and of which my own recollection is probably the more lively and circumstantial, in consequence of the very early period of my liie when they fell under my notice. ** Mr. Ferguson's general mathematical knowledge," says Dr. Hutton, " was little or nothing. Of algebra, he understood little more than the notation ; and he has often told o^e he could never demonstrate one proposition in Euclid's Elements ; his constant "Method being to satisfy himself, as to the truth of any problem, with a measurement by scale and compasses." — Hutton's Mathematical and Philosophical Dictionary, article Ferguson. C C }'\ *i Si I fc CHAP. IV. 386 PART II. idea at all different from what could be conveyed, if the word actual were to be substituted in its place ; more especially when we attend to the assertion which immediately follows, that " this mode of proof, is in reality, nothing but an ultimate appeal, though of the easiest and most familiar kind, to external observation." But if this be, in truth, the sense in which we are to interpret the state- ment quoted above, (and I cannot conceive any other interpretation of which it admits,) it must appear obvious, upon the slightest reflection, that the statement proceeds upon a total misapprehension of the principle of superposition ; inasmuch as it is not to an actual or mere superposition, but to an imaginary or ideal one, that any appeal is ever made by the geometer. Between these two modes of proof the difference is not only wide, but radical and essential. The one would, indeed, level geometry with physics, in point of evidence, by building the whole of its reasonings on a fact ascer- tained by mechanical measurement : the other is addressed to the understanding, and to the understanding alone, and is as rigorously conclusive as it is possible for demonstration to be.* * The same remark was, more than fifty years ago, made by D'Alembert, in reply to some mathematicians on the Continent, who, it would appear, had then adopted a para- dox very nearly approaching to that which I am now combating. " Le principe de la superposition n'est point, comme I'ont pretendu plusieurs geomctres, une methodc de dt-montrer pen exacte et purement mechanique. La superposition, telle que les mathe- maticiens la con^oivent, ne consiste pas a appliquer grossii-rement une figure sur une autre, pour juger par les yeux de leur egalite ou de leur difference, comme un ouvrier applique son pie sur une Ugne pour la mesurer; elle consiste a imaginer une figure transportee sur une autre, et a conclure de I'egalite supposee de certaines parties de deux figures, la coincidence de ces parties entr'elles, et de leur coincidence la coinci- dence du reste : d'oii resulte Tegalite et la similitude parfaites des figtires entieres."— [The principle of superposition is not, as several geometers have maintained, a mode of demonstration inexact, and altogether mechanical. Superposition, such as mathema- ticians regard it, consists not in applying coarsely one figure over another to judge by the eye of their equality, or their ditt'ercnce, as a mechanic applies his rule to a timl)er to measure it; it consists in imagining one figure placed on another, and in concluding from the supposed equality of certain parts of the two figures, the mutual coincidence of these parts, and from their coincidence, the coincidence of the others, from whence result the equality and similitude of the figures altogether.] About a century before the time when D'Alembert wrote these obser\ations, a similar view of the subject was taken by Dr. Barrow ; a writer who, like D'Alembert, added to the skill and originality of an inventive mathematician, the most refined, and, at the same time, the justest ideas concerning the theor>' of those intellectual processes which are subservient to mathematical reasoning.— " Uude merito vir acufissimus Willebrordus Snellius luculentissimura appellat geometria; supellecfilis insfrumentum banc ipsam e(l>apfinniv. Earn igitur in demonstrationibus mathematicis qui fasti(Uunt et respuunt, ut mechanicae crassitudinis ac avTovpyiat: aliquid redolentem, ipsissimam geometriiE basiin labefactare student; ast imprudonter et frustra. Nam f11o- gismorum series a nominura detinitionibus usque ad conclusionem ultmiam denvata. — Computatio sive Logica, cap. 6. /.ir »i .1 It will not, I tnist, be inferred, from my having adopted, in the words of Hobbcs, this detached proposition, that ! am disposed to sanction any one of those conclusion:, which have been commonlv supposed to be connected with it, in the mmd of the author: 1 say supposed, because I am bv no means satisfied, notwithstandmg the loose and un- guarded manner in which he has stated some of his logical opinions, that justice ha^ been done to his views and motives in this part of his works. My own notions on the subject of evidence in general, will be sufficiently uiifolde.1 in the progress of my specu- lations. In the meantime, to prevent the possibility of any misapprehension of nr/ meaning, I think it proper once more to remark, that the definition of Hobbes. quote l above, is to be understood, according to my interpretation of it, as applying soU.y to the word demonstration in pure mathematics. The extension of the same term by Ur Clarke and others, to reasonings which have for their object, not conditional or hvpo- thetical, but absolute truth, appears to me to have been attended with many senous in- conveniences, which these excellent authors did not foresee. Of the (.e;nonstiatiou> with which Aristotle has attempted to fortify his syllogistic rules, I sluill afterward. lia\e occasion to examine the validity. . • • u The charge of unUmited scepticism brought against Hobbes, has in ray opinion, ner.i occasioned, piuilv bv his neglecting to draw the line between absolute and liypothcticl truth, and partlv'by'his applving the word demonstration to our reasonings m other sci- ences as well as in mathematics. To these causes may perhaps be added, the olfence which his logical writings must have given to the Realists of his time. , -v. •- It is not,"" however, to Realists alone that the charge has been confined. Leibnuz REASONINGS CONCERNING PttOBAKLE OR CONTINGENT TRUTHS. 389 CHAPTER V. OP OUR REASOMNtiS CONCERNING PROBABLE OR CONTINGENT TRUTHS. I. Narrow Field of Demonstrative Evidence. — Of Demonstrative Evidence, when combined with that of Sense, as in Practical Geome- try; and with those of Sense and of IjiDVCTios , as in the Mechanical Philosophy. — RemarJis on a Fundamental Law of Belief involved in all our Reasonings concerning Contingent Truths. — If the account which has been given of the nature of demonstrative evidence be admitted, the province over which it extends must be limited almost entirely to the objects of pure mathematics. A science perfectly analogous to this, in point of evidence, may indeed be conceived, as I have already remarked, to consist of a series of propositions relating to moral, to political, or to physical subjects ; but as it could answer no other purpose than to display the in- genuity of the inventor, hardly any tiling of the kind has been hitherto attempted. The only exception which I can think of, occurs in the speculations formerly mentioned under the title of theoretical mechanics. But, if the field of mathematical demonstration be limited en- tirely to hypothetical or conditional truths, whence, it may be asked, arises the extensive and the various utility of mathematical know- ledge in our physical researches, and in the arts of life ? The answer, I apprehend, is to be found in certain peculiarities of those objects to which the suppositions of the mathematician are confined ; in consequence of which peculiarities, real combinations of circum- stances may fall under the examination of our senses, approximating far more nearly to what his definitions describe, than is to be ex- pected in any other theoretical process of the human mind. Hence a corresponding coincidence between his abstract conclusions and those facts in j)ractical geometry and in physics which they help him to ascertain. For the more complete illustration of this subject, it may be observed, in the first place, that although the peculiar force of that reasoning which is properly called mathematical, depends on the circumstance of its principles being hypothetical, yet if, in any instance, the supposition could be ascertained as actually existing, the conclusion might, with the very same certainty, be applied. If Jiirn-self has given some countenance to it, in a dissertation prefixed to a work of Marius M/olius ; and Brucker, in referring to this dissertation, has aggravated not a little the censure of Hobbes, which it seems to contain. " Quin si illustrem Leibnitzium audi- nius, Hobbesius quoque inter nominales rcferendus est, earn ob causam, quod ipso Occamo nominal ior, reruni, veritatem dicat in nominibus consistere, ac, quod majus est, pendcre ab arbiirio humano."— Histor. Philosoph. de Ideis, p. 209. Augusta; Vinde- licorum, 1723. [Indeed, if we be of Leibnitz's opinion, Hobbes is to be considered a Norninahst, because that, still more a Nominalist than Occam, he maintains that the truth of things lies in words, and still farther depends on human will. — Ilistorv of Phi- losophy, Vienna, 172.;.] V- llv lit I 1 I A > If 390 PART II. CHAP V. I were satisfied, fur example, that in a particular circle drawn on paper, all the radii were exactly equal, every property which Euclid lias demonstrated of that curve might be confidently affirmed to belong to this diagram. As the thing, however, here supposed is rendered impossible by the imperfection of our senses, the truths of geometry can never, in their practical applications, possess de- monstrative evidence ; but only that kind of evidence which our organs of perception enable us to obtain. But, although in the practical applications of mathematics the evidence of our conclusions differs essentially from that which be- longs to the truths investigated in the theory, it does not therefore follow that these conclusions are the less important. In proportion to the accuracy of our data will be that of all our subsequent de- ductions; and it fortunately happens that the same imperfections of sense which limit what is physically attainable in the former, limit also, to the very same extent, what is practically useful in tlie latter. The astonishing precision which the mechanical ingenuity of modern times has given to mathematical instruments, has, in fact, communicated a nicety to the results of practical geometry, beyond the ordinary demands of human life, and far beyond the most san- guine anticipations of our forefathers.* This remarkable, and indeed singular coincidence of propositions purely hypothetical, with facts which fall under the examination of our senses, is owing, as I already hinted, to the peculiar nature of the objects about which mathematics is conversant, and to the oji- portunity which we have (in consequence of that mensurability — see Note e e — which belongs to all of them) of adjusting, with a degree of accuracy approximating nearly to the truth, the data from which we are to reason in our practical operations, to those which are assumed in our theory. The only affections of matter which these objects comprehend are extension and figure, affections * See a ven- interesting and able article, in the fifth volnme of the Edinburgh Review, on Colonel Miidge's account of the operations carried on for accomplishing a trigonome- trical snr\-ey of England and Wales. I cannot deny myself the pleasure of quoting a few sentences. "In two distances that were deduced from sets of triangles, the one measured by General Roy in 1787, the other by Major Mudge in 1794. one of 24,133 miles, and the other of 38,688, the two measures agree within a foot as to the first distance, and 16 inches as to the second. Such an agreement, where the obseners and the instruments were both different, where the lines measured were of such extent, and deduced from such a variety of data, is probably without any other example. Coincidences of this sort are frequent in the trigonometrical sur\ey, and prove how much more good instruments, used by skilful and attentive obser\er8, are capable of performing, than the most san- guine theorist could have ever ventured to foretel. •* It is curious to compare the early essays of practical geometrv' with the perfection to which its operations have now reached, and to consider that, while the artist had made so little progress, the theorist had reached many of the sublimest heights of mathe- matical speculation ; that the latter had found out the area of the circle, and calcu- lated its circumference to more than a hundred places of decimals, when the former could hardly divide an arch into minutes of a degree ; and that many excellent treatises had been wiitten on the properties of curve lines, before a straight line of considerable length had ever been carefully drawn, or exactly measured on the surface of the earth." REASONINGS CONCERNING PROBABLE OR CONTINGExVT TRUTHS. 391 which matter possesses in common with space, and which may there- fore be separated in fact, as well as abstracted in thought, from all Its other sensible qualities. In examining, accordingly, the relations of quantity connected with these affections, we are not liable to be disturbed by those physical accidents, which in the other applica- tions of mathematical science necessarily render the result more or less, at variance with the theory. In measuring the heio-ht of a mountain, or m the survey of a country, if we are at due pains in ascertaining our data, and if we reason from them with mathematical strictness, the result may be depended on as accurate within very narrow limits; and as there is nothing but the incorrectness of our data by which the result can be vitiated, the limits of possible error may themselves be assigned. But, in the simplest applications of mathematics to mechanics or to physics, the abstractions which are necessary m the theory must always leave out circumstances which are essentially connected with the effect. In demonstrating for example, the property of the lever, we abstract entirely from its own weight, and consider it as an inflexible mathematical line •— suppositions with which the fact cannot possibly correspond ; and for which, of course, allowances (which nothing but physical expe- rience can enable us to judge of) must be made in practice.— (See Note FF.) Next to practical geometry, properly so called, one of the easiest applications of mathematical theory occurs in those branches of optics which are distinguished by the name of catoptrics and diop- trics. In these, the physical principles from which we reason are few and precisely definite, and the rest of the process is as purely geometrical as the Elements of Euclid. ^ In that part of astronomy, too, which relates solely to the pheno- mena, without any consideration of physical causes, our reasonings are purely geometrical. The data, indeed, on which we proceed must have been previously ascertained by observation: but the inferences we draw from these are connected with them by mathe- matical demonstration, and are accessible to all who are acquainted with the theory of spherics. In physical' astronomy, the law of gravitation becomes also a principle or datum m our reasonings ; but as in the celestial phe- nomena It is disengaged from the effects of the various other causes which are combined with it near the surface of our planet this branch of physics, as it is of all the most sublime and comprehensive m Its ol)jects, so it seems, in a greater degree than anv other to open a fair and advantageous field for mathematical ino-enuity ' In the instances which have been last mentioned the'^evidence of our conclusions resolves ultimately not only into that of sense but mto another law of belief formerly mentioned ; that which leads us to expect the coyitimiance, in future, of the established order of !)hysical phenomena. A very striking illustration of this presents Itself in the computations of the astronomer ; on the faith of I,! 1,1 392 PART IT. CHAP. V wiiich lie predicts, witli tlie most perfect assurance, many centuries before they happen, the appearances which the heavenly bodies are to exhibit. The same fact is assumed in all our conclusions in natural i>hilosophy ; and something extremely analogous to it in all our conclusions concerning human affairs. They relate, in both eases, not to necessary connexions, but to probable or contingent events ; of which, how confidently soever we may expect them to take place, the failure is by no means perceived to be impossible. Such conclusions, therefore, differ essentially from those to which we are led by the demonstrations of pure mathematics, which not only command our assent to the theorems they establish, but satisfy us that the contrary suppositions are absurd. These examples may suffice to convey a general idea of the dis- tinction between demonstrative and probable evidence ; and I pur- posely borrowed them from sciences where the two are brought into immediate contrast with each other, and where the authority of botli has hitherto been equally undisputed. Before prosecuting any farther the subject of probable evidence, some attention seems to be due, in the first place, to the grounds of that fundamental supposition on which it proceeds,— the stability of the order of nature. Of tliis important subject accordingly, I propose to treat at some length. I [ . Of that Permanence or Stability in the Order of Nature, which in presupposed in our Ueasoniugs concerning Contingent Truths. — 1 ]es nudi ferrum, virosaque Pont us Castorea, Eliadum palmas Epiros equarum ? Continuo has leges, ajternaque foedera certis Imposuit natura locis." — Virg. i. Georg. GO.f The same metaphor occurs in another j)assage of the Georgics, where tlie poet describes the regularity which is exhibited in the economy of the bees : " Sol;c communes natos, consortia tecta Urbis habent, magnisque j^itant sub legibus ajvum." Georg. iv. 153. J The following lines from Ovid's account of the Pythao-orean philosophy, are still more in point : ^ " Et rerum causas, et quid natura docebat ; Quid Deus : Unde nives : qua; fulminis esset origo : Jupiter, an venti, discussa nube tonarent : Quid quateret terras, qua sidera lege mearent, Et quodcunque latet." — Ovid. Met. xv. 68. § * I do not recollect any instance in the ^^Titings of Montesquieu, where he has reasoned more vaguely than in this chapter ; and yet I am inclined to believe, that few chapters in the Spirit of Laws have been more admired. "Montesquieu," says a French writer, " paroissoit a Thomas le premier des ecrivains, pour la force et I'etendue dcs idees, pour la multitude, la profondeur, la nouveaute des rapports. II est incroyable (disoit-il) tout ce que Montesquieu a fait apperc^evoir dans ce mot si court, le mot Loi." —Nouveau Diction. Historique, Art. Thomas Lyon, 1804. For some important remarks on the distintrtion between moral and physical laws see Dr. Ferguson's Institutes or Moral Philosophy, last edit. * t " Here golden corn, there luscious grapes abound. There grass spontaneous, or rich fruits are found ; Seest thou not, Tmolus, satfron sweets dispense, Her ivory Ind, Arabia frankincense } The naked Chalybes their iron ore To Castor Pontus gives its fetid power ; While for Olympic games Epirus breeds. To whirl the circHng car, the swiftest steeds : Nature these laws and these eterual bands. First fixed on certain cUmes and certain lands." Warton, Georg. i. 1. 09. X " They, they alone a general interest share, Their young conunitting to the public care, And all concurring to the common cause» Lire in fixed cities under common laws." Warton, Georg. iv. I. 183. $ " The crowd, Mith silent admiration, stand. And lieard him as they heard their God's command, i n ii I I' • r i Ii ' I 3or. Jura Poll, rerumque (idem, legesque Deoruni Ecce Syracusius transtulit arte sencx. Inclusus variis famulatur spiritus astris, Et vivum ccrtis motibus urget opus. Pcrcurrit proprium mentitus signifer annum, Et simulata novo Cynthia mense redit. Jamque suum volvens audax industria mundum Gaudet, et humana Sydera mente regit. Quid falso insontem tonitru Salmonea miror ? iEmula naturdi parva reperta manus." [When Jove beheld a crjstal glol)e display The world, he thus addiessed Olympus* train : Can mortals o'er the spheres possess such sway ? By such a toy my might be mocked as vain ? Great Heaven's rules, th' unerring course of things, Laws of the gods, expounds Sicilia's sage ; The flight of stars imprison'd air here wings, Its simple powers their varjing movements guage : The zodiac here wheels its little year, The mimic moon succeeding months restore ; By human art the spheres attun'd are liere, By it instinct the stars in ether soar. Instructed hence no longer view with wonder, Salmonea's chariot and his bridge of thunder.] In the progress of philosophical refinement at Rome, this metaphorical application of the word law seems to have been attended with the same consequences which, as I already observed, have resulted from an incautious use of it among some philosophers of moc, pariterquc et eruditum vulgus et nule in cam cursu vadit." — Plin Nat. Hist. lib. ii. HEASONINGS CONCERNING PROBABLE OR CONTINGENT TRUTHS. 397 an idle curiosity. In consequence of those uniform laws by which the succession of events is actually regulated, every fact collected with respect to the past is a foundation of sagacity and of skill witli ixM})ect to the future ; and, in truth, it is chiefly this application of experience to anticipate what is yet to happen, w^hich forms the intellectual superiority of one individual above another. The re- mark holds equally in all the various pursuits of mankind, wiiether speculative or active. As an astronomer is able, by reasonings founded on past observations, to predict those phenomena of the heavens which astonish or terrify the savage; — as the chemist, from liis previous familiarity with the changes operated upon bodies l)y heat or by mixture, can predict the result of innumerable experi- ments, which to others furnish only matter of amusement and wonder ; — so a studious observer of human affairs acquires a pro- ])hetic foresight (still more incomprehensible to the multitude) with respect to the future fortunes of mankind; — a foresight which, if it does not reach, like our anticipations in physical science, to par- ticular and definite events, amj)ly compensates for what it wants in precision, by the extent and variety of the prospects which it opens. It is from this apprehended analogy between the future and the l)ast, that historical knowledge derives the whole of its value ; and were the analogy completely to fail, the records of former ages would, in point of utility, rank with the fictions of poetry. Nor is the case different in the business of common life. Upon what does the success of men in their private concerns so essentially depend as on their own prudence; and what else does this word mean, than a wise regard, in every stej) of their conduct, to the lessons which experience has taught them ?* [The departments of the universe in which we have an oppor- tunity of seeing this regular order displayed, are the three follow- ing: — 1. The phenomena of inanimate matter; 2. The phenomena of the lower animals ; and, 3. The phenomena exhibited by the human race.] (1.) On tJ»e first of these heads, I have only to repeat what was before remarked. That in all the phenomena of the material world, the uniformity in the order of events is conceived by us to be com- plete and infallible; insomuch that, to be assured of the same result upon a repetition of tlie same experimentj we require only to be satisfied that both have been made in circumstances precisely sim.ilar. A single experiment, accordingly, if conducted with due attention, is considered, by the most cautious inquirers, as suflftcient to establish a general physical fact; and if, on any occasion, it should be repeated a second time, for the sake of greater certainty in the conclusion, it is merely with a view of guarding against the effects of the accidental concomitants which may have escaped notice, when the first result was obtained. (2.) The case is neaily similar in the phenomena exhibited by * " Prudcutiam quodanimodo esse divinationcm." — Corn. Ncp. in vita Attici. t •ii ii f 398 PART II. CHAP. V. ' 1 i the brutes ; the various tribes of which furnish a subject of exami- nation so steady, that the remarks made on a few individuals may be extended, with little risk of error, to the whole species. To this uniformity in their instincts it is owing, that man can so easily maintain his empire over them, and employ them as agents or instruments for accomplishing his purposes; advantages which would be wholly lost to him, if the operations of instinct were as much diversified as those of human reason. Here, therefore, we may plainly trace a purpose or design, perfectly analogous to that already remarked, with respect to the laws which regulate the material world ; and the difference in point of exact uniformity, which distinguishes the two classes of events, obviously arises from a certain latitude of action, which enables the brutes to accom- modate themselves, in some measure, to their accidental situations ; — rendering them, in consequence of this power of accommoda- tion, incomparably more serviceable to our race than they would have been, if altogether subjected, like mere matter, to the influence of regular and assignable causes. It is, moreover, extremely worthy of observation, concerning these two departments of the universe, that the uniformity in the phenomena of the latter pre- supposes a corresponding regularity in the phenomena of the former; insomuch that, if the established order of the material world were to be essentially disturbed (the instincts of the brutes I remaining the same) all their various tribes would inevitably perish. The uniformity of animal instinct, therefore, bears a reference to the constancy and immutability of physical laws, not less manifest than that of the fin of the fish to the properties of the water, or of the wing of the bird to those of the atmosphere. ' (3.) When from the phenomena of inanimate matter and those of the lower animals, we turn our attention to the history of our own species, innumerable lessons present themselves for the instruction of all who reflect seriously on the great concerns of human life. These lessons require, indeed, an uncommon degree of acuteness and good sense to collect them, and a still more un- common degree of caution to apply them to practice ; not only because it is difficult to find cases in which the combinations of circumstances are exactly the same, but because the peculiarities of individual character are infinite, and the real springs of action in our fellow-creatures are objects only of vague and doubtful con- jecture. It is, however, a curious fact, and one which opens a wide field of interesting speculation, that, in proportion as we extend our views from particulars to generals, and from individuals to communities, human afiairs exhibit, more and more, a steady subject of philosophical imagination, and funiish a greater number of general conclusions to guide our conjectures concerning future contingencies. To speculate concerning the character or talents of the individual who shall possess the throne of a particular king- dom a hundred years hence, would be absurd in the extreme : but REASONINGS CONCERNING PROBABLE OR CONTINGENT TRUTHS. 399 to indulge imagination in anticipating, at the same distance of time, the condition and character of any great nation, with whose man- ners and political situation we are well acquainted, (although even here our conclusions may be widely erroneous,) could not be justly censured as a misapplication of our faculties equally vain and irrational with the former. On this subject Mr. Hume has made some very ingenious and important remarks in the beginnino- of his Essay on the Rise and Progress of the Arts and Sciences.^ The same observation is applicable to all other cases in which events depend on a multiplicity of circumstances. How accidental soever these circumstances may appear, and how much soever they may be placed, when individually considered, beyond the reach of our calculations, experience shows that they are somehow or other nmtually adjusted, so as to produce a certain degree of uniformity in the result; and this uniformity is the more complete, the greater is the number of circumstances combined. fiC^ What can appear more uncertain than the proportion between the sexes among the children of any one family ! and yet how wonderfully is the balance preserved in the case of a numerous society ! What more preca- rious tlian the duration of life in an individual ! and yet, in a lono- list of persons of the same age, and placed in the same circum"^ stances, the mean duration of life is found to vary within very narrow limits. In an extensive district, too, a considerable degree of regularity may sometimes be traced, for a course of years, in the proportion of births and of deaths to the number of the whole inhabitants. Thus, in France, Necker informs us, that " the num- ber of births is in proportion to that of the inhabitants as one to twenty-three and twenty-four, in the districts that are not fiivoured by nature nor by moral circumstance ; this proportion is as one to twenty-five, twenty-five and a-half, and twenty-six, in the greatest part of France ; in cities, as one to twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, and even thirty, according to 'their extent and their trade." " Such proportions," he observes, ** can only be remarked in districts where there are no settlers nor emigrants; but even the differences arising from these (the same author adds,) and many other causes, acquire a kind of uniformity, when collectively con- sidered, and in the immense extent of so great a kino-dom." (Traite de T Ad ministration des Finances de France.) It may be worth while to remark, that it is on these principles that all the different institutions for assurances are founded. The object at which they all aim, in common, is to diraininish the number of accidents to which human life is exposed, or rather to counteract the inconveniences resulting from the irregularity of individual events, by the uniformity of general laws. The advantages which we derive from such general conclusions as we possess concerning the order of nature are so great, and our propensity to believe in its existence is so strong, that, even in cases where the succession of events appears the most anomalous, I: A ■t l :!') 400 PART II. CHAP. V, II we are apt to suspect the operation of fixed and constant laws, though we may be unable to trace them. The vulgar, in all coun- tries, perhaps, have a propensity to imagine, that, after a certain number of years, the succession of plentiful and of scanty harvests begins again to be repeated in the same series as before, a notion to which Lord Bacon himself has given some countenance in the following passage : — " There is a toy which I have heard, and I would not liave it given over, but waited upon a little. They say it is observed in the Low Countries, (I know not in what part,) that every five-and-thirty years, the same kind and suite of years and weathers come about again; as great frosts, great wet, great droughts, warm winters, summers witli little heat, and the like ; and they call it the prime. It is a thing I do the rather mention, because, computing backwards, I have found some concurrence." — (Essays, Art. 59.) Among the philosophers of antiquity, the influence of the same prejudice is observable on a scale still greater, many of them having supposed, that at the end of tlie annus magnus, or Platonic year, a repetition would commence of all the transactions that have occurred on the theatre of the world. According to this doctrine, the predictions in Virgil's PoUio will, sooner or later, be literally accomplished : " Alter erit turn Typhis, et altera i[nx vchat Argo Delectos Ileroas ; enint etiam altera hella ; Atqueilcruin ad Trojam magnus luittetur Achillis."* The astronomical cvcles which the Greeks borrowed from the Egyptians and Chaldeans, when combined with that natural bias of the mind which I have just remarked, account sufficiently for tliis extension to the moral world, of ideas suggested by the order of physical phenomena. Nor is this hypothesis of a moral cycle extravagant as it unques- tionably is, without its partisans among modern theorists. The train of thought, indeed, by which they have been led to adopt it is essentially different ; but it probably received no small degree of countenance, in their opinion, from the same bias which influenced the speculations of the ancients. It has been demonstrated by one * " And other Argos bear the chosen powers, New wars the bleeding nations shall destroy, And great Achilles find a second Troy." '* Turn cflficitur," says Cicero, speaking of this period, " cum solis et luna», et quinquc errantium ad eandem inter se, comparationem confectis omnium spatiis, est facta con- versio. Quse qukm longa sit, magna quiestio est : esse vero ccrtam et definitam necessc est." — De Nat. Deorum, lib. ii. 74. " Hoc inter\allo," Clavius obser>es, **quidam vohmt, omnia qux'cunque in mundo sunt, eodem ordine esse rc{ract ideas, exce]»t from comparing several abstract ideas. On the contrar}-, our first ideas are \posoient des ditfereures qu'il n'titoit pas encore temps de luifaire observer." (Sicard, pp. 30, 31.) [I had remarked that Massieu was inclined to give the same name in common to those individuals in whom he found a resemblance of features : proper names supposed tUfferences which he had not yet had time to observe ] The whole of tlic passage is well worth con- sulting. HEASOXINGS CONCERNING PROBABLE OR CONTINGENT TRUTHS. 407 That the constitution of our nature in this respect is, on the whole, wisely ordered, as well as perfectly conformable to the general economy of our frame, will appear from a slight survey of some other principles, nearly allied to those which are at present under our consideration. [It has been remarked by some eminent writers in this part of the island,* that our expectation of the continuance of the laws of nature has a very close affinity to our faith in human testimony. The parallel might perhaps be carried, without any over-refinement, a little farther than these writers have attempted; inasmuch as, in both cases, the instinctive principle is, in the first instance, unlimited, and requires, for its correction and regulation, the les- sons of subsequent experience.] As the credulity of children is originally without bounds, and is afterwards gradually checked by the examples which they occasionally meet with of human false- hood, so, in the infancy of our knowledge, whatever objects or events present to our senses a strong resemblance to each other, dispose us, without any very accurate examination of the minute details by which they may be really discriminated, to conclude with eagerness, that the experiments and observations which we make with respect to one individual, may be safely extended to the whole class. It is experience alone that teaches us caution in such infer- ences, and subjects the natural principle to the discipline prescribed by the rules of induction. It must not, however, be imagined that, in instances of this sort, the instinctive principle always leads us astray ; for the analogical anticipations which it disposes us to form, although they may not stand the test of a rigorous examination, may yet be sufficiently just for all the common purposes of life. It is natural, for example, that a man who has been educated in Europe should expect, when he changes his residence to any of the other quarters of the globe, to see heavy bodies fall downwards, and smoke to ascend, agreeably to the general laws to which he has been accustomed ; and that he should take it for granted in providing the means of his subsistence, that the animals and vegetables which he has found to be salutarv and nutritious in his native regions, possess the same qualiti^ wherever they exhibit the same appearances. Nor are such expec^ tations less useful than natural ; for they are completely realised, as far as they minister to the gratification of our more urgent wants. It is only when we begin to indulge our curiosity with respect to those nicer details which derive their interest from great refinement in the arts, or from a very advanced state of physical knowledge, that we discover our first conclusions, however just in the main, not to be mathematically exact ; and are led by those habits which scientific pursuits communicate, to investigate the difFererife of * See Reid's Inquirj' into the Human Mind, chap. vi. sect. 24. Campbell's Disserta- tion on Miracles, part i. sect. i. Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments, vol. ik p. 382, sixth edition. Lv 408 PART II. CHAP. V. I I circumstances to which the variety in the result is owing. After having found that heavy bodies fall downwards at the equator as they do in this island, the most obvious, and, perhaps, on a super- ficial view of the question, the most reasonable inference would be that the same pendulum which swings seconds at London will vibrate at the same rate under the line. In this instance, however the theoretical inference is contradicted by the fact ;— but the con- tradiction is attended with no practical inconvenience to the multi- tude, while, in the mind of the philosopher, it only serves to awaken his attention to the different circumstances of the two cases and in the last result, throws a new lustre on the simplicity and uniformitv of that law, from which it seemed, at first sight, an anomalous deviation. [To this uniformity in the laws which regulate the order of phy steal events, there is something extremely similar in the systematical regularity (subject indeed to many exceptions) which in every language, however imperfect, runs through the different classes of Its words, m respect of their inflexions, forms of derivation and other verbal filiations or affinities.] How much this rehich*leads them to repose faith in testimony ; and it also bears a striking resem- blance to that which prompts them to extend their past experience to those objects and events of which they have not hitherto had any means of acquiring a direct knowledge. It is probable indeed that our expectation, in all these cases, has its origin in the same common principles of our nature ; and it is certain that, in all of them. It is subservient to the important purpose of facilitating the progress of the mind. Of this nobody can doubt, who Ponside?s for a moment, that the great end to be first accomplished was mani- festly the communication of the general rule ; the acquisition of the exceptions (a knowledge of which is but of secondary importance) iTaraer ^"^''''^^'^ ^^ ^^^ growing diligence and capacity of the [The considerations now stated, may help us to conceive in v. hat manner conclusions derived from experience come to be inscnsiblu extended from the individual to the species; partly in consequence of the gross and undistinguishing nature of our first perceptions, and partly m consequence of the magical influence of a common HEASONlNCiS CONCERNING PROUABLE OR CONTINGENT TRUTHS. 409 name. They seem also to show, that this natural process of thought, though not always justified by a sound logic, is not without its use in the infancy of human knowledge.] In the various cases which have been hitherto under our review our conclusions are said in popular, and even in philosophical language, to be founded on experience. And yet the truth un- questionably is, (as was formerly observed,) that the evidence of experience reaches no farther than to an anticipation of the future from the past, in instances where the same cause continues to operate in circumstances exactly similar. How much this vagueness of expression must contribute to mislead us in many of our judgments, will afterwards appear. The observations which I have to offer upon analogy, considered as a ground of scientific conjecture and reasoning, will be introduced v,ith more propriety in a future chapter. IV. Evidence of Testimony tacitly recognised as a ground of Belief, in our most certain conclusions concerning Contingent Truths. — Differ- ence between the Logical and the Popular Meaning of the word Proha- bflity.— In some of the conclusions which have been already under our consideration with respect to contingent truths, a species of evidence is adniitted, of which no mention has hitherto been made ; I mean the evidence of testimony, f^ In astronomical calculations, for example, how few are the instances in which the data rest on the evidence of our own senses! and yet our confidence in the result is not, on that account, in the smallest deijree weakened. On the contrary, what certainty can be more complete than that \vith whicli wo look forward to an eclipse of the sun or the moon, on the faith of elements and of computations which we have never verified, and for the accuracy of which we have no ground of assurance whatever, but the scientific reputation of the writers from whom we have borrowed them ? An astronomer who should afiect any scepticism with respect to an event so predicted, would render himself no less an object of ridicule, than if he were disposed to cavil about the certainty of the sun's rising to-morrow. Even in pure mathematics, a similar regard to testimony, accom- panied with a similar faith in the faculties of others, is by no means uncommon. Who would scruple, in a geometrical investi'^ation, to adopt, as a link in the chain, a theorem of Appollonius^ or of Archimedes, although he might not have leisure at the moment to satisfy himself, by an actual examination of their demonstrations that they had been guilty of no paralogism, either from accident or design, in the course of their reasonings ? In our anticipations of astronomical phenomena, as well as in those which we form concerning the result of any familiar experi- ment in physics, philosophers are accustomed to speak of the event as only probable, although our confidence in its happening is not less complete than if it rested on the basis of mathematical demon- stration. The word probable, therefore, when thus used, does not 1 ' I f i:\ IW f 410 PART If. CHAP. V. I k imply any deficiency in the proof, but only marks the particular nature of that proof, as contradistinguished from another species of evidence. It is opposed, not to what is certain, but to what admits of bein«^ demonstrated after the manner of mathematicians. This differs widely from the meaning annexed to the same word in popular discourse ; according to which, whatever event is said to be probable, is understood to be expected witli some degree of doubt. As certain as death — as certain as the rising of the sun — are proverbial modes of expression in all countries ; and they are, both of them, borrowed from events which, in philosophical lan- guage, are only probable or contingent. In like manner, the ex- istence of the city of Peking, and the reality of CaDsar s assassination, which the philosopher classes with probabilities, because they rest solely upon the evidence of testimony, are universally classed with certainties by the rest of mankind ; and in any case but the state- ment of a logical theory, the application to such truths of the word probable, would be justly regarded as an impropriety of speecli. This difference between the technical meaning of the word proba- bility, as employed by lon:icians, and the notion usually attached to it in the business of life, together with the erroneous theories concerning the nature of demonstration, which I have already endeavoured to refute, have led many authors of the highest name, in some of the most important arguments which can employ human reason, to overlook that iiTesistible evidence which was placed before their eyes, in search of another mode of proof alto^'-ether unattainable in moral inquiries, and which, if it could be attained, would not be less liable to the cavils of sccjitics. But although, in phdosophical language, the epithet probable be applied to events which are acknowledged to be certain, it is also applied to those events which are called probable by the vulgar. The philosophical meaning of the word, therefore, is more compre- hensive than the popular: the former denoting that })articular species of evidence of which contingent proofs admit; the latter being confined to such degrees of this evidence as fall short of the highest. These different degrees of probability the philo!«ophcr considers as a series, beginning with bare possibility, and terminat- ing in that apprehended infallibility with which the phrase moral certainty is synonymous. To this last term of the series the word j.robable is, in its ordinary acceptation, plainly inapplicable. The satisfaction which the astronomer derives from the exact coincidence, in point of time, between his theoretical predictions concerning the phenomena of the heavens, and the corresponding events when they actually occur, does not imply the smallest doubt on his part, of the constancy of the laws of nature. It resolves partly into the pleasure of arriving at the knowledge of the same truth or of the same fact by different media; but chiefly into the gratifying assurance which he thus receives, of the correctness of his principles, and of the competency of the human faculties to KEASONINHS CONCERNING PROBABLE OR CONTINGENT TRUTHS. 41 1 these sublime investigations. What exquisite delight must La Place have felt, when, by deducing from the theory of gravitation, the cause of the acceleration of the moon's mean motion — an acce- leration which proceeds at the rate of little more than IP' in a century — he accounted, with such mathematical precision, for all the recorded observations of her place from the infancy of astrono- mical science ! It is from the length and abstruseness, however, of the reasoning process, and from the powerful effect produced on the imagination, by a calculus which brings into immediate contrast with the immensity of time, such evanescent elements as the frac- tional parts of a second, that the coincidence between the computa- tion and the event appears in this instance so peculiarly striking. In other respects, our confidence in the future result rests on the same principle with our expectation that the sun will rise to-morrow at a particular instant ; and, accordinn:ly, now that the correctness of the theory has been so wonderfully verified by a comparison with facts, the one event is expected with no less assurance than the other. With respect to those inferior degrees of probability to which, in common discourse, the meaning of that word is exclusively confined, it is not my intention to enter into any discussions. The subject is of so great extent, that I could not hope to throw upon it any lights satisfactory either to my reader or to myself, without encroaching upon the space destined for inquiries more intimately connected with the theory of our reasoning powers. One set of questions, too, arising out of it, — I mean those to which mathemati- cal calculations have been applied by the ingenuity of the moderns, — involve some very puzzling metaphysical difficulties,* the con- sideration of which would completely interrupt the train of our present speculations. I proceed, therefore, in continuation of those in which we have been lately engaged, to treat of other topics of a more general nature, tending to illustrate the logical procedure of the mind in the discovery of scientific truth. As an introduction to these, I propose to devote one whole chapter to some miscella- neous strictures and reflections on the logic of the schools. CHAPTER VI. OF THE ARISTOTELIAN LOGIC. I . Of the Demonstrations of the Syllogistic Rules given hy Aristotle (ind his Commentators. — The great variety of speculations which, in the present state of science, the Aristotelian logic naturally suggests to a philosophical inquirer, lays me, in this chapter, under the necessity of selecting a few leading questions, bearing immediately upon the particular objects which I have in view. In treating of * I allude more particularly to the doubts started on this subject by D'Alembert, in his Opuscules Mathcmaticiuos ; and in his Melanges d^ Littrrature. I M i'K 412 PART II. CHAP V. I these, I must, of course, suppose niy readers to possess some pro- vious acquaintance with the subject to which they relate ; but it is only such a general knowledge of its outlines and phraseology, as, in all universities, is justly considered as an essential accomplish- ment to those who receive a liberal education. I begin with examining the pretensions of the Aristotelian logic to that pre-eminent rank which it claims among the sciences ; pro- fessing, not only to rest all its conclusions on the immovable bnsis of (lemonstrution, but to have reared this mighty fabric on the nar- row ground-work of a single axiom. *' On the basis," says the latest of his commentators, " of one simple truth, Aristotle has reared a lofty and various structure of abstract science, clearly ex- pressed and fully demonstrated." (Analysis of Aristotle's Works, by Dr. (Hllies,voI. i. p. 83,2nd edit.) Nor have these claims been disputed by mathematicians themselves. " In logica,'* savs Dr. Wallis, '' structura syllogismi demonstratione nititur pure mathema- tica."* And, in another passage : "Sequitur institutio logica, communi usui accommodata. — Quo videant tirones, syllogismorum leges strictissimis demonstrationibus plane mathematicis ita fundatas, utconsequentiashabeant irrefragabiles, qua^que offuciis fallaciisque detegendis sint accommodatte."t (Preface to the same volume.) Dr. Reid, too, altiiough he cannot be justly charged, on the whole, with any undue reverence for the authoriiy of Aristotle, has yet, upon one occasion, spoken of his demonstrations with much more respect than they appear to me entitled to. " I believe," says he, "it will be dithcult, in any science* to find so large a system of truths of so very abstract and so general a nature, all for'titied h\ demonstration, and all invented and perfected by one man. It shows a force of genins, and labour of investigation, equal to the most arduous attempts." (Analysis of Aristotle's Logic, J Reid's Works, vol. ii. Svo edit. London, 1843.) As the fact which is so confidently assumed in these passa^-es would, if admitted, con»pletely overturn all I have hitherto said concerning the nature both of axioms and of demonstrative evi- dence, the observations which follow, seem to form a necessary sequel to some of the preceding discussions. I acknowledge, at the same time, tliat my chief motive for introducing them, was a wisli to counteract the effect of those triumphant panegyrics upon Aris- * See the Monitum prefixed to the Miscellaneous Treatises annexed to the third volume of Dr. Wallis's Mathematical works. t "In logic, the collusiveness of the syllog:ism depends on strict mathematical de- raonstration....There follows an introduction to logic suited for general use. So that beginners may perceive that the rules of syllogism are in such a manner l.iwcd on the strictest mathematical demonstrations, that they have irrefragable conclusiveue^s which is adapted for detecting delusions and fallacies." X That Dr. lleid, however, was perfectly aware that these d-^monstrations are more specious than solid, may he safely inferred from a sentence which afterwards occurs iti the same tract. " When we go without the circle of the matliematical sciences, 1 know nothing in which there sp»;«y to be so much demonstration as in that part of logic which treats of the tigurcs and uu»des of syllogisms." OF THE ARISTOTELIAN LOGIC. 413 tulle's Organon, which of late have been pronounced by some writers, whose talents and learningjustly add much weight to their literary opinions ; and an anxiety to guard the rising generation against a waste of time and attention, upon a study so little fitted, in my judgment, to reward their labour. [The first remark which I have to offer upon Aristotle's demon- strations is, that they proceed on the obviously false supposition of its being possible to add to the conclusiveness and authority of demonstrative evidence. One of the most remarkable circum- stances which distinguishes this from that species of evidence whicii is commonly called moral or probable is, that it is not susceptible of degrees ; the process of reasoning of which it is the result, being either good for nothing, or so perfect and complete in itself, as not to admit of support from any adventitious aid.] Every such process of reasoning, it is well known, may be resolved into a series of legi- timate syllogisms, exhibiting separately and distinctly, in a light as clear and strong as language can afford, each successive link of the demonstration. How far this conduces to render the demonstration more convincing than it was before, is not now the question. Some doubts may reasonably be entertained upon this head, when it is considered that, among the various expedients employed by mathematical teachers to assist the apprehension of their pupils, none of them have ever thought of resolving a demonstration, as may always be easily done, into the syllogisms of which it is com- posed.* But, abstracting altogether from this consideration, and granting that a demonstration may be rendered more manifest and satisfactory by being syllogistically stated; upon what principle can it be supposed possible, after the demonstration has bt^en thus analysed and expanded, to enforce and corroborate, by any subsi- diary reasoning, that irresistible conviction which demonstration necessarily commands ? It furnishes no valid re})ly to this objection, to ailege that mathe- maticians often employ themselves in inventing different demonstra- tions of the same theorem ; for, in such instances, their attempts * From a passage indeed in a memoir by Leibnitz, printed in the sixth volume of the Acta Eruditorum, it would seem that a commentary of this kind, on the tirst six books of Euclid, had been actually carried into execution by two writers, whose names he men- tions. •• Firma autem demonstratio est, qua; pnescriptam a logica formara servat, non quasi semjjer ordinatis scholanim more syllogismis opus sit (quales Christianus Herlinus et Conradus Dasypodius in sex priores Euclidis libros exhibuerunt) sed ita saltem ut argu- mentatio concludat \i forma;," &c. &c. Acta Eruditor. Lips. vol. i. p. 285. Venet. 1740. [The sound demonstration is that which has the form prescribed by logic ; not, how- ever, that the technical forms of syllogisms as used in the schools are indispensable (in the way that Christian Herlinus and Conrad Dasypodius have laid them down with re- spect to the first six books of Euchd) ; l)ut so at least that the argument should have the conclusiveness of those forms. — Transactions of the Learned.] I have not seen either of the works alluded to in the above sentence ; and upon less respectable authority should scarcely have conceived it to be credible that any person capable of understanding Euclid had ever seriously engaged in such an undertaking. It would have been ditticult to devise a more effectual expedient for exposing to the mean- ««t understanding the futility of the syllogistic theory. ,n 414 PART II. CHAP. VI. do not proceed from any anxiety to swell the mass of evidence, by finding (as in some other sciences) a variety of collateral arguments all bearing, with their combined force, on the same truth ?— -their only wish is, to discover the easiest and shortest road by which the truth may be reached. In point of simplicity, and of what geome- ters call elegance, these various demonstrations may differ widely from each other ; but in point of sound logic they arc all precisely on the same footing. Each of them shines with its own intrinsic light alone ; and the first which occurs (provided they be all equally understood) commands the assent not less irresistibly than the last. The idea, however, on which Aristotle proceeded, in attempting to fortify one demonstration by another, bears no analogy whatever to the practice of mathematicians in multiplying proofs of the same theorem: nor can it derive the slightest countenance from their example. His object was not to teach us how to demonstrate the same thing in a variety of different ways ; but to demonstrate, by abstract reasoning, the conclusiveness of demonstration. By what means he set about the accomplishment of his purpose will after- wards appear. At present, I speak only of his design ; which, if the foregoing remarks be just, it will not be easy to reconcile with correct views, either concerning the nature of evidence or the theory of the human understanding. For the sake of tljose who have not previously turned their atten- tion to Aristotle's Logic, it is necessary, before proceeding farther, to take notice of a peculiarity, (and, as appears to me, an impro- priety,) in the use which he makes of the epithets demonstrative and dialectical, to mark the distinction between the two great classes into which he divides syllogisms ; a mode of speaking which, according to the common use of language, would seem to imply that one species of syllogisms may be more conclusive and cogent than another. That this is not the case is almost self-evident ; for if a syllogism be perfect in form, it must, of necessity, be not only conclusive but demonstratively conclusive. Nor is this in fact, the idea which Aristotle himself annexed to the distinction ; for he tells us that it does not refer to the form of syllogisms, but to their matter ;— or, in plainer language, to the degree of evidence accom- panying the premises on which they proceed.* In the two books * To the same purpose also Dr. Wallis : " Syllogisraus Topieus, (qiii et Dialecticus did solet) talis haberi solet syllogismus (seu syllogismorum series) (iiu fimiani potius prasumptionem, seu opiuionem valde probabilem creat, quara absolutam certitudineni. Non quidem ratione Forma?, (nam syllogismi omnes, si in justa forma, sunt demonstra- tivi ; hoc est, si praimisss vene sint, vera crit et conclusio,) sod ratione materia?, sou Prajmissarum ; qua? ipsae, utplurimum, non sunt absolute certa\ ei universahtcr venc ; sed saltern probabiles, atque utplurimum vene."— Wallis, Logica, lib. iii. cap. 23. [The topical syllogism, which is also called the dialectical, is considered to be such a syllogism, or series of syllogisms, as rather produces strong presumption, or great probability, than absolute certainty ; not indeed as regards the form (for all syllogisms, if in legitimate form, are demonstrative ; that is, if the premises be true, the conclusion will be true) ; but as regards the matter or premises, which, for the most part, are not absolutely certain, and universally true, but at least probable, and for the most part true.] OF THE ARISTOTELIAN LOGIC. 415 of his last Analytics, accordingly he treats of syllogisms, which are said to be demonstrative, because their premises are certain; and in bis Topics, of what he calls dialectical syllogisms, because their premises are only probable. Would it not have been a clearer and juster mode of stating this distinction, to have applied the epithets doraonstrative and dialectical to the truth of the conclusions resulting from these two classes of syllogisms, instead of applying them to the syllogisms themselves? The phrase demonstrative syllogism certainly seems, at first sight, to express rather the com- plete and necessary connexion between the conclusion and the premises, than the certainty or the necessity of the truths which the premises assume. To this observation it may be added, in order to prevent any misapprehensions from the ambiguity of language, that Aristotle's idea of the nature of demonstration is essentially different from that which I have already endeavoured to explain. " In all demon- stration," says Dr. Gillies, who, in this instance, has very accurately and clearly stated his author's doctrine, " the first principles must be necessary, immutable, and therefore eternal truths, because those qualities could not belong to the conclusion, unless they belonged to the premises, which are its causes." (Aristotle's Ethics and Politics,&c. ByDr.Gillies, vol.i.p.96.*) According to the account of demonstrative or mathematical evidence formerly given, the first principles on which it rests are not eternal and immutable truths, but definitions or hypotheses ; and therefore, if the epithet demon- strative be understood, in our present argument, as descriptive of that peculiar kind of evidence which belongs to mathematics, the distinction between demonstrative and dialectical syllogisms is reduced to this ; that in the former, where all that is asserted is the necessary connexion between the conclusion and the premises, neither the one nor the other of these can with propriety be said to be either true or false, because both of them are entirely hypo- thetical : in the latter, where the premises are meant to express truths or facts, supported on the most favourable supposition, by * I am much at a loss how to reconcile this account of demonstrative evidence wilh the view which is given by Dr. Gillies of the nature of syllogism, and of the principles on which the syllogistic theorv' is founded. In one passage (p. 81), he tell us, that "Aristotle invented the syllogism, to prevent imposition arising from the abuse of words :" in a second (p. 83), that " the simple truth on which Aristotle has reared a lofty and various structure of abstract science, clearly expressed and fully demonstrated, is itself founded in the natural and universal texture of language :" in a third, (p. 86), that " the doctrines of Aristotle's Organon have been strangely perplexed by confound- ing the grammatical principles on which that work is built with mathematical axioms." Is it possible to suppose that Aristotle could have ever thought of applying to mere grammatical principles — to truths founded in the natural and universal texture of lan- guage — the epithets of necessary, immutable, and etenial ? I am unwilling to lengthen this note, otherwise it might Ije easily shown how utterly irreconcilable, in the present instance, are the glosses of tliis ingenious commentator ^ith the text of his author. Into some of those glosses it is probable that he has been unconsciously betrayed, by his anxiety to establish the claim of his favourite philosopher to the important speculations of Locke on the abuse of words, and to those of some later itTiters on language cciisidered as an instrument of thought. If! Vl\ r 'i i If «i 416 PART 11. CHAP. VI, a very high degree of probability, the conclusion must necessarily partake of that uncertainty in which the premises are involved. [But what I am chiefly anxious at present to impress on the minds of my readers is the substance of the two following propositions : Firsts That dialectical syllogisms (provided they be not sophistical) are not less demonstratively conclusive, so far as the process of reasoning is concerned, than those to which this latter epithet is restricted by Aristotle; and, secondly, that it is to the process of reasoning alone, and not to the premises on which it proceeds, that Aristotle's demonstrations exclusively refer.] The sole object, therefore, of these demonstrations is (as I already remarked) not to strengthen, by new jiroofs, principles which were doubtful, or to supply new links to a chain of reasoning which was imperfect, but to confirm one set of demonstrations by means of another. The mistakes into which soiup of my readers might have been led by the contrast whicli Aristotle's language implies between dialectical syl- logisms, and those which he honours with the title of demonstrative, will, I trust, furnish a sufficient apology for the length of this explanation. Having enlarged so fully on the professed aim of Aristotle s demonstrations, I shall despatch, in a very few pages, what I have to offer on the manner in which he has carried his design into effect. If the design be as unphilosophical as I have endeavoured to show that it is, the apparatus contrived for its execution can be con- sidered in no other light than as an object of literary curiosity. A process of reasoning which pretends to demonstrate the legi- timacy of a conclusion which, of itself, by its own intrinsic evidence, irresistibly commands the assent, must, we may be perfectly as- sured, be at bottom unsubstantial and illusory, how specious soever it may at first sight appear. Supposing all its inferences to be strictly just, it can only bring us round again to the point from whence we set out. The very acute strictures of Dr. Reid, in his analysis of Aris- totle's logic, on this part of the syllogistic theory, render it super- fluous for me, on the present occasion, to enter into any details upon the subject. To this small, but valuable tract, therefore, I beg leave to refer my readers ; contenting myself with a short extract, which contains a general and compendious view of the conclusion drawn, and of the argument used to prove it, in each of the three figures of syllogisms. " In the first figures, the conclusion affirms or denies something of a certain species or individual ; and the argument to prove this conclusion is, that the same thing may be affirmed or denied of the whole genus to which that species or individual belongs. " In the second figure, the conclusion is, that some species or individual does not belong to such a genus ; and the argument is, that some attribute common to the whole genus does not belong to that species or individual. OF TUE AlilSTOTELIAN LOGIC. 417 " In the third figure, the conclusion is, that such an attribute ' belongs to part of a genus ; and the argument is. That the attribute in question belongs to a species or individual which is part of that genus. ^ " I apprehend that, in this short view, every conclusion that falls witlnn the compass 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 prin- ciple of reasoning in all the three; so that it is not strange that a syllogism of one figure should be reduced to one of another figure. " The general principle in which the whole terminates, and of which every categorical syllogism is only a particular application, is this, that what is affirmed or denied of the whole genus may be affirmed or denied of every species 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 con- clusion. * curas hominum ! O quantum est in rebus inane !' "* When we compare this mockery of science with the unrivalled powers of the inventor, it is scarcely possible to avoid suspecting, that he was anxious to conceal its real })overty and nakedness under the veil of the abstract language in which it was exhibited. It is observed by the author last quoted, that Aristotle hardly ever ^ives examples of real syllogisms to illustrate his rules; and that his commentators, by endeavouring to supply this defect, have only hrought into contempt the theory of their master. " We acknow- ledge," says he, " that this was 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." One thing is certain, tliat when we translate any of Aristotle's demon- strations from the general and enigmatical language in which he states it, into more familiar and intelligible terms, by applyino- it to a particular example, the mystery at once disappears, and resolves into some self-evident or identical puerility. It is surely astran^-e mode of proof, which would establish the truth of what is obvious, and what was never doubted of, by means of an argument which appears quite unintelligible till explained and illustrated by an instance perfectly similar to the very thing to be proved, " If A (says Aristotle) is attributed to every B, and B to every C, it follows necessarily, that A may be attributed to every C'f * '• Alas ! the cares of men ; alas ! how much vanity is there in things." This axiom IS calLd, in scholastic language, the " dictum de omni et de nullo." t If ix ohvious, that Aristotle's symbolical demonstrations might be easilv thrown nto the form of symbolical syllogisms. The circumstance which induced him' to prefer the former mode of statement, was probably that he might avoid the appearance of rpasonins in a circle, by employing the syllogistic theory to demonstrate itself. It ia 1 fnnous how it should have escaped him, that, in attempting to shun this fallacy, he ^ E 1 li I i ' ) J .1 t 1 !■ ill'! 418 PART II. CHAP VI. OF THE ARISTOTELIAN' LOGIC. 419 bij i ill (Analyt. Prior, cap. iv.) Such is the demonstration given of the first mode of the first figure ; and it is obviously nothing more than the axiom called the " dictum de omni," concealed under the disguise of an uncouth and cabalistical phraseology. The demon- strations given of the other legitimate modes are all of the same description. In disproving the illegitimate modes, he proceeds after a similar manner; condescending, however, in general, to supply us, by way of example, with three terms, such as bonuni, habitus, prudentia, album, equus, cygnus ; — which three terms, we are left, for our own satisfaction, to form into illegitimate syllogisms of the parti- cular figure and mode which may be under consideration. The manifest inconclusiveness of every such syllogism, he seems to have thought, might assist readers of slower apprehension in perceiving more easily the import of the general proposition. The inconclu- siveness, for instance, of those modes of the first figure, in which the major is particular, is thus stated and explained : — " If A is or is not in some B, and B in every C, no conclusion follows. Take for the terms in the afliirmative case, good, habit, prudence ; in tlie negative, good, habit, ignorance." — (Analyt. Prior, cap. iv.) — With respect to such passages as this. Dr. lieid has perfectly expressed my feeling, when he says, that " the laconic style of the author, the use of symbols not familiar, and, in place of giving an example, his leaving us to form one from three assigned terms, give such embarrassment to a reader, that he is like one reading a book of riddles."* Can it be reasonably supposed, that so great an ob- scurity in such a writer was not the effect of some systematical design ? From the various considerations already stated, I might perhaps, without proceeding farther, be entitled to conclude, that Aristotle's demonstrations amount to nothing more than to a specious and im- posing parade of words ; but tlie innumerable testimonies to tlieir validity, from the highest names, and the admiration in which they continue to be held by men of distinguished learning, render it necessary for me, before dismissing the subject, to unfold a little more completely some parts of the foregoing argument. It may probably appear to some of my readers superfluous to re- mark, after the above-cited specimens of the reasonings in question, that not one of these demonstrations ever carry the mind forward, a single step, from one truth to another ; but merely from a general axiom to some of its particular exemplifications ; nor is this all ; they carry the mind in a direction opposite to that in which its had fallen into another exactly of the same description ; — that of employing an arjru- ment in the common fonn to demonstrate the legitimacy of syllogisms, after having represented a syllogistic analysis as the only inlullible test of the legitimacy of a dt^ninnstration. * Dr. Gillies has attempted a vindication of the use which Aristotle, in his demon- strations, has made of the letters of the alphabet. For some remarks on this attempt, lee note 1 1. judgments are necessarily formed. The meaning of a general axiom, it is well known, is seldom if ever intelligible, till it has been illustrated by some example; whereas Aristotle, in all his demonstrations, proceeds on the idea, that the truth of an axiom, in particular instances, is a logical consequence of its truth, as' enunciated in general terms. Into this mistake, it must be owned, he was not unnaturally led by the place which is assigned to' axioms at the beginning of the elements of geometry, and^ by the manner in which they are afterwards referred to in demonstrating the propositions. " Since A (it is said) is equal to B, and B to C, A is equal to C ; for, things which are equal to one and the same thing, are equal to one another." This place, I have little doubt, has been occupied by mathematical axioms, as far back, at least, as the foundation of the Pythagorean school ; and Aristotle's fun- damental axiom will be found to be precisely of the same descrip- tion. Instead, therefore, of saying, with Dr. Gillies, that " on the basis of one single truth Aristotle has reared a lofty and various structure of abstract science," — it would be more correct to say, that the whole of this science is comprised or implied in the terms of one single axiom. Nor must it be forgotten (if we are to retain Dr. Giilies's metaphor) that the structure may, with much more propriety, be considered as the basis of the axiom, than the axiom of the structure. When it is recollected that the greater part of our best pliiloso- phcrs, (and among the rest Dr. Reid) still per sever t, after all that Locke has urged on the opposite side of the (juestion, in considering axioms as the groimdwork of mathematical science, it will not appear surprising that Aristotle's demonstrations should have so lono* con- tinued to maintain their ground in books of logic. That this idea is altogether erroneous, in so far as mathematics is concerned, has been already sufficiently shown ; the whole of that science resting ultimately, not on axioms, but on definitions or hypotheses. By tliose who have examined my reasonings on this last point, and who take the pains to combine them with the foregoing remarks, I trust it will be readily allowed, that the syllogistic theory furnishes no exception to the general doctrine concerning demonstrative evi- dence, which I formerly endeavoured to establish ; its pretended demonstrations being altogether nugatory, and terminating at last (as must be the case with every process of thought involvino- no data but what are purely axiomatical) in the very proposition from which they originally set out. [The idea that all demonstrative science must rest ultimately on axioms, has been borrowed, with manj other erroneous maxims, from the logic of Aristotle ; but is now, in general, stated in a manner niuch more consistent (although perhaps not nearer to the truth) than in the works of that philosopher.] According to Dr. Reid, the degree of evidence which accompanies our conclusions, is ne- cessarily determined by the degree of evidence which accompanies E E 2 ; vj. '1 1 i ' J CHAP. VI. autliority of Ari>totle), that the syllogistic theory corded inucli better with tlie doctrine of Phito cor 420 PART II. our first principles ; so that, if the latter be only probable, it i^ perfectly impossible that the former should be certain. Agreeing:, therefore, with Aristotle, in considering axioms as the basis of all demonstrative science, he was led, at the same time, in conformity with the doctrine just mentioned, to consider them as eternal and immutable truths, which are perceived to be such by an intuitive judrti'fpor Of Kftiytav MTiv at trpoTanftq KnQoKov ttiov onvWoyinfioq. nri avayKti Km TO avfkiripaa^ia dihov tivm ti]Q TOtavTf]Q arrocnttioq, khi r//f («t\«^(; (trrm') a-TTohi^ntti' oi»(c ftrriv apu aTToCiiKtC ti»v (pOapTtor, avo' (TntjTij^u] dnXtm:, a\X oiVwf, uKTTTtp Km a avfx^itjit]KOQ. Analyt. Post. lil). i. cap. viii. [It is also clear that, if the propositions constituting the syllogism he universal, it is necessan" that the conclusion of such a demonstration, and, to s[)eak plainly, of the demonstratioji itself, must he eternal. It is not therefore the demonstration of unstahle tilings, nor knowledge ahsolutcly, but as if by accident.] t V.K fitv ovi' at(r9t](THi)Q yiyvfTnt ^ivrifiri' *ic ^f f;;i>/c TroWaKiQ rov avTov yivo- fifvijq, f^iTTiipia' (it yap TToXXat fivi]^ai Ti^i apiOfUfj^ ffiTTupin fiiaftTTiv' IK c iinriipiac ti tK TravTot; tipf^t}fT'jpTn<^ too Ka(lo\ov ev ry 4^i'xg, tov ivog irapa ra TroXXa, 6 av tf drraaiv tv tvy (khvoiv to avTO, T(xvi)<: apxn "f"* * Ttff r»;/i »;c' tav fitv TTipi yei'tTiv, Ttx^'flQ' ««" ^^ ^^P*^ ^° o*'* '""KTrJ^^f/c (.Vnalyt. Post. lib. ii cap. xix.) [From sensa- tion, therefore, arises memor\- ; b>it from the memor>' of the same thing; frequently ex- pended, experience; for several recollections constitute one experience. But from expe- rience, or from all, and universality resting in the mind, to wit, from one, according to •many, which is one and the same, in them originate art and knowledge : art, if the ques- tion be about production ; knowledge, if it l>e alwut existence.] The whole chapter may be read with advantage by those who wish for a fuller explanation of Aristotle's o])inion on this question. His illustration of the intellectual process by which general principles are obtained from the perceptions of sense, and from reiterated acts of memory resolving into one experience, is more particularly deserving of attention. X it may perhaps be asked, Is not this the very mode of philosophizing recommended by Bacon, first, to proceed analytically from particulars to generals, and then to reason synthetically from generals to particulars ? My reply to this question (a question which will not puzzle any person at all acqujiinted with the subject) I must delay, till I shall have an opportunity, in the progress of my work, of pointing out the essential difference between the meanings annexed to the word induction, in the Aristotelian, and in the Baconian logic. I'pon the present occasion it is sutticient to observe, that OF THE ARISTOTELIAN LOGIC- 421 claimed as a discovery of Aristotle, by some of the most zealous admirers of his logical demonstrations. (See Dr. Gillies' Analysis of Aristotle's works, passim.)* In this point of view, Lord Monboddo has certainly conducted, with greater skill, his defence of the syllogistic theory ; inasmuch as he has entirely abandoned the important conclusions of Aristotle concerning the natural progress of human knowledge, and has attempted to entrench himself in (what was long considered as one of the most inaccessible fastnesses of the Platonic philosophy) the very ancient theory, which ascribes to general ideas an existence necessary and eternal. Had he, upon this occasion, after the ex- ample of Aristotle, confined himself solely to abstract principles, it might not have been an easy task to refute, to the satisfaction of common readers, his metaphysical arguments. Fortunately how- ever, he has favoured us with some examples and illustrations, which render this undertaking quite unnecessary ; and which, in my opinion, have given to the cause which he was anxious to sup- port, one of the most deadly blows which it has ever received. The following panegyric, in particular, on the utility of logic, while it serves to show that, in admiration of the Aristotelian demonstra- tions, he did not yield to Dr. Gillies, forms precisely such a com- ment as I myself could have wished for, on the leading propositions which I have now been attempting to estabhsh. " In proof of the utility of logic," says Lord Monboddo, " I will Bacon's plan of investigation was never supposed to be applicable to the discovery of principles which are necessary and eternal. * In this learned, and on the whole very instructive [Mjrformance, I find several doctrines ascribed to Aristotje, which appear not a little at variance with each other. The following passagi^s (which I am led to select from their connexion with the present argument) strike me as not ouly widely ditlerent, but completely contradictory, in their iuijKjrt. "According to Aristotle, definitions are the foundations of all science; but those fountains are pure oidy when they originate in an accurate examination and patient comparison of the |>erceptible qualities of individual objects." Vol. i. p. 77. " Demonstrative truth can apply only to those things which necessarily exist after a certain nmnner, and whose state is unalterable : and we know these things when we know their causes : thus we know a mathematical proposition when we know the causes that make it true ; that is, when we know all the immediate propositions, up to the first principles or axioms, on which it is ultimately built." Ibid. pp. 95, 96. It is almost superfluous to observe, tluit while the former of these quotations founds all demonstrative evidence on definitions, the latter founds it ujwn axioms. Nor is this all. The former, as is manifest from the second clause of the sentence, can refer only to contingent truths; inasmuch as the most accurate examination of the percep- tible qualities of individual objects can never lead to the knowledge of things which necessarily exist after a certain manner. The latter as obviously refers, and exclusively refers, to truths which resemble mathematical theorems. As to Aristotle's assertion, that definitions are the first principles of all demonstra- tions («j »p\a( Tiov aTToc*iinuv oi opifffioi), it undoubtedly seems, at first view, to coin- cide exactly with the doctrine which I was at so much pains to inculcate, in treating of that peculiar evidence which belongs to mathematics. I hope, however, I shall not, on this account, be accused of plagiarism, when it is considered, that the commentary upon these words, quoted above from Dr. Gillies, absolutely excludes mathematics from the number of those sciences to which they are to be applied. — On this point, too, Aristotle's own language is decisive. E$ avayKuiiov apa ffv\\oyi(Tfiog etrriv ri ajroieiKie- Analyt. Poster, hb. i. cap. iv. !!!' \i i V 42-3 PART II. CHAP. VI. OF THE ARISTOTELIAN LOGIC. 423 give an example of an argument to prove tliat man is a substance; which argument, put into tlie syllogistic Ibrm, is this: Jlverv animal is a. Milj:>tancc; Kvcry man is an animal ; Therefore ever)' man is a substance. There is no man, I believe, who is not convinced of the truth of the conclusion of this syllogism : but how he is convinced of this, and for wliat reason he believes it to be true, no man can tell, who has not learned, from the logic of Aristotle, to know what a proposition and what a syllogism is. There he will learn, that every proposition atiirms or denies something of some other thing. What is affirmed or denied is called the predicate; and that of which it is atiirmcd or denied, is called the subject. The predicate bein*^ a more general idea than the subject of which it is ])redicatei!, must contain or include it, if it be an affirmative proposition ; or if it be a negative proposition, it must exclude it. This is the nature of propositions : and as to syllogism, the use of it is to prove any proposition that is not self-evident. And this is done by finding out what is called a middle term ; that is, a term connected with both the predicate and the subject of the proposition to be proved. Now, the proposition to be proved here is, that a man is a substance ; or, in other words, that substance can be predicated of man : and the middle term, by which this connexion is discovered, is animal, of which substance is predicated ; and this is the major proposition of the syllogism, by which the major term of the proposition to he proved, is predicated of the middle term. Then animal is predi- cated of man ; and tliis is the minor proposition of the syllogism, bv w hich the middle term is predicated of the lesser term, or sub- ject of the proposition to be proved. The conclusion, therefore, is, tliat as substance contains animal, and man is contained in animal, or is part of animal, therefore substance contains man. And the conclusion is necessarily deduced from the axiom I have mentioned, as the foundation of the truth of the syllogism, ' that the whole i< greater than any of its parts, and contains them all.* So that the truth of the syllogism is as evident as when we say, that if A con- tain B, and B contain C, then A contains C. " In this manner Aristotle has demonstrated the truth of the syl- loo-ism. But a man, who has not studied his logic, can no more teil wiiv he believes the trutli of the syllogism above-mentioned, con- cerning man beinqf a substance, than a joiner, or any common mechanic, who applies a foot or a yard to the length of two bodies, and finds that both agree exactly to that measure, and are neither longer nor shorter, can give a reason why he believes the bodies to be equal, not knowing the axiom of Euclid, *that two things, which are equal to a third thing, are equal to one another.* " By this discovery Aristotle has answered the question, which Pontius Pilate, the Boman governor, asked of our Saviour, what truth is? The answer to which appears now to be so obvious, that I am persuaded Pilate would not have asked it as a question, which lie no doubt thought very difficult to be answered, if he had not studied the logic of Aristotle."* (Ancient Metaphysics, vol. v. pp. 152— lo4.) After perusing the above exposition of Aristotle's demonstration, the reader, if the subject be altogether new to him, will be apt to imagine, that the study of logic is an undertaking of much less di.4iculty than he had been accustomed formerly to apprehend ; the whole resolving ultimately into this axiom, "that if A contains B, and B contains C, then A contains C* In interpreting this axiom, he will probably figure to himself A, B, and C, as bearing some resemblance to three boxes, the sizes of which are so adapted to each other, that B may be literally put into the inside of A, and C into the inside of B. Perhaps it may be reasonably doubted, if there is one logician in a hundred, who ever dreamed of under- standing it in any other sense. When considered in this light, it is not sur[)rising that it should instantly command the assent of the merest novice : nor would he hesitate one moment longer about its truth, if, instead of being limited (in conformity to the three terms of a syllogism), to the three letters, A, B, C, itWeretobe extended from A to Z ; the series of boxes corresponding to the series of letters, being all conceived to be nestled, one within another, like those which we sometimes see exhibited in the hands of a juggler. If the curiosity of the student, however, should lead him to inquire a little more accurately into Aristotle's meaning, he will soon have the mortification to learn, that when one thing is said by the logician to be in another, or to be contained in another, these words are not to be understood in their ordinary and most obvious sense, but in a particular and technical sense, known only to adepts ; and about which, we may remark by the way, adepts are not, to this day, unanimously agreed. " To those," says Lord Monboddo, " who know no more of logic nor of ancient philosophy than Mr. Locke did, it will be necessary to explain in what sense one idea can be said to contain another, or the idea less general can be said * I have quoted this passage at length, because I consider it as an instructive example of the (ticcts likely to be pnxluced on the understanding by scholastic studies, where they become a favourite and habitual object of pursuit. The author (whom I knew well, and for whose memory I entertain a sincere respect) was a man of no common mental powers. Besides possessing a rich fund of what is commonly called learning, he was distingui>hed by natural acutenpss; by a more than ordinarv- share of wit; and, in the discluajcc of his judicial functions, by the singular correctness, gravity, and dignity of his uni)r( meditated elocution ; — and yet, so completely had his faculties been subdued by the vuin abstractions and verbal distinctions of the schools, tl;at he had brought him- self seriously to regard such discussions as that which I have here transcribed from his works, nut only as containing much excellent sense, but as the quintessence of sound philosophy. As for the mathematical and physical discoveries of the Newtonians, he held them in comparative contempt, and was probably prevented, by this circumstance, from ever proceeding farther than the first elements of these sciences. Indeed, his ignorance of both was wonderful, considering the very liberal educatiou which he had received, not only in his own countrv*, but at a foreign university. I 424 VAllT II. CHAP. VI. to be a part of the more general. And, in the first place, it is not in the sense that one body is said to be a part of another, or the greater body to contain the lesser ; nor is it as one number is said to contain another ; but it is virtually or potentially that the more general idea contains the less general. In this way the genus con- tains the species ; for the genus may be predicated of every species under it, whether existing or not existing; so that virtually it con- tains all the species under it, which exist or may exist. And not only does the more general contain the less general, but (what at first sight may appear surprising) the less general contains the more general, not virtually or potentially, but actually. Thus, the genus animal contains virtually man, and every other species of animal either existing, or that may exist: but the genus animal is contained in man, and in other animals actually ; for man cannot exist without being in actuality, and not potentially only, an animal."* (Ancient Metaphysics, vol. iv. p. 73.) If we have recourse to Dr. Gillies for a little more light upon this question, we shall meet with a similar disappointment. Ac- cording to him, the meaning of the phrases in question is to be sou*'-lit for in the following definition of Aristotle : " To say that one thing is contained in another, is the same as saying, that the second can be predicated of the first in the full extent of its sig- nification ; and one term is predicated of another in the full extent of its signification, when there is no particular denoted by the subject, to which the predicate does not apply."t (Gillies's Aristotle, vol. i. p. 73.) In order, therefore, to make sure of Aristotle's idea, we must substitute the definition instead of the thing defined ; that is, instead of saying that one thing is contained in another, we must say, that "the second can be predicated of the first in the full extent of its signification." In * For the distinction betwixt containing potentially and actually, Lord Monl>oddo acknowledges himself indebted to a Greek author then living, Eugenius Diaconus. (Anc. Met. vol. iv. p. 73.) Of this author we are elsewhere told, that he was a Pro- fessor in the Patriarch's University at Constantinople ; and that he published, in pure Attic Greek, a system of logic, atLeipsic, in the year 1766. (Origin and Progress of Language, vol. i. p. 45, 2nd edit.) It is an extraordinary circumstance, that a discovery, on which, in Lord Monboddo's opinion, the whole truth of the syllogism depends, should have been of so verv recent a date. t •' This remark," says t)r. Gillies, " which is the foundation of all Aristotle's logic, has been sadly mistaken by many. Among others, Dr. Reid accuses Aristotle of using as synonymous phrases, the being in a subject, and the being truly predicated of a sub- ject ; whereas the truth is, that, according to Aristotle, the meaning of one phrase is directly the reverse of the meaning of the other" — Ibid. While I readily admit the justness of this criticism on Dr Reid, I must take the liberty of adding, that 1 consider Reid's error as a mere oversight, or slip of the pen. That he might have accused Aristotle of confounding two things which, ah hough differ- ent in fact, had yet a certain degree of resemblance or affinity, is by no means impossi- ble: but it is scarcely conceivable, that he could be so careless as to accuse him of con- founding two things which he invariably states in direct opposition to each other I have not a doubt, therefore, that Reid's idea was, that Aristotle used, as synonymous phrases, the being in a thing, and the being a subject of which that thing can be truly predicated; wore especially, as eitlu r statement would equally well have answered his purpose. OF THE ARISTOTELIAN LOGIC. 425 this last clause. I give Aristotle all the advantage of Dr. Gillies's very paraphrastical version; and yet, such is the effect of the com- ment, that it at once converts our axiom into a riddle. I do not say that, when once interpreted, it is altogether unintelligible ; but only that it no longer possesses the same sort of evidence which we ascribed to it, while we supposed that one thing was said by the logician to be contained in another, in the same sense in which a smaller box is contained in a greater.* To both comments the same observation may be applied ; that, the moment a person readis them, he must feel himself disposed to retract his assent to the axiom which they are brought to elucidate ; inasmuch as they must convince him, that what appeared to be, according to the common signification of words, little better than a truism, becomes, when translated into the jargon of the schools, an incomprehensible, if not, at bottom, an unmeaning enigma. I have been induced to enlarge, with more minuteness than I could have wished, on this fundamental article of logic, that I might not be accused of repeating those common-place generalities which have, of late, been so much complained of by Aristotle's cham- pions. I must not, however, enter any farther into the details of the system ; and shall tlierefore proceed, in the next section to offer a few remarks of a iijore practical nature, on the object and on the value of the syllogistic art. 11. General Reflections on the Aim of the Aristotelian Logic, and on the intellectual Habits ichich the study of it has a tendency to form, — That the improvement of the power of Reasoning ought to be re- garded as only a secondary Object in the culture of the Understanding, —The remarks which were long ago made by Lord Bacon on the inutility of the syllogism as an organ of scientific discovery, together with the acute strictures in Mr. Locke's Essay on this form of reasoning, are so decisive in point of argument,' and, at the same time, so familiarly known to all who turn their attention to philo- sophical inquiries, as to render it perfectly unnecessary for me, on the present occasion, to add anything in support of them. I shall, therefore, in the sequel, confine myself to a few very general and miscellaneous reflections on one or two points overlooked by these eminent writers ; but to which it is of essential importance to attend, in order to estimate justly the value of the Aristotelian logic, considered as a branch of education.f * It is worthy of observation, that Condillac has availed himself of the same meta- })horical and equivocal word which the foregoing comments profess to explain, in support of the theory which represents every process of sound reasoning as a series of identical propositions. ** L'analyse est la meme dans toutes les sciences, parce que dans toutes elle conduit du connu a I'inconnu par le raisonnement, c'est-a-dire, par une suite de jugemens qui sont renfermes les uns dans les autres." — La Logique. [Analysis is the same in all the sciences, because in them all, it leads from what is known, to what is unknown, by reasoning; that is, by a series of judgments which are contained one in the other.] t To some of my readers it may not be superfluous to recommend, as a valuable supplement to the discussions of Locke and Bacon concerning the syllogistic art, what \\< I y. I 426 PART II. CHAP, VI. It IS an observation which has been often repeated since Bacon's time, and which, it is astonish in jr, was so long in forcing itself on the notice of philosophers, that in all our reasonings about the established order of the universe, experience is our sole guide, and knowledge is to be acquired only by ascending from particulars to generals ; whereas the syllogism leads us invariably from univcrsals to particulars, the truth of which, instead of being a conseriuence of the universal proposition, is imphed and presupposed in the very terms of its enunciation. The sylloyjstic art, therefore, it has been justly concluded, can he of no use in exttndincf our knowledge of natMre.^ To this observation it may be added, that, if there are any parts of science in which the syllogism can be advantageously applied, it must be those where our judgments are formed, in consecpience of an iij)plicatIon to particular cases of certain maxims which we are not at liberty to dispute. An example of this occurs in the practice of law. Here the ])articular conclusion must be regulated by the general principle, whether right or wrong. The case was similar in every branch of philosophy, as long as the authority of great names prevailed, and the old scholastic maxims were allowed, with- out examhiation, to pass as incontrovertible truths.f Since the has heen since written on the same subject, in fartlier prosecution of their views bv l)r. Held in his Analysis of Aristotle's Logic, and hy Dr. Campbell in his J'hilosonhv of Hh"t(»ne. ^ ^ '' On this point U uoultl be a mere waste of time to enlarge, as it has l)een of late cxphcitly admitted by some of the ablest advocates for the Organon of Aristotle "When Mr. Lwke, (I quote the words of a ver\- ju.licious and acute logician.) when Mr. Locke says, ' I am apt to think, that he who should eniplov all the force of hii rea- son only in braudihhi!ig of syllogisms, will discover vcr\- hitle of 'that mass of knowledo-" which lies yet concealed in the secret recesses of nature;' lie expresi^s hiniiclf wuh neeuless caution. Such a man will certainly not discover anv of it. And if anv ima"ine that the mere brandisiiing of syllogisms could increase their knowledge, (as some of"the s.>h..olmen seemed to think,) they were indeed verv absurd." (Commentary on ihe Cotr.pendium of Loyic used in the University of Dublin. By the Hev. John Walker r.T.C.D.) Dublin edition. 1805. ' To the sameelfect, it is remarked, by a later writer, with respect to Lord Bacon's assertion, "that discoveries in Natund i'liilosophv are not likelv to be promoted bv the engineof syllogism;'— "that this is a proiM)Mi ion which no* one of the present day disjjutes ; and which, when alleged by our adversaries, as their chief objection to the study of logic, only proves that they are ignorant of the subject al»out which thcv arc speukuig, and of the inuuner in which it is now taught." (See an Anonvmous F'ami.hlct pruited at Oxford in DUO, p. 26.) Dr. (Jillies has expressed himself in terms extremely sHui.ar upon various occasions. See in particular vol. i. p|). G3, (J4, 2ud edit. This very important ( oncession reduces the question about the utihiy of tho Aristo- telian logic within a very narrow compass. ^ t *' Ce sera un sujet tternel d't'tonnemcnt ]>our les pcrsonnes qui savcnt bicn cc nir cest que philosophie, que devoir que I'autorite d'Arist<»te a cte telloment rcsoeett'e dans les ecolcs pendant quelques sieeles, que lors qu'un disputant citoit un passa-e de ce^ phdosophe, celiu qui soutenoit la these n'osoit point dire tranmat; il falloit^ou'il niat le passage, ou quil I'expliquut a ^a manicre."— Diet, de Bayle. art. Aristote. [It will be an everlasting su!)ject of wonder to persons who know what philo*o;)hv is to find that Aristotle's authority was so much respected in the schools for several a-es that when a disputant quoted a passage from this philosopher, he who maintained Ihc thesis dm-st not say iruustat, but must cither deny the passage, or explaiu it his own way.] OF THE ARISTOTLLIAX LOGIC. 427 importance of experiment and observation was fully understood, the syllogistic art has gradually fallen into contempt. A remark somewhat similar occurs in the preface to the Novum Organon. ''They who attributed so much to logic," says Lord Bacon, " perceived very well and truly that it was not safe to trust the understanding to itself, without the guard of any rules. But the remedy reached not the evil, but became a part of it : for the logic which took place, though it might do well enough in civil affairs, and the arts which consisted in talk and opinion, yet comes very far short of subtilty in the real performances of nature ; and, catching at what it cannot reach, has served to confirm and esta- blish errors, rather than open a way to truth."* It is not, however, merely as a useless or inefficient organ for the discovery of truth, that this art is exceptionable. The importance of the very object at which it professedly aims, is not a little doubt- ful. To exercise with correctness the powers of deduction and of argumentation ; or, in other words, to make a legitimate inference from the premises before us, would seem to be an intellectual pro- cess which requires but little assistance from rule. The strongest evidence of this is, the facility w ith which men of the most moderate capacity learn, in the course of a few months, to comprehend the lonij^est mathematical demonstrations; a facility which, when con- trasted with the difficulty of enlightening their minds on questions of morals or of politics, affords a suificient proof that it is not from any inability to conduct a mere logical process that our speculative errors arise. The fact is, that, in most of the sciences, our reason- ings consist of a very few steps ; and yet, how liable are the mo? t cautious and the most sagacious to form erroneous conclusions I To enumerate and examine the causes of these false judgments is foreign to my purpose in this section. The following (which I mention only by way of specimen) seem to be among the most powerful. 1. The imperfections of language, both as an instru- ment of thought, and as a medium of philosophical communication. 2. The difficulty, in many of our most important inquiries, of ascer- taining the facts on which our reasonings are to proceed. 3. The * As the above translation is bv Mr. Locke, who has introduced it in the wav of apolog}' for the freedom of his own strictures on the school logic, the opinion which it expresses may be considered as also sanctioned by the authority of his name. (See the Lurodiiction to his Treatise on the Conduct of the Understanding.) I cannot forbear remarking, on this occasion, that when Lord Bacon speaks of the school logic as " answering well enough in civil alf.iirs, and the arts which consist in talk and opinion," his words can only apply to dialectical syllogisms, and cannot possibly be extended to those which Aristotle calls demonstrative. Whatever praise, therefore, it may be supposed to imply, must be contined to the Books of Topics. The same observation will be found to hold with respect to the greater part of what has been alleged in defence of the syllogistic art, by Dr. Gillies, and by the other authors referred to in the beginning of this section. One of the ablest of these seems to assent to an assertion of Bacon, " that logic does not help towards the invention of arts and sciences, but only of arguments." If it only helps towards the invention of arguments, for what purpose has xVristotle treated so fully of demonstration and of science in the two books of the Last Analytics .' '''i\ i 428 PART II. CHAP. VI. partial and narrow views which, from want of information, or from some defect in our intellectual comprehension, we are apt to take of subjects which are peculiarly complicated in their details, or which are connected, by numerous relations, with other questions equally problematical. And lastly, (what is of all, perhaps, the most copious source of speculative error,) the prejudices which au- thority and fashion, fortified by early impressions and associations, create to warp our opinions. To illustrate these and other circum- stances by which the judgment is apt to be misled in the search of truth, and to point out the most eftectual means of guarding against them, would form a very important article in a philosophical system of logic ; but it is not on such subjects that we are to expect in- formation from the logic of Aristotle.* The fundamental idea on which this philosopher evidently pro- ceeded, and in whicli he has been too implicitly followed by many even of those who have rejected his syllogistic theory, takes for granted, that the discovery of truth chieHy depends on the rea- soning faculty, and that it is the comparative strength of this faculty which constitutes the intellectual superiority of one man above another. The similarity between the words reason and rea- soning, of which I formerly took notice, and the confusion which it has occasioned in their appropriate meanings, has contributed powerfully to encourage and to perpetuate this unfortunate mistake. If 1 do not greatly deceive myself, it will be found, on an accurate examination of the subject, that, of the different elements wliich enter into the composition of reason, in the most enlarged accep- tation of that word, the power of carrying on long processes of reasoning or deduction, is, in point of importance, one of the least. t * In the Logic of Port-Royal, there is a chapter entitled, " Des sophismes d'amour- propre, d'intt'rt-t, et de passion " — [of sophisms resulting from self-love, interest or passion], which is well worthy of a careful }>erusal. Some useful hints may he also col- lected from Gravesande's Introductio ad I'hilosophiam — [Introducticm to i'hilosophy]. See book ii. part ii. l)e Causis Errorum — [concerning the Causes of Error.] t It was before obser^■cd (p. 356), " That the whole theory of syllogism proceeds on the supposition, that the same word is always to be employed in the same sense ; and that, conse«piently, it takes for granted, in every rule which it furnishes for the guidance of, our reasoning powers, that the nicest, and by far the most ditiicult part of the logical process, has been previously brought to a successful tenuination." In this remark (which, obvious as it may seem, has been very generally overlooked) I have found, since the foregoing sheets were printed, that I have been anticipated by M. Turgot. " Tout Tartifice de ce calcul ingenieux, dont Aristote nous a donn6 Ics rtgles, tout Tart du syllogisme est fonde sur I'usage des mots dans le mcme sens ; I'emploi tl'un mt-nie mot dans deux sens ditfcrcus fait de tout raisonnement un sophisme; et ce genre de sophisme, ]»eut-etre le plus conmiun de tons, est une des sources les plus ordinaircs de nos erreurs." — (Euvres de M. Turgot, tom. iii. p. CG. [All skill in that ingenious moroof, that, how much soever logic nijiy contribute to the progress of other sciences, it must for ever remain barren and lifeless, while abandoned to itself." — (Metalog. lib. ii. cap. 10.) Among the various pursuits now followed by men liberally educated, there is none, certainly, which affords such scope to the reasoning faculty as the science and profession of law ; and accord- "•gJy» it has been observed by Mr. Burke, " That they do more from things, nothing that is built on them can be firm ; whence our only hope rests upon g?nuine induction." — Nov. Org. part. i. sect. i. aph. 14. (Shaw's translation.) On what groumls Dr. Gillies was led to hazard the assertion formerly quoted (p. 415), that "Aristotle invented the syllogism to prevent imposition arising from the abuse of words," I am quite unable to fonn a conjecture. \m % \k 430 PART II. CHAP. VI. to quicken and invigorate the understanding, than all the other kinds of learning put together." The same author hor. ever adds, that " tliey are not apt, except in persons very happily born, to open and to liberalize the raind, exactly in the same proportion.*' Nor is this surprising : for the ultimate standards of right and wrong to which they recognise the competency of an appeal, bein'r conventional rules and human authorities, no field is opened to that spirit of free inquiry which it is the boast of philosophy to cul- tivate. The habits of thought, besides, which the long exercise of the profession has a tendency to form, on its appropriate topics seem unfavourable to the qualities connected with what is properly called judgment; or, in other words, to the qualities on which the justness or correctness of our opinions depends : they accustom the mind to tliose partial views of things which are suggested by the separate interests of litigants; not to a calm, compreliensive and discriminating survey of details, in all their bearings and relations Hence the apparent inconsistencies which sometimes astonish us m the intellectual character of the most distinguished practitioners, -~a talent for acute and refined distinctions ; jiowers of subtle' ingenious, and close argumentation; inexhaustible resources of invention, of wit, and of eloquence ;— combined, not onlv witli an infantine imbecility in the affairs of life, but with an incapacirv of forming a sound decision, even on those problematical questions which are the subjects of their daily discussion. The great and enlightened minds, whose judgments have been transmitted to ])os- terity, as oracles of legal wisdom, were formed, it may be ^afeiv presumed, not by the habits of their professional warfare, but by contending with these habits, and shaking off their dominion. K^ The habits of a controcersial writer are, in some respect^ analogous to those of a lawyer: and their effects on the intellectual powers, when engaged in the investigation of truth, are extremely similar. They confine the attention to one particular view of tlic question, and, instead of training tlie understanding to combine together the various circumstances which seem to favour opposite conclusions, so as to limit each other, and to guard the judirnient against either extreme,— they are apt, by presenting the subject sometimes wholly on the one side, and sometimes wholly on the other, to render the disputant the sceptical dupe of his own in^e- "ui ^^"-n, ^r^* ^^^^^ *^ ^^^^'^ ^^^" "^'^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^'»^^^ ^^^e redoubt- able Chillingworth : a person to whose native candour the most honourable testimony has been borne by the most eminent of his contemporaries, and whose argumenta'tive powers have almost become matter of proverbial remark. Dr. Reid has pronounced him the " best reasoner, as well as the acutest logician, of his ao^e-" and Locke himself has said. "If you would have your son toreSson well, let him read Chillingworth." To what consequences these rare endowments and attainments led, we may learn from Lord Clarendon. OP THE ARISTOTKLIAX LOGIC. 431 " Mr. Chillingworth had spent all his younger time in disputa- tions, and had arrived at so great a mastery, that he was inferior to no man in those skirmishes : but he had, with his notable perfec- tion in this exercise, contracted such an irresolution and habit of doubting, that by degrees he grew confident of nothing." " Neither the books of his adversaries, nor any of their persons though he was acquainted with the best of both, had ever made great impression on him ; all his doubts grew out of himself, when he assisted his scruples with all the strength of his own reason and wa? then too hard for himself: but finding as little quiet and repose m those victories, he quickly recovered, by a new appeal to Iiis own judgment; so that, in truth, he was in all his sallies and retreats, his own convert." The foregoing observations, if well founded, conclude strono-lv not merely against the form of the sciiool lo-ic, but ao-ainst die importance of the end to which it is directed. Locke and many others have already sufiiciently shown, how inadequate the syllo- gistic theory is to its avowed purjiose ; but few seem to be sufli- ciently aware how very little this purpose, if it were attained, would advance us m the knowledge of tliose truths which are the most interesting to human happiness. "There is one species of madman," says Father BufHer, "that makes an excellent logician." (Traite des' Prem. Vcritcs, Part I. chap, xi.)— The remark has the appearance of being somewhat paradoxical ; but it is not without a solid foundation, both in fact, and in the theory of the human understanding. Nor does it apply merely, as Buffier seems to have meant it, to the scholastic defenders of metaphysical paradoxes : it extends to all whose ruling passion is a display of argumentative dexterity, without much solicitude about the justness of their premises, or the truth of their conclu- sions. It is observed by Lord Erskirie, in one of his admirable pleadings lately published, that " in all the cases which have filled Westminster-hall with the most complicated considerations— the lunatics, and other insane persons who have been the subjects of them, have not only had the most perfect knowledge and recollec- tion of all the relations they stood in towards others, and of the acts and circumstances of their lives, but l>ave, in general, been remarkable for subtlety and acuteness." — "These," he adds' "are the cases which frequently mock the wisdom of the wisest in judi- cial trials; because such persons often reason with a subtlety which puts in the shade the ordinary conceptions of mankind : their conclusions are just, and frequently profound; but the pre- niises from which they reason, when within the ranj^^e of the inalady, are uniformly false;— not false from any defoct'of know- ledge or judgnit'Dt ; but because a delusive image, the inseparable oomnaniaii of ve..\ insanitv, is thrust upon the subjugated under- handing, incapable of resistance, because unconscious of attack" Intheiiistaiices here alluded to, something, it is probable, ouo-ht ' (\ \i 432 PART IT. cHAP. VI, to be attributed to tbe pbysical influence of the disorder in occa- sioning, together with an increased propensity to controversy, a preternatural and morbid excitation of the power of attention, and of some other intellectual faculties ; but much more, in my opinion, to its effect in removing the check of those collateral circumstances by which, in more sober understandings, the reasoning powers arc perpetually retarded and controlled in their operation. Amon;^ these circumstances, it is suflicient to specify, for the sake of illus- tration, 1. That distrust which experience gradually teaches of the accuracy and precision of the phraseology in which our reason- ings are expressed ; — accompanied with a corresponding apprehen- sion of involuntary mistakes from the ambiguity and vagueness of language ; 2. A latent suspicion that we may not be fully in possession of all the elements on which the solution of the problem depends; and, 3. The habitual influence of those flrst principles of propriety, of morality, and of common sense, which, as long as reason maintains her ascendant, exercise a paramount authoritv over all those speculative conclusions which have any connexion with the business of life. Of these checks or restraints on our reasoning processes, none are cultivated and strengthened, either by the rules of the logician, or by the habits o(vivd voce disputa- tion. On the contrary, in proportion as their regulating power is confirmed, that hesitation and suspense of judgment are encouraged which are so congenial to the spirit of true philosophy, but such fatal incumbrances in contending with an antagonist whose object is not truth but victory. In madness, where their control is entirely thrown off*, the merely logical process (which never stops to analyse the meaning of words) is likely to go on more rapidly and fearlessly than before; — producing a volubility of speech, and an apparent quickness of conception, which present to common observers all the characteristics of intellectual superiority. It is scarcely necessary to add, that the same r»ppearances, which in this extreme case of mental aberration are displayed on so great a scale, may be expected to show themselves, mure or less, wherever there is any deficiency in those qualities which constitute depth and sagacity of judgment. For my own part, so little value does my individual experience lead me to place on argumentative address, when compared with some other endowments subservient to our intellectual improve- I ment, that I have long been accustomed to consider that prompt- ness of reply and dogmatism of decision which mark the eager and practised disputant, as almost infallible symptoms of a limited capacity ; a capacity deficient in what Locke has called (in very significant, though somewhat homely terms) large, sound, round- j about sense.— (Conduct of the Understanding, § 3.) In all the higher endowments of the understanding, this intellectual quality (to which nature, as well as education, must liberally contribute,) may be justly regarded as an essential ingredient. It is this which, OF THE ARISTOTELIAN L0(;ir. 433 when cultivated by study, and directed to great objects or pursuits produces an unprejudiced, comprehensive, and efficient mhid; and where it is wanting, though we may occasionally find a more than ordinary share of quickness and of information ; a plausibility and brilliancy of discourse ; and that passive susceptibility of polish from the commerce of the world, which is so often united with imposing but secondary talents,— we mav rest assured that there exists a total incompetency for enlarged views and sagacious com- binations, either m the researches of science or in the conduct of affairs.* If these observations hold with respect to the art of reasoning or argumentation, as it is cultivated by men undisciplined in the con- tentions of the schools, they will be found to apply with infinitely greater force to those disputants (if any such are still to be found) who, m the present advanced state of human knowledge, have been at pains to fortify themselves, by a course of persevering study, with the arms of the Aristotelian logic. Persons of the former description often reason conscientiously with warmth, from false premises, which they are led by passion, or by want of information, to mistake for truth. Those of the latter description proceed sys- tematically on the radical error of conceiving the reasoning process to be the most powerful instrument by which truth is to be at- tained ; combined with the secondary error of supposing that the power of reasoning may be strengthened and improv'ed by the syllogistic art. In one of Lord Kames's sketches there is an amusing and in- structive collection of facts to illustrate the progress of reason ; a phrase by which he seems to mean chiefly the progress of good sense, or of that quality of the intellect which is very significantly- expressed by the epithet enlightened. To what is this progress (which has been going on with such unexampled rapidity durino- * The outlines of an intellectual character, approaching nearly to this description, is exhibited by Mamiontel in his highly fini^hed (and I have been* assured, ver}' faithful) portrait of M. de IJrienne. Among the other defects of that unfortunate statesman, lie mentions particularly un esprit a facettes ; by which expression he seems, from the context, to mean a quality of mind precisely opposite to that described bv Locke in the words quoted above :— " quelques lumitres, mais eparses ; des apper(,us plutot que des vues ; et dans les grands objets, de la facilite a saisir les petits details, nulle capacite lK)ur embrasscr Tensemble." — [Some information, but scattered ; glances rather than views; and, in great objects, facility in seizing small details, no capacity for embracing the whole.] A consciousness of some similar deficiency has su^-o-ested to (Hhbon the following criticism on his own juvenile performance, entitled ^E.ssai sui' r Etude. It is executed by an impartial and a masterly hand; and may, perhaps, without much injustice, be extended, not only to his Roman history, but to the dis- tinguishing features of that peculiar cast of genius which so strongly marks all his writings. " The most serious defect of ray essay is a kind of obscurity and abruptness which always fatigues, and may often elude the att. rticn of the reader. The obscurity of many passages is often affected ; proceeding frojn the desire of expressing perhaps a common idea with sententious brevity ; * brevis esse laboro, obscurus fio.' Alas ! how fatal has been the imitation of Montesquieu ! But this obscurity sometimes proceeds from a mixture of light and darkness iiji the author's mind ; from a partial ray which •trikea upon an angle, instead of spreading itself over the surface of an object." ( V P 434 PART II. CHAP. VI. the two List centuries) to be ascribed ? Not surely to any improve- ment in the art of reasoning ; for many of the most mehmclioly weaknesses which he has recorded were exhibited by men distin- guished by powers of discussion and a reach of thought which have never been surpassed ; while, on the other hand, the same weak- nesses would now be treated with contempt by the lowest of the vulgar. The principal cause, I apprehend, has been the general diffusion of knowledge, and more especially of experimental know- ledn;e, by the art of printing; in consequence of which, those pre- judices which had so long withstood the assaults botli of argument and of ridicule, have been gradually destroyed by their mutual col- lision, or lost in the infinite multiplicity of elementary truths whicli are identified with the operations of the infant understand- ing. To examine the process by which truth has been slowly and insensibly cleared from that admixture of error with which, during the long night of Gothic ignorance, it was contaminated and dis"^ figured, would form a very interesting subject of philosophical speculation. At present, it is sufiicient to remark how little we are indebted for our emancipation from this intellectual bondage to those qualities which it was the professed object of the school- logic to cultivate ; and that, in the same proportion in which liber- ality and light have spread over Europe, this branch of study has sunk in the general estimation. Of the inefiicacy of intre reasoning in bringing men to an agree- ment on those questions which, in all ages, have furnished to the learned the chief matter of controversy, a very just idea seems to have been formed by the ingenious author of the following lines ; who has, at the same time, hinted at a remedy against a numerous and important class of speculative errors, more likely to succeed than any which is to be derived from the most skilful application of Aristotle's rules ; or indeed, from any direct argumentative refu- tation, how conclusive and satisfactory soever it may appear to an unbiassed judgment. It must at the same time be owned, that this remedy is not without danger ; and that the same habits which are so useful in correcting the prejudices of the monastic bigot, and so instructive to all whose principles are sufficiently fortfeed by reflection, can scarcely fail to produce pernicious effects where they operate upon a character not previously formed and confirmed by a judicious education. " En parcourant au loin la planete oii nous somtnes, Que verrons-nous ? les torts pt les travers des lioinmcs ! Id cVst un s\Tiode, et lli c'est un divan, Nous verrons Ic Mufti, le Deniclie, IMrnan, Le Bonze, le Lama, le Talapoin, Ic Vo\^, Les antiques Rabbins et les Abbes d'Europe, Nos moines, nos prelates, nos docteurs agreges ; Etes vous disputeiirs, mes amis ? voyagez." Discours siir les Disputes, par M. de Rulhcire.* * " In surveying at a distance the planet which we inhabit, what do we see ? The errors and wrongness of men. There is here a synotl, there a divan. We shall see OF TItE ARISTOTELIAN LOGIC. 435 To these verses it may not be altogether useless to subjoin a short quotation from Mr. Locke; in whose opinion the aid of foreign travel seems to be less necessary for enlightening some of the classes of controversiahsts included in the foregoing enumera- tion, than was suspected by the poet. The moral of the passao-e, if due allowances be made for the satirical spirit which it breatlies, is pleasing on the whole, as it suggests the probability that our common estimates of the intellectual darkness of our own times are not a little exaggerated. "Notwithstanding the great noise that is made in the world about errors and opinions, I must do mankind that right as to say. There arc not so many men in errors and wrong opinions as is com- monhj supposed, Not that I think they embrace the truth, but, indeed, because concerning those doctrines they keep such a stir about, they have no thought, no opinion at all.' For if any one should a little catechize the greatest part of the partizans of most of the sects in the world, he would not find, concerning those mat- ters they are so zealous for, that they have any opinion of their own : much less would he have reason'to think tliat they took them upon tlie examination of arguments and appearance of probability. They are resolved to stick to a party that education or interest has engaged them in ; and there, like the common soldiers of an army, show their courage and warmth as their leaders direct, without ever examining, or so much as knowing the cause they contend for. If a man's life shows that he has no serious regard for religion, for what reason should we think that he beats his head about the opinions of his church, and troubles himself to examine the grounds of this or thpt doctrine? 'Tis enough for him to obey his leaders, to have his hand and his tongue ready for the support of the conmion cause, and thereby approve himself to those who can give him credit, preferment, and protection in that society. Thus men become combatants for those opinions they were never convinced of; no, nor ever had so much as floating in their heads ; and though one cannot say there are fewer imjwohaUe or erroneous opinions in the world than there are, yet this is certain, there are fewer that actually assent to them, and mistahe them for truths, than is imagined.'* (Essay on Human Understanding, book iv. c. 20.) If these remarks of Locke were duly weighed, they would have a tendency to abridge the number of controversial writers ; and to encourage philosophers to attempt the improvement of mankind, rather by adding to the stock of useful knowledge, than by waging a direct war with prejudices which have less rW in the under- standings than in the interests and passions of their abettors. in. In what respects the study of the Aristotelian logic may he useful the Mufti, the Dervis, the Iman, the Bonze, the Lama, the Talapoin, the Pope, the ancient Kabbis, and the European Abbt's, our monks, our prelates, our assembled doctors. Are you disputatious, my friend ! Go and travel." — Discourse on Disputes, by Mr. Rulhiere. F F 2 I. 4' I 436 PART II. CHAP. VI' to disputants. — A general actpiaintance with it justly regarded as an essential accomplishment to those who are liberally educated, — Doubts suggested by some late writers, concerning Aristotle s claims to the invention of the Syllogistic Theory. — The general result of the fore- going reflections is, That neither the means employed by the school logic for the assistance of the discursive faculty, nor the accomplish- ment of that end, were it really attained, are of much consequence in promoting the enlargement of the mind, or in guarding it against the influence of erroneous opinions. [It is, however, a very different question, how far this art may be of use to such as are led by profession or inclination to try their strength in polemical war- fare. My own opinion is, that, in the present age, it would not give to the disputant, in the judgment of men wliose suti'rage is of any vahie, the slightest advantage over his antagonist. In earlier times, indeed, the case must have been diflerent. While the scholastic forms continued to be kept up, and while schoolmen were the sole judges of the contest, an expert logician could not fail to obtain an easy victory over an inferior proficient. Now, however, when the supreme tribunal to which all parties must appeal, is to be found, not within, but without the walls of universities; and when the most learned dialectician must, for his own credit, avoid all allusion to the technical terms and technical forms of his art, can it be imagined that the mere possession of its rules furnislies him with invisible aid for annoying his adversary, or renders him invulne- rable by some secret spell against the weapons of his assailant ^*] Were this really the case, one might have expected that the advo- cates who have undertaken its defence, considering how much their pride was interested in the controversy, would have given us some better specimens of its practical utility, in defending it against the unscientific attacks of Bacon and of Locke. It is, however, not a little remarkable, that, in every argument which they have * An argument of this sort in favour of the Aristotelian logic, has, in fact, been lately alleged, in a treatise to which 1 have ah-eady had occasion to refer. " Mr. Locke seems throughout to imagine that no use can be made of the doctrine of syllogisms, unless by men who deliver their reasonings in syllogistic form. That would indeed justly expose a man to the imputation of disgusting' pedantr>' and tedious- ness. But, in fact, he who never uses an expression borrowed from the Aristotelic logic, may yet, unobserved, be availing himself, in the most important manner, of its use, by bringing definitions, divisions, and arguments, to the test of its nUes. " In the mere application of it to the examining of an argument which we desire to refute, — the logician will be able to bring the argument in his own mind to syllogistic form. — He will then have before his view every constituent pjirt of the argun^ent ; some of which may have been wholly suppressed by his antagonist, and others disguised by ambiguity and declamation.— lie knows every point in which it is subject to exami- nation. — lie perceives immediately, by the rules of his art, whether the premises may be acknowledged, and the conclusion denied, for want of a vis consequential.— If not, he knows where to look for a weakness.— He turns to each of the premises, and con- siders whether they are false, dubious, or equivocal ; and is thus prepared and directed to expose every weak point in the argument with clearness, precision, and method : and this to those who perhaps are wholly ignorant of the aids by which the speaker is thus enabled to carry conviction with his discourse." — Commentary oa the Comj)en- dium of Logic used in the University of Dubhn. Dublin, 1805. OF THE ARISTOTELIAN LOGIC. 437 attempted in its favour, they have not only been worsted by those very antagonists whom they accuse of ignorance, but fairly driven from the field of battle.* It has, indeed, been asserted by an ingenious and learned writer, that " he has never met with a person unacquainted with logic, who could state and maintain his argument with facility, clearness, and precision; that he has seen a man of the acutest mind puzzled by the argument of his antagonist ; sensible, perhaps, that it was inconclusive, but wholly unable to expose the fallacy which ren- dered it so: while a logician, of perhaps very inferior talents, would be able at once to discern and to mark it."t 1 do not deny that there may be some foundation for this state- tnent. The part of Aristotle's Organon which seems, in the design, to be the most practically useful (although it is certainly very im- perfect in the execution,) is the booh of Sophisms ; a book which still supplies a very convenient phraseology for marking concisely some of the principal fallacies which are apt to impose on the under- standing in the heat of a viva voce dispute.^ Whether it affords * In most of the defences of the school logic which I have seen, the chief weapon employed has been that kind of argument which, in scholastic phraseolog)', is tailed the argumentuni ad hominem ; an argument in the use of which much regard to con- Mstency is seldom to be expected. — In one sentence, accordingly. Bacon and Locke are accused of having never read Aristotle ; and, in the next, of having borrowed from Aristotle the most valuable part of their writings. Willi respect to Locke, it has been triumphantly observed, that his acquaintance with Aristotle's loj^ic must have been su}»erricial, as he has, in one of his objections, manifestly confounded j»articular with singular propositions. (Commentary on the Dublin Compcndiinn.) The criticism, I have no doubt, is just ; but does it therefore follow, that a greater fimillarity with the technical niceties of an art which he despised, would have rendered this profound thinker more capable of forming a just estimate of its scope and spirit, or of its eflicacy in aiding the human understanding ? — Somewhat of the same description are the attempts which have been repeatedly made to dis- credit the strictures of Dr. lieid, by appealing to his own acknowledgment, that there might possibly be some pjirts of the Analytics and Topics, which he had never read. Tlie jiassage in which this acknowledgmont is made, is so characteristical of the modesty and candour of the writer, that I am tempted to annex it to this note ; — more especially, as I am persuadctl that, with many readers, it will have the effect of con- firming, rather than of shaking their confidence in the general correctness and fideUty of his researches. " In attempting to give some account of the Analytics and of the Topics of Aristotle, ingenuity requires me to confess, that, though 1 have often purposed to read the whole with care, and to understand what is intelligible, yet my courage and patience always failed before I had done. Why should I throw away so much time and painful atten- tion upon a thi'.ig of so little real use ? If I had lived in those ages when the knowledge of Aristotle's Organon entitled a man to the highest rank in philosoj>hy, ambition might have induc<;d 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 resoUition, when the first ardour b^gan to cool. All 1 can say, is, that I have read some parts of the books with care, some slightly, and some perhaps not at all. I have glanced over the whole often, and when any thing 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 ab- stract nature, delivered in a laconic style, and often, I think, with aflfected obscurity; and all to i)rove general projwsitions, which, when applied to particular instances, appear self-evident." — Chap. iii. sect. f. t Mr. Walker, author of the Commentar>' on the Dublin Compendium of Logic. X Such phrases, for example, as 1. Fallacia Accidentis. [Fallacy of the accident.] 4 Pi c I ! II 438 PAJIT II. CHAP. VI. OF THE ARISTOTELIAN LOGIC. 439 any aid in detecting or discerning these fallacies may perhaps he doubted. But it is certainly an acquisition, and an acquisition of no contemptible value, to have always at hand a set of technical terms, by which we can point out to our hearers, without circum- locution or discussion, the vulnerable parts of our antagonist's reasoning. That nothing useful is to be learned from Aristotle's logic I am far from thinking; but I believe that all which is useful m It might be reduced into a very narrow compass ; and I am decidedly of opinion, that wherever it becomes a serious and favourite object of study, it is infinitely more likely to do harm than good. Indeed, I cannot help considering it as stronn-ly symp- tomatic of some unsoundness in a man's judgment, when IHnd him disposed (after all that has been said by Bacon and Locke) to mao-. nify Its importance either as an inventive or as an ar"-umentative organ. Nor does this opinion rest upon theory alone." It is con- firmed by all that I have observed, (if after the example of the author last quoted I may presume to mention the results of my own observations,) witli respect to the intellectual characters of tlie most expert dialecticians whom I have happened to know. Amonn- these, I can with great truth say, that although I recollect several possessed of much learning, subtlety, and ingenuity, I can name none who have extended by their discoveries the boundaries of science; or on whose good sense I should conceive that much reliance was to be placed in the conduct of important affairs Some very higli authorities, I must at the same time confess may be quoted on tlie opposite side of the question ; among others, that of Leibnitz, unquestionably one of the first names in modern philosophy. But on this point the mind of Leibnitz was not altogether unwarped : for he appears to have early contracted a partiality, not only for scholastic learning, but for the projects of some of the schoolmen to reduce, by means of technical aids, the exercise of the discursive faculty to a sort of mechanical operation; a partiahty which could not fail to be cherished by that stron^ bias to^yards synthetical reasoning from abstract maxims which charac- terises al his philosophical speculations. It must be remembered, too that he lived at a period when logical address was still regarded m Germany as an indispensable accomplishment to all whose taste 2. A dicto secundum quid, ad dictum simpliciter. [Prom what fs said witli rejrard to some tlvins to what IS said simply.] 3. Ab ignorantia eknchi. [From LZ^cl of the contutation.] 4. A nou causa pro causa. [From what is not a cause to a cL.L 1 5. Fallacia consequentis. [Fallacy of the consequence.] 6. Petitio pnncimi rTaki- - for granted the point i„ question.] 7. Fallada plurium intcnigrom n * Ac. Tl.e fallacy of n.any m errogat.ons.] Fallacies distinct from the expression, Fallacies u the expression Fallacy ot equivocation. Fallacy of ambiguity, Fallacy of accent i pronunciation, Fallacy from a figure of expresslou. ^ I have mentioned those fallacies alone which are called by logicians Fallaci.r extra D ctionem ; for as to those which are called Fallaciic in Dictione (such as the Fallaci! .€q.uvocationis, Fallacia AmphihoU., Fallacia Acceutus v.l FrtnuStl^L^^^^^ Figm^ dictioms, &c.) they are too contemptible to be deserving of anv notice For Borae remarks on this last class of fallacies, see note k k. led them to the cultivation of letters or of science. Nor was this an accomplishment of easy acquisition ; requiring, as it must have done, for its attainment, a long course of laborious study, and, for its successful display, a more than ordinary share of acuteness, promptitude, and invention. To all which it may be added, that while it remained in vogue, it must have been peculiarly flattering to the vanity and self-love of the possessor ; securing to him, in every contest with the comparatively unskilful, an infallible triumph. Tiiese considerations, (combined wiUi that attachment to the study of jurisprudence w^hich he retained through life,) may, I think, go far to account for the disposition which Leibnitz sometimes shows to magnify a little too much the value of this art. It is, besides, extremely worthy of remark, with respect to this eminent man, within what narrow limits he circumscribes the province of the school logic, notwithstanding the favourable terms in which he occasionally speaks of it. The following passage in one of his letters is |)articularly deserving of attention, as it confines the utility of syl- logism to those controversies alone which are carried on in writing, and contains an explicit acknowledgment that, in extemporaneous discussions, the use of it is equally nugatory and impracticable. " I have myself experienced the great utility of the forms of logic in bringing controversies to an end ; and w onder how it has hap- pened that they should have been so often applied to disputes where no issue was to be expected, while their real use has been altogether overlooked. In an argument which is carried on viva voce, it is scarcely possible that the forms should continue to be rigorously observed ; not only on account of the tediousness of the process, but chiefly from tlie difHculty of retaining distinctly in the memory all the different Ihiks of a long chain. Accordingly, it commonly happens that, after one prosyllogism, the disputants betake them- selves to a freer mode of conference. But if, in a controversy carried on in writing, the legitimate forms were strictly observed, it would neither be difHcult nor disagreeable, by a mutual exchange of syllogisms and answers, to keep up the contest^* till either the point to^'be proved w^as completely established, or the disputants had nothing farther to allege in support of it. For the introduction, however, of this into practice, many rules remain to be prescribed ; the greater part of which are to be collected from the practice of lawvers." (Leibnitz, Op. torn. vi. p. 72. Edit. Dutens.) this concession, from so consummate a judge, I consider as of great consequence in the present argument. For my own part, if I were called on to plead the cause of the school logic, I should cer- tainly choose to defend, as the more tenable of the two posts, that * The wortls in the original are — " non ingratum nee difficile foret, mittendo remit- tendoque syllo-rismos et responsiones, tamdiu reciprocare serram, donee vel confectum, sit quod probandum erat, vel nihil ultra habeat quod atferat argumentator." [It would Ik; neither cUsagreeable nor difficult, by sending and returning syllogisms and answers, to keep the saw going, until either what was proposed for proof be effected, or the dis- putant has nothing more to bring forward.] ! 440 PART II. CHAP. VI. which Leibnitz has voluntarily abandoned. Much nii*>-ht I think on this ground be phuisibly alleged in its favour, in consequence of Its obvious tendency to cultivate that invaluable talent to a disput- ant, which Aristotle has so significantly expressed by the word ay^ivoia '* a talent of which the utility cannot be so forcibly pic- tured, as in the lively and graphical description given by Johnson of the inconveniences with which the want of it is attended. ' *' There are men whose powers operate only at leisure and in retirement, and whose intellectual vigour deserts them in conversa- tion ; whom merriment confuses, and objection disconcerts: whose bashfulness restrains their exertion, and suffers them not to speak till the time of speaking is past ; or whose attention to their own character makes them unwilling to utter at hazard what has not been considered and cannot be recalled." (Life of Drvden.) The tendency, however, of scholastic disputations to cure these defects, it must not be forgotten, belongs to them only in common with all other habits of extemporaneous debate; and the question still recurs. Whether it would not be wiser to look for the remedy in exercises more analogous to the real business of life? [After liaving said so much in disparagement of the art of syllo- giving, 1 feel itincnmbent on me to add, that I would not be under- stood to represent a ofeneral acquaintance with it as an attainment of no value, even in these times. The technical language connected with it is now so incorporated with all the higher departments of learning, that, indeprndently of any consideration of its practical application, some kno\vledn:e of its peculiar phraseoloiry mav be regarded as an indispensable preparation both for scientific and for literary pursuits.f 'i'o the philosopher it must ever remain a sub- * Aristotle's definition of ayxnota turns upon one only of the many advantajres which presence of mind bestows, in the management of a vita voce dispute He' ayvnoia fho lived under the Emperor Severus and his sons, the works of Aristotle ^ere much more mentioned than read or understood by scholars. He first attempted to explain them, and fonvarded the studies of many, and stimulated them to investi- gate the works of that philosopher. However. Plato was more usual and familiar in men's hands until schools were publicly esta1)lished in Italy and Gaul, that is, as long as the Greek ami Laiiii languages flourished. But after learning became a mere 'JM 1 w. ;.i :i ",v 442 PART II. CHAP. vr. OF THE ARISTOTELIAN LOGIC. 443 That Aristotle's works have of late fallen into general neglect, is a common subject of complaint among his idolaters. It would be nearer the truth to say, that the number of Aristotle's rational and enlightened admirers was never so great as at tlie present moment. In tlie same proportion in which his logic has lost his credit, his ethics, his politics, his poetics, his rhetoric, and his natural history have risen in the public estimation. No similar triumph of genius is recorded in the annals of philosophy: — to subjugate, for so many centuries, the minds of men, by furnishing employment (unj)rodiic- tive as it was) to their intellectual faculties, at a time when the low state of experimental knowledge did not supply more substantial materials for their reasonings; — and afterwards, when at the distance of two thousand years, the light of true science began to dawn, to contribute so large a share to its growing splendour. In the course of the foregoing animadversions on the syllogistic theory, I have proceeded on the supposition that the whole glory of the invention belongs to Aristotle. It is proper, however, before dismissing the subject, to take some notice of the doubts which have been suggested upon this head, in consequence of the lights recently thrown on the remains of ancient science still existing in the East. Father Pons, a Jesuit missionary, was, I believe, the first person who communicated to the learned of Europe the very interesting fact, tliat the use of the syllogism is, at this day, famUiarhj known to the Brahmins of India f' but this information Joes not seem to have attracted much attention in England, till it was corroborated by the indisputable testimony of !Sir William Jones, in his third discourse to the Asiatic Society, delivered in 1786. "It will he sufficient," he observes, "in this dissertation to assume, what might be proved beyond controversy, that we now live among the adorers of those very deities who were worshipped under different names in old Greece and Italy, and among the professors of those pIiih)so- phical tenets which the Ionic and Attic writers illustrated with all theatrical display, and all its friiits suj)poscd to be the acquiring: power, by means of worthless skill and words arbitrarily invented, to silence an adversar}- and throw dust in his eyes, the logdc.il treatises of Aristotle seemed better stiited to the puqwse thnn those on physics, to the neglect of many of his admirable works ; but Plato and his doctrine >v ere never mentioned, because he was not understood by them, though Aris- totle was still less so. Not that I consider Aristotle inferior or less learned than Plato, but that it is intolerable that Plato, a most divine philosopher, shoidd be neglected, and Aristotle so read, that the better sort of his works being rejected, those which were retained were made to express what they thought proper.] A remark similar to this is made by Baylc. "Ce qui doit etonner le plus Ifs hommes sages, c'cst que Us professcurs se soient si furieusement entetez des hy|)o- theses philosophiqucs d'Aristote. Si Ton avoit eu cette prevention pour sa poetitiue, vX pour sa rht-torique, il y auroit moins de sujet de sVtonner ; mais, on s'est entt'te du plus foible de ses ouvrages, je veux cUre, de sa logique et de sa physique." — Bayle, art. Aristote. [It must especially astonish men of learning that professors were so infa- tuated about the philosophical theories of Aristotle. If they had stich a prejudice for his poetics or for his rhetorics, there would be less reason to be astonished : but they were infatuated about the least valuable of his works, 1 mean his logics and physics.] * Lettres EiUtiantes et Curieuses, [Edifying and Curious Letters,] tome xxvi. (old edition.) — Tome xiv. e«lit. of 1781. The letter is dated 1740. the beauties of their melodious language. On one hand we see the trident of Neptune, the eagle of Jupiter, the satyrs of Bacchus, the bow of Cupid, and the chariot of the sun ; on another we hear the cymbals of Rhea, the songs of the Muses, and the pastoral tales of Apollo Nomius. In more retired scenes, in groves, and in semina- ries of learning, we may perceive the Brahmins and the Sermanes mentioned by Clemens, disputing in the form of logic, or discours- ing on the vanity of human enjoyments, on the immortality of the soul, her emanation from the eternal mind, her debasement, wan- derings, and final union with her source. The six philosophical ^c!2ools, whose principles are explained in the Dersana Sastra, com- prise all the metaphysics of tlie old academy, the Stoa and the Lyceum; nor is it possible to read the Vedanta, or the many fine compositions in illustration of it, without believing that Pythagoras and Plato derived their sublime theories from the same source with the sages of India.'** (Works of Sir William Jones, vol. i. p. 28.) In a subsequent discourse, the same author mentions " a tradi- tion which prevailed, according to the well-hiformed author of the Dabistan, in the Panjab, and in several Persian provinces, that, among other Indian curiosities which Callisthenes transmitted to his uncle, was a technical system of logic, which the Brahmins had communicated to the inquisitive Greek, and which the Mahomme- dan writer supposes to have been the groundwork of the famous Aristotelian method. If this be true," continues Sir W. Jones,— and none will dispute the justness of his remark, " it is one of the most interesting facts tliat I have met with in Asia." (Eleventh Discourse, delivered in 1794.) Of the soundness of the opinion concerning the origin of the Greek philosophy, to which these quotations give the sanction of an authority so truly respectable, our stock of facts is as yet too scanty to enable us to form a competent judgment. Some may perhaps think that the knowledge of the Aristotelian louic which exists in India, may be sufficiently accounted for by the Mahommedan con- quests, and by the venerat-on in which Aristotle was held, from a very early period, by the followers of the prophet.f On the other * In the same discourse, we are informed, that " the Hindoos have numerous works on grammar, logic, rhetoric, music, whicli are extant and accessible." An examina- tion of these is certainly an object of literary curiosity, highly deserNiuff of farther attention. • . o » t "La philosophic Peripatetiquc s'est tellement etablie par tout, qu'on n'en lit plus d'autre par toutes les universites Chretiennes. Celles mcmes, qui sont contraintes de re(jeyoir les impostiires de Mahomet, n'enseignent les sciences que conformement aux princii)es du Lycee, auxquels ils s'attachent si fort, qu'Averroes, Alfarabius, Al- l)umassar, et assez d'autres philosophes Arabes se sont souvent eloign<:-s des sentiments de leur prophete, pour ne pas contredire cenx d'Aristote, que les Turcs ont en leur idionie Turquesque et en Arabe, comme Belon la rapporte." — [The Peripatetic philo- sophy is so established everywhere, that no other is stmlied in any Christian univer- sity. Those even who are obliged to receive the impostures of Mahomet, teach the Nciencps according to the princi})lcs of the Lyceum; to which thev are so strongly attached, that Averroes, Alfarabius, Alhumassar, and many other Arabian i)hilo- sophcrs, have often reUnquished the doctrines of their prophet, that thev might not i J J fi i\\ 444 PART II. CUAP. VI. OF THE ARISTOTELIAN LOGIC. 445 hand, it must be acknowledged that this part of Aristotle's works contains some intrinsic evidence of aid borrowed from a more an- cient school. Besides that imposing appearance which it exhibits of systematic completeness in its innumerable details ; and which we can scarcely suppose that it could have received from the original inventor of the art, there is a want of harmony or unity in some of its fundamental principles, which seems to betray a combination of different and of discordant theories. I allude more particularly to the view which it gives of the nature of science and of demonstra- tion, compared with Aristotle's well-known opinions concerning the natural progress of the mind in the acquisition of know ledge. That the author of the Organon was fully aware of an incongruity so obvious, there can be little doubt; and it was not improbabFy with a view to disguise or to conceal it, that he was induced to avoid, as much as possible, every reference to examples ; and to adopt that abstract and symbolical language which might divert the attention from the inanity of his demonstrations, by occupying it in a perpe- tual effort to unriddle the terms in which they are expressed. Nor does there seem to be anything in these suggestions (which I hazard with much diffidence) inconsistent with Aristotle's own statement, in the concluding chapter of the book of Sophisms. This chaj)ter has indeed (as far as I know) been universally under- stood as advancing a claim to the whole art of syllogism ;* but I contradict thosft of Aristotle, wliich the Turks have both in Turkish and Arabic, as Belon infonns us.] — La Motto le Vayer ; quoted by Bayle, art. Aristote. " L'Auteur, dont j'einprunte ces paroles, dit dans un autre volume, que, scion la relation d'Olearius, les Perses ont toutcs les (Eu^Tes d'Aristote, expliquees par beat!- coup de comnicntaircs Arabes, 'Bergeron (dit-il) remarque, dans son Traiti' iki Tartares, qu'ils possedent les livres d'Aristote, traduits en leur langtie, enscijrn.int, avec autant de soumission qu'on pent faire ici, sa doctrine a Samarcand, univ( rsite du Grand Mogol, et a present ville capitale du royaume d'Usbec.' " [The author from whom I borrow these expressions states, in another volume, that, according to the accoruii of Olcarius, the Persians have all the works of Aristotle expounded by n a ly Arabic coinmrntaries. " Bergeron (he obsenes) remarks in his treatise res'pcctiiij,' the Tartars, that they possess the books of Aristotle translated into their language; and his doctrine cannot be taught with greater deference here than at Samarcand, a university of the Great Mogul, and the present capital of the kingrlom of Usbec." In the eighth volume of the Asiatic Researches, there is a paper by Dr. ^Jalfour, containing some curious extracts (accompanied with an English version) from a Per- sian translation of an Arabic treatise, entitled the " Essence of Logic." In the intro- duction to these extracts, Dr. Balfour mentions it as an indisputable fact, that "the system of logic generally ascribed to Aristotle, constitutes, at this time, the logic of all the nations of Asia who profess the Mahomedan faith ; and it seems to have been with a view of rendering this fact still more palpable to common readers, that the author has taken the trouble to translate, through the medium of the Persian, the Arabic ori- ginal ; from which language the knowledge of Aristotle's logic, possessed by the orien- tals, is supposed to have been derived. * " The conclusion of this treatise," the book of Sophisms, " ought not to be over- looked ; it manifestly relates, not to the present treatise only, but also to the whole Analytics and Topics of the author."— Reid's Analysis, &c. chap. v. sec. iii. Wright's edition, London, 1H43. If I were satisfied that this observation is just, 1 should think that nothing short of the most irresistible e>-idence could be reasonably opposed to the direct assertion of Aristotle. It is quite inconceivable that he should have wilfully concealed or misre- presented the truth, at a periml when there could not fail to be many pliilosophers in Greece, both able ; nd willitig to expose the tleception. must acknowledge that it appears to me to admit of a very fair construction, without supposing the claim to comprehend all the doctrines delivered in the books of Analytics. In support of this idea it may be remarked, that while Aristotle strongly contrasts the dialectical art, as taught in the preceding treatise, with the art of disputation as previously practised in Greece, he does not make the slightest reference to the distinction between demonstrative and dialectical syllogisms, or to those doctrines with respect to demon- stration and science, which accord so ill with the general spirit of his philosophy. It does not seem, therefore, to be a very unreason- able supposition, that to these doctrines, (with which for many rea- sons he might judge it expedient to incorporate his own inventions and innovations,) he only gave that systematical and technical form, which, by its peculiar phraseology and other imposing appendages, was calculated at once to veil their imperfections, and to gratify the vanity of those who should mahe them objects of study. It is surely not impossible that the syllogistic theory may have existed as a subject of abstract speculation long before any attempt was made to introduce the syllogism into the schools as a weapon of controversy, or to prescribe rules for the skilful and scientific management of a viva voce dispute. It is true that Aristotle's language, upon this occasion, is some- what loose and equivocal ; but it must be remembered, that it was addressed to his contemporaries, who were j)erfectly acquainted with the real extent of his merits as an inventor ; and to whom, accordingly, it was not necessary to state his pretensions in terms more definite and explicit. I shall only add, that this conjecture, supposing it for a moment to he sanctioned by the judgment of the learned, would still leave Aristotle in complete possession of by far the most ingenious and practical part of the scholastic logic;* while, at the same time, should future researches verify the suspicions of Sir William Jones and others, that the first rudiments of the art were imported into * Tiiis was plainly the opinion of Cicero : " In hac arte," he obser\'es, speaking of the dialectical art, as it was cultivated by the Stoics, " in hac arte, si modo est hfec ars nullum est pracceptum quomodo venim inveniatur, sed tantum est quomodo judicetur." And a few sentences after; " Quare istam artem totam dimittamus, qua; in excogi- tandis argumentis muta nimium est, in judicandis nimium loquax." (De Orat. lib. ii. 86, 87.) [In this science, if it be a science, there is no precept for finding out the truth, but only for judging about it.— Wherefore let us give no farther thought to that science which is too little communicative in seeking out arguments, and too much so in judging about them.] The first sentence is literally applicable to the doctrine of syllogism considered theoretically ; the second contrasts the inutility of this doctrine i»ith the importance of such subjects as are treated of in Aristotle's Topics. Whether Cicero and Quinctilian did not overrate the advantages to be derived from the study of the Loci as an organ of invention, is a question altogether foreign to our present inqiuries. That it was admirably adapted for those argumentative and rhe- torical displays which were so highly valued in ancient times, there can be no doubt, after what these great masters of oratory have written on the subject ; but it does not follow that, in the present state of society, it would reward the labours of those who wish to cultivate cither the elo-reat practical results, than to indulge a comparatively sterile curio^itv by remounting to the first sourcesof experimental knowled