It \ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE Ex Libris C. K. OGDEN THE WORKS OF THOMAS EEID, D.D. NOW FULLY COLLECTED, WITH SELECTIONS FROM HIS UNPUBLISHED LETTEES. PREFACE, NOTES AND SUPPLEMENTARY DISSERTATIONS, BY SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON, BART., advocate; a.m. (oxon.); etc.; corresponding member of the institute of fkance; honorary member of the american academy of arts and sciences ; of the latin society of jena; etc.; professor of logic and metaphysics in the csiversity of edinbcrgh. PREFIXED,' STEWART'S ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND "WRITINGS OF REID. VOL. I. SEVENTH EDITION. EDINBUEGH: MACLACHLAN AND STEWART. LONDON : LONGMAN, GREEN, LONGMAN, ROBERTS, AND GREEN. MDCCCLXXII. 1^, /5-^2. V.I ON EARTH, THERE IS NOTHING GREAT BUT MAN; IN MAN, THERE IS NOTHING GREAT BUT MIND. TO VICTOR COUSIN, PEER OF FRANCE, LATE MINISTER OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION, MEMBER OF THE INSTITUTE, PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY, ETC., ETC., THIS EDITION OF THE WORKS OF REID IS DEDICATED J NOT ONLY, IN TOKEN OF THE EDITOR'S ADMIRATION OF THE FIRST PHILOSOPHER OF FRANCE, BUT, AS A TRIBUTE, DUE APPROPRIATELY AND PRE-EMINENTLY TO THE STATESMAN, THROUGH WHOM SCOTLAND HAS BEEN AGAIN UNITED INTELLECTUALLY TO HER OLD POLITICAL ALLY, AND THE AUTHOR'S WRITINGS, (THE BEST RESULT OF SCOTTISH SPECULATION,) MADE THE BASIS OF ACADEMICAL INSTRUCTION IN PHILOSOPHY THROUGHOUT THE CENTRAL NATION OF EUROPE. ADVERTISEMENT. November 1846. — The present issue (ending with page 914) con- tains the whole Works of Reid, hitherto pubhshed, with many of his writings, printed or collected for the first time. The text has been collated, revised, and corrected ; useful distinctions and supplements inserted ; the leading words and propositions marked out ; the allu- sions indicated ; the quotations filled up. It contains also the Foot- Notes of the Editor on the texts of Reid and Stewart, and a large proportion (in length) of the Editor's Supplementary Dissertations. There remain the sequel of these Dissertations, the General Pre- face, and the Indices ; — all of which are cither prepared, or their materials collected. These (Deo volcntc) will be comprised in a con- cluding issue, and title-pages for two volumes then given. The Notes and Dissertations have insensibly increased to a size and importance far beyond what was ever anticipated ; but the book having been always destined primarily for academical use, the price of the whole will not exceed thirty shiUings. Being stereotyped, what additions may be made to any subsequent edition, will be pub- lished also apart. It is proper to state : — that the Foot-notes were written, as the texts passed through the press, in 1837 and 1838 ; that the Supple- mentary Dissertations, to the end of D*, were written and stereotyped in 1841 and 1842 ; the rest being added recently. [^October 18G3 — In the present edition the errata have been, for the most part, corrected on the stereotype plates; the Indices have been added ; and the sequel of the Dissertations has been, so far as possible, completed from Sir W. Hamilton's MSS. For an account of what has been done in tbis last respect, tlie reader is referred to the Postscript at the end of the Supplementary Dissertations.] CONTENTS. Page Dedication, ...... Table of Contents, ..... iii EDITOR'S PREFACE, .... xv DUGALD STEWART'S ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS REID, D.D. Section I. From Br Eeid's birth till the date of his latest publication, 3 II. Observations on the Spirit and scope of Dr Reid's philosophy, 11 HI. Conclusion of the Narrative, ... 29 Notes, .... 35 RE ID'S (I.— WRITINGS NOT INTENDED FOR PUBLICATION.) LETTERS. A. — To Drs Andrew and David Skene, 1764 — 1770, . . 39 B.— To Lord Kumes,\1T2—\182, . . .60 C— To Dr James Gregory, IIQZ—nQZ, ... 62 D. — To the Rev. Archibald Alison, 1790, ... 89 E. — To Prof. Robison, 1792, . . . . ,89 F. — To David Hume, 1763, . • . . 91 (11.— WRITINGS INTENDED AND PREPARED FOR PUBLICATION.) A— INQUIRY INTO THE HUMAN MIND. Dedication, ..... 95 CHAPTER I.— Intkoduction. Section I. The Importance of the subject, and the Means of prosecuting it, 97 II. The Impediments to our knowledge of the mind, . 98 III. Tlie Present Stale of this part of philotopihy. Of Des Cartes, Male- branche, and Locke, .... 99 IV. Apjology for thoae pjhilosoijhers, . . 101 V. Of Bishop Berkeley ; the " Treatise of Human Nature " \by Hume . ] and of Scepticism, .... 101 Ml. Of the '' Treatise of Human Nature," . . 102 The system of all these authors is the same, and leads to Scepticism, 103 We ought not to desjtair of a better, . . . 103 VII. VIII. CHAPTER II.— Of Smelling. Section I. The Order of proceeding. Of the medium and organ of Smell, 10-1 II. The Sensation considered abstractly, . . 105 III. Sensation and Remembrance, natural principles of Belief , 105 IV. Judgment and Belief in some cases precede Simple Apprehension, 106 V. Two Theories of the nature of Belief refuted. Conclusions from what hath been said, . . . 107 iv CONTENTS. Pagh Section VI. Ajwlogy for metaphysical ahsurdities. Sensation loilhoul a sentient, a consequence of the theory of Ideas. Conseqtiences of this strange opinion, ..... 106 VII. The conception and belief of a sentient being or Mind, is suggested by our constitution. The notion of Relations not always got by Comparing the related ideas, . . . 110 VIII. There is a quality or virtue in bodies, which we call their Smell. How this is connected in the imagination with the sensation, 112 IX. That there is a principle in human nature, from which the notion of this, as well as all other natural virtues or causes, is derived, 112 X. Whether in Sensation the mind is Active or Passive, . 114 CHAPTER III.— Of Tasting, . . 115 CHAPTER IV Of Hearing. Section I. Variey of Sounds. Their place and distance learned by Custom, u'ithout reasoning, • . . , 116 tl. Of Natural Language, . . . . 117 CHAPTER v.— Of Touch. Sbction I. Of Heat and Cold, . . . • 119 II. Of Hardness and Softness, . . . 119 III. Of Natural Signs, . . . .121 IV. Of Hardness and other Primary Qualities, ■ . 123 V. Of Extension, . . . . .123 VI. Of Extension, .... 125 VII. Of the existence of a Material World, . . 126 VIII. Of the Systems of Philosophers concerning the Senses, . 130 CHAPTER VI.— Of Seeing. Section I. The excellence and dignity of this faculty, . . 132 II. Sight discovers almost nothing which the Blind may not compre- hend. The reason of this, . . . 133 III. Of the Visible Appearances of objects, . . 135 IV. That Colour is a quality of bodies, not a sensation of the mind, 137 V. An inference from the jjreceding, ■ . . 138 VI. That none of our sensations are Resemblances of any cf the quali- ties of bodies, VII. Of visible Figure and Extension, VIII. Some Queries concerning Visible Figure answered, IX. Of the Geometry of Visibles, X. Of the Parallel Motion of the eyes, XI. Of our seeing objects Erect by inverted images, XII. The same subject continued, XIII. Of seeing objects Single with two eys, XIV. Of the laws of vision in Brute animals, XV. Squinting considered hypothetically, XVI. Facts relating to Squinting, XVII. Of the effect of Custom in seeing objects Single, . . 173 XVIII. Of Dr Porterfe'd's account of single and double vision, 176 XIX. Of Dr Briggs's theory, and Sir Isaac Newton'' s conjecture on this subject, . . . . . 178 XX. 0/ Perception in general, . . . 182 140 142 144 147 152 163 156 163 166 167 172 CONTENTS. V Tags Section- XXI. Of the Process of Nature in percej^tion, . . 186 XXII. Of the Signs by ivhich we learn to perceive Distance from the eye, 188 XXIII. Of the Signs iised in other acquired j)erceptions, . 193 XXIV. Of the Analogy betiveen P rccption, and the credit vie give to Human Testimony, . . . 194 CHAPTER VII.— Conclusion. Containing Reflections upon the opiniotis of Philosophers on this subject, 201 B.— ESSAYS ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS OF MAN. Dedication, Preface, Chapter I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. ESSAY I. — Preliminary. Explication of Words, .... Principles taken for granted, Of Hypotheses, .... Of Analogy, .... Of the proper means of Knowing the operations of the mind, Of the dijficidty of Attending to the operations of our oivn minds, Bioision of the pioivers of the mind, Of Social [and Solitary] operations of mind. 215 216 219 230 234 236 238 240 242 244 ESSAY II. — Of the Powers wf. have by means of our External Slnses. Chapter I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIIl. XIX. XX. XXI, XXII Of the Organs of Sense, .... 245 Of the Impressions on the organs, nerves, and brain, 247 Hypothesis concerning the Nervis and Brain, . 248 False Conclusions drawn from the impressions before mentioned, 253 Of Perception, . . ' . . 258 What it is to Account for a Phenomenon in Nature, 200 Sentiments of Philosophers about the Perceptions of External objects ; and firsts of the theory of Father Malelranche, 202 Of the Common, Theory of Perception ; and of the sentiments of the Peripatetics, and of Des Cartes, . . 2G7 The sentiments of Mr Locke, . . . 275 The sentiments of Bishop Berkeley, . . . 280 Bishop Berkeley's sentiments of the nature of Ideas, 287 The sentiments of Mr Hume, . . • 292 The sentiments of Anthony Arnauld, . . 295 Reflections on the Common Theory of Ideas, . . 298 Account of the system of Leibnitz, . . 306 Of Sensation, .... 310 Of the Objects of Perception; and first, of Primary and Second- ary Qualities, . . . . 313 Of other objects of Perception, . . . 319 Of Matter and of Space, . . . 322 Of the Evidence of Sense, and of Belief in general, . 326 Of thi Improvem nt of the Senses, . . . 330 Of t/ie Fallacy of the Senses, , . . 334 vi CONTENTS. pAoa ESSAY III.— Of Memort. CuAFTER I. Things obvious and certain with regard to Memory, , 339 II. Memory an original faculty, . . . 340 III. Of Duration, ..... 342 IV. Of Identity, ..... 344 V. Mr Locke's account of the Origin of our Ideas, and particularly of the idea of Duration, . . . 346 VI. Mr Locke's account of our Personal Identity, . 350 VII. Theories concerning Memory, . . . 353 ESSAY IV._Of Conception. Chapter I. Of Conception, or Simple Apprehension in general, . 360 II, Theories concerning Conception, . . 368 III. Mistakes concerning Conception, . . . 375 IV. Of the Train of Thought in the mind, . . 379 ESSAY v.— Of Abstraction. Chapter I. Of General Words, .... 389 II. Of General Conceptions, . . . 391 III. Of general conceptions formed by Analysing objects, . 394 IV. Of general conceptions formed by Combination, . 398 V. Observations concerning the Names given to our general notions, 403 VI. Opinion of philosophers about Universals, . . 405 ESSAY VI.— Of Judgment. Chapter I. Of Judgment in general, . - . . 413 II. Of Common Sense, .... 421 III. Sentiments of philosophers concerning Judgment, . 426 IV. Of First Princijyles in general, • • . 434 V. The first princip>les of Contingent Truths. \^0n Consciousness,'\ 441 VI. First principles of Necessary Truths, . . 452 VII. Opinions, ancient and modern, about First Principles, , 462 VIII. Of Prejudices, the causes of trror, . . 468 ESSAY VII.— Of Reasoning. Chapter I. Of Eeas07iing in general, and of Demonstration, . 475 II. Whether 3Iorality be capable of demonstration, . 478 III. Of Probable Reasoning, . . . .481 IV. Of 3fr Hume's Scepticism with regard to Reason, , 484 ESSAY VIII.— Of Taste. Chapter I. Of Taste in general, . . . , 490 II. Of the Objects of taste, and frst of Novelty, . 493 JII. Of Grandeur, .... 494 rV. Of Beauty, ..... 498 CONTENTS. >' U C— ESSAYS ON THE ACTIVE POWERS OF THE HUMAN MIND. Introduction, ...... 51] ESSAY I. — Of Active Power in General. CoiPTER I. Of the Notion of Active Power, . . . 512 II. 77*6 sa7ne subject, . . . .515 III. Of Mr Locke's account of our Idea of Poiuer, . 518 IV. Of Mr Hume's 02nnion of the Idea of Power, . . 52O V. Whether beings that have no Will nor Understanding may have Active Power ? . . . . 622 VI. Of the Effici-nt Causes of the phcenomena of nature, . 525 VII. Of the Extent of Human Porver, . . . 527 ESSAY II.— Of the Will. Chapter I. Observations concerning the Will, . . . 530 II. Of the influence of Incitements and Motives vpon the Will, 533 III. Of operations of mind which may be called Voluntary, 537 tV. Corollaries, . . . 541 ESSAY III. — Of the Piunciples of Action. PART I. — Op the Mechamcal Principles of Action. Chapter I. Of the Principles of Action in general, II. Of Instinct, III. Of Habit, PART II Op the Anijul Principles op Action Chapter I. Of Appetites, II. Of Desires, III. Of Benevolent Affection in general IV. Of the particular Benevolent Affections, V. Of Malevolent Affections, VI. Of Passion, VII. Of Disposition, VIII. Of Opinion, PART III. — Op the Rational Principles op Action. 543 545 550 651 554 658 660 666 670 675 677 Chapter I. There are Rational Principles of action in man, . 670 II. Of regard to our Good upon the Whole, . 680 III. The Tendency of this Principle, . . 582 IV. Defects of this Principle, .... 584 V. Of the notion of Duty, Rectitude, Moral Obligation, . 688 VI. Of the Sense of Duty, . . . . 589 VII. Of Moral Approbation and Disapprobation, . , 592 VIII. Observations concerning Conscience, . . • 594 ESSAY IV. — Of the Liberty of Moral Agents. CnArTEu I. The notions of Moral Liberty and Necessity stated, . 699 II. Of the words, Cause and Effect, Action, and Active Power, V>0'A vn( CONTENTS. Chai-teu hi. Causes of the Ambiguity of those toordf IV. Of the infimnce of Motives, V. Liberty consistent with Government, VI. First Argument for Liberlij, VII. Second Argument, VIII. Third Argument^ IX. Of Arguments for Necessity, X. The same subject, XL Of the Pur mission of Evil, Page 605 608 613 616 620 622 624 629 632 ESSAY v.— Of Morals. Cbapteu I. Of the First Principles of Morals, . . . 637 II. Of Systems of Morals, . . . 640 III. Of Systi^ms of Natural Jurisprudence, . . 643 IV. Whether an action deserving Moral Approbation, must be done with the Belief of its being Morally Good, . 646 V. Whether Justice be a Natural or an Artificial Virtue, . 651 VI. Of the nature and obligation of a Contract, . 662 VII. That Moral Approbation implies a real Judgment, . 670 D— ACCOUNT OF ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC. CHAPTER I.— Of the First Thbee Treatises. Section I. Of the Author, .... II. Of the Porphyry's Introduction, III. Of the Categories, IV. Of the book Concerning Interpretation, 681 683 683 685 CHAPTER II.~Remarks. SiiCTioN I. On the Five Predicables, . . . II. On tlie Ten Categories, and on Divisions in general, I I I. On Distinctions, .... IV. On Definitions, V. On the structure of Speech, VI. On Propositions, 685 687 689 i690 691 692 CHAPTER III. — Account of the First Analytics. Section I. Of the Conversion of Propositions, II. Of the Figures iind Modes of Pure Syllogisms, III. Of the Invention \_Discovery\ of a Middle Term, IV. Of the remaining part of the First Book, . . V. Of the Second Book of the First Analytics, 693 694 695 695 69E CHAPTER IV.— Remarks. 8ECTIo^ T. Of the Conversion of Propositions, „ 696 CONTENTS. IX Pa (IE Section II. On Additions made to Aristotle's Theory, . . 697 III. On Examples used to illustrate this Theory, . , G98 IV. On the Demonstration of the Theory, . . 699 V. On this Theory considered as an Engine of Science, . 701 VI. On Modal Syllogisms, .... 702 VII. On Syllogisms that do not belong to Figure and Mode, . 704 CHAPTER V. — Account of the Remaining Books of the Organon. Section I. Of the Last Analytics, .... 705 II. Of the Topics, .... 706 III. Of the hook concerning Sojjhisms, . . . JQj CHAPTER VI.— Reflections on the Utility of Logic, and the Means of ITS Imphovement. Section I. Of the Utility of Logic, .... 703 II. Of the Improvement of Logic, . . . 711 E — ESSAY ON QUANTITY. [Occasion and grounds of the Discussion,!^ .... 715 Of the Newtonian Measure of Force, . . . . 717 Of the Leibnitzian Measure of Force, . . . . 718 Reflections on this Controversy, . . . . 719 F.-,ACCOUNT OF THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. Introduction, ...... 721 I. History of the University before the Reformation, . . 721 II. Ayicient Constitution, .... 722 III. History after the Reformation, . . . 727 IV. Modern Constitution, > . . . . 7-9 V. Donations, ... . . 730 VI. Presmt State, . . . . . 732 VII. Conclusion, .... 738 EDITOR'S SUPPLEMENTARY DISSERTATIONS. (A.)— ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF COMMON SENSE; OR, OUR PRIMARY BELIEFS CONSIDERED AS THE ULTIMATE CRITERION OF TRUTH. Section I. The Meaning of the Doctrine, and Purport of the Argument, of Common Sense, .... 742 II. The Conditions of the Legitimacy, and legitimate application, of the argument, . . . 749 HI. That it is one strictly Philosophical and scientific, . 7.51 IV. The Essential Cliaracters by which onr primary biiiefs, or the principles of Common Sense, are discriminated, . 7.'J4 V. Tlie Nomenclature, that is, the various appellations by which these have been designated, .... 755 X CONTENTS. Pao» Section VI. The Universality of the philosophy of Common Sense ; or its general recognition, in reality and in name, shown by a chronological series of Testimonies from the dawn of speculation to the pre- sent day, . . . . 770 (H.)— OF PRESENTATIVE AND REPRESENTATIVE KNOWLEDGE. Sbction I. The distinction of Presentative, Intuitive or Immediate, and of Representative or Mediate cognition ; with the various signifi- cations of the term Object, its conjugates and correlatives, 804 Section II. Errors of Reid and other Philosophers, in reference to the preced- ing distinctions, . . . . 812 (C.)— ON THE VARIOUS THEORIES OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTION. Section I. Systematic Schemes, from different points of view, of the various theories of the relation of External Perception to its Object ; and of the various systems 6f Philosophy founded thereon, 816 II. WJiat is the character, in this respect, of Reid's doctrine of Percep- tion? ..... 819 (D.)— DISTINCTION OF THE PRIMARY AND SECONDARY QUALITIES OF BODY. Section I. Historically considered, .... 825 II. Critically considered. Three classes (Primary, Secun do -Primary, and Secondary Qualities,) established, . . 815 (D *.)— PERCEPTION PROPER AND SENSATION PROPER. Section I. Principal momenta of the Editor's doctrine of Perception, (A) in itself, and (B) in contrast to that of Reid, Steivart, Royer Collard, and other philosophers of the Scottish School, 876 II. Historical notices in regard to the distinction of PercepAion proper and Sensation proper, .... 886 (D **.) CONTRIBUTION TOWARDS A HISTORY OF THE DOCTRINE OF MENTAL SUGGESTION OR ASSOCIATION, 889 (D ***.)— OUTLINE OF A THEORY OF MENTAL REPRODUCTION, SUGGESTION OR ASSOCIATION. Section I. Laws of Mental Succession, as General. — (A.) Not of Reproduc- tion proper, uniform — (B.) Of Repjroduction proper, not uniform : as possible ; as actual ; as direct, — Abstract or Primary law of Repetition ; as indirect, — Abstract or Primary law of Redintegration, Concrete or Secondary law of Pre- ference, . . . . .910 II. Laws of Mental Succession, as Special. — Of Reproduction : — (A.J Abstract or Primary, — modes of the laws of Repetition and Redintegration, one or both ; — (B.) Concrete or Secondary, — modes of the law of Preference. , • .CONTENTS. XI Pagb (E.)— ON THE CORRELATIVE APPREHENSIONS OF COLOUR, AND OF EXTENSION AND FIGURE. Section I. On the Correlation of Colour with Extension and Figure in visual Perception and Imagination, . . . 917 II. On the Philosophy of the Point, the Line, and the Surface : in illus- tration of the reality, nature, and visual perception of breadth- less lines, ..... 921 (F.)— ON LOCKE'S NOTION OF THE CREATION OF MATTER, 924 (G.)— ON THE HISTORY OF THE WORD IDEA, . 925 (H.)— ON CONSCIOUSNESS. Sectiox I. Reid's reduction of Consciousness to a special faculty sheivn to be inaccurate. Consciousness the fundamental condition of all our "mental energies and affections, . . . 929 II. Conditions and Lirnitcdions of Consciousness. General Laws of Variety and Succession. Special characteristics of Conscious- ness. Philosophy of the Conditioned in relation to the notions of Substance and Cause, . . . .932 [III.] Historical references — i. On the conditions of Consciousness ; ii. On acts of mind beyond the sphere of Consciousness, . 938 \J.) ON THE HISTORY OF THE TERMS CONSCIOUSNESS, ATTENTION, AND REFLECTION. Section I. Extracts explanatory of Sir W. Hamilton s vicio of the distinction between Consciousness, Attention, and Reflection, with special reference to the opinions of Reid and Stewart, . . 940 II. Historical notices of the XLse of the terms Consciousness, Attention, and Reflection, . . . . 942 (K.)— THAT THE TERMS IMAGE, IMPRESSION, TYPE, &c., IN PHILO- SOPHICAL THEORIES OF PERCEPTION, ARE NOT TO BE TAKEN LITERALLY, . . . , .948 (L.)— ON THE PLATONIC DOCTRINE OF PERCEPTION, . 950 (.^L)— ON THE DOCTRINE OF SPECIES, AS HELD BY ARISTOTLE AND THE ARISTOTELIANS. [Section I.] Origin of the theory as a metaphysical and physical hypothesis — opinion of Aristotle — of the Schoolmen — theory of intentional species, impressed and expressed, sensible and intelligible — various opini(/ns on the whole hypothesis, . . 951 xii CONTENTS. • Paor [Section II.] Translations of passages exhibiting the nominalist doctrine of species, , . . • ■ 957 (N.)— THE CARTESIAN THEORY OF PERCEPTION AND IDEAS, . 961 (0.)— LOCKE'S OPINION ABOUT IDEAS, ... 966 (P.)— ON MALEBRANCHE'S THEORY, . . . .966 (Q)-ON HUME'S ASSERTION ABOUT THE IDEAS OF PO'VVER AND CAUSE, AND BROWN'S CRITICISM OF REID, . 968 (R.)— ON THE CARTESIAN DOUBT, . . . .969 (S.)— ON REID'S BORROWING FROM GASSENDI THE OPINION OF ALEXANDER AND THE NOMINALISTS, . • 970 (T.)-ON' THE QUALITY OF NECESSITY AS A CRITERION OF THE ORIGINALITY OF A COGNITION, . . . '.'71 (U.)— ON THE ARGUMENT FROM PRESCIENCE AGAINST LIBERTY. [Section I.] Liberty vindicated by tlie Philosophy of the Conditimied, . 973 [1 1.] Impossibility of reconciling Liberty and Prescieyice — various theories on this ptoint, . . . .976 [lU.] Extracts from AquinMS and Cajeta.nus, . . 979 (U*.)— ON SCIENTIA MEDIA, . . . . .981 (V.)— ARISTOTLE'S MERITS AS A LOGICIAN : HIS OWN AND KANT'S TESTIMONY, ..... 982 (W.)— THE SCIENCES OF OBSERVATION TO BE STUDIED BEFORE THOSE OF REFLECTION, . . . .985 CONTENTS. Xlll Page {X.)-OISr THE DIFFEREN^CE BETWEEN CONCEPTIONS (BEGRIFFE) AND INTUITIONS (ANSCHAUUNGEN), . . 986 (Y.)— ON EGOISM, 988 ADDENDA, ........ 989" POSTSCEIPT, 989 INDICES, . . 991 MEMORANDA FOR PREFACE. [From the Advertisemect prefixed to this work, it appears tlicat Sir William Hamilton's coutributious as Editor were intended to include, in addition to the Foot-Notes and Supplementary Dissertations, a General Prefiiee to the whole. This Preface was never written, and its plan can only be conjectured from a few memo- randa mai-ked as intended for it, and some fragments apparently designed to be incorporated with it. The principal of these have been printed below. — Ed. ] [0/ the Scottish Philosophy in General] Results of Locke's philosophy — Col- lins, &c., see Cousin in Yacherot, [Cours de 1819-20, partie 2, Legon 1.*] Berkeley, Hume — adopted at first by Scottish Bchool; Reid's reaction. Hume's scepticism proceeds in two momenta. 1°, In shewing that the notions of Cause and Efi"ect, Substance and Accident, which he wishes to make merely subjec- tive, have no genuine necessity; (under and after this, but not developed, that even if the necessity be not a bastard one — from custom — it is at best only a legitimate subjective one, and without objective validity.) 2°, In shewing that the mind is not con- Bcious of any real existence in perception ; that its representations are no guarantee for anything represented {Idealism.) Now Kant and Reid both combated Hume. Kant applied himself to the causal nexus ; Reid to the idealism. Shew how both were equally intent on shewing that causalitj' is a real neces- sity of mind. Though both only subjective, Kant more articulate. How, in regard to idealism, Kant con- firmed Hume, giving his premises, whereas Reid's doctrine, though confused and vacillating, was a real refutation. [These memoranda have been partly worked out in a paper printed in the Appendix to the Lectures on Metaphysics, vol. i., p. 392 sq. Another aspect of the Scottish Philosophy, in relation to that of Germany, is indicated in the following fragment, which is apparently related to the reference above, p. 7913. — Ed.] * See also M. Cousin's o^vn edition of tlie.so Lectures, Lc^on 2. — Ed. It was Jacobi who first in Germany at- tacked the mediate and demonstrating philoso2>hy of the Leibnitians, and sbewed the necessity of immediate knowledge. This he took from Reid. — See Francke, p. 227 sq. Schulze, another great pro- moter of this.— Ibid,, p. 230. [The purport of this memorandum is explained by the following extracts, translated from Francke's work. Das selbststaendige und reine Leben des Gefuehls, als des Geistes urspruenglicheu Urtheils, u.s.w. Leiinzig, 1838 : — " Tlie union of the English and French empiricism with the German logical ra- tionalism prodviced that maxim of the philosophy of reflection, which maintains that nothing can be admitted as truth which cannot be j^roved, or logically de- duced, from the perception-s of sense ; a jiosition which leads, as a natural conse- quence, to the scepticism of Huuie. On the other bund, Reid, Beattie, and Oswald, advocating the hitherto obscured element of Feeling, maintained that the human mind possesses immediate]}' in conscious- ness principles of knowledge independent of experience ; and a more cautious at- temj^t was made by Richard Price to shew that the Understanding, or Faculty of Thought, a.s distinguished from the deduc- tive faculty, is essentially diU'ereiit from tbe faculty of sense, and is a source of special representations distinct from those of the senses. Yet, on the whole, all these writei's, as regards the scientific vindication of their teaching, were com- pelled to place the foiuidation of the immediate cognition of tlio higher truths of reason in a Common Sense ; and the assumption of this pretended source ne- cessarily involved su.spicion and doubt as regards the truth of the cognitions derived from it. And so also Jacobi, if XVI MEMORANDA FOR PREFACE. wo except the negative, polemical side of his teaching, wherein he certainly accom- plished much, has advanced little or nothing beyond his English predecessors in laying a firm scientific t'oundatiou for his own view ; though he was the first among ourselves who, in the controvei'sy with the disciples of Wolf and other cog- nate schools, by the emiiloymont of the terms /ec/tn// and belief, directed attention to the necessity of acknowledging the importance of immediate cognition and its consciousness "Although Jacobi's system, on account of its vacillating language, and still more on account of its intuitive narrowness and subjective character, was not fitted to bene- fit philosophy immediately, it had, not- withstanding, a foundation of truth, which could not long fail of producing iis effect. Many soon became clearly convinced that the Kantian philosophy also was liable to the charge of onesidedness, and failed to satisfy the requirements of the entire man : they acknowledged that Jacobi, notwith- standing the enthusiastic vehemence of his decisions, had seized and brought to light a principle of our mental life hitherto marvellously overlooked, the discovery of which would henceforth fill up a great void in the culture of the age, and the recognition of which was indisi^ensable to the preservation and progress of philoso- phy. Even men who could not directly be classed as belonging to the school of Jacobi, the cleai'est and most cautious thinkers, acknowledged the importance of the distinction between mediate and im- mediate knowledge, and between the mediate and immediate consciousness of it; and although thej' would not concede to Feeling an independent significance, and were unable to assign to it a sure psychological position, they at least saw clearly, and proved conclusively, that the j)0\ver and efficacy of this Feeling must be a necessary condition of knowledge antecedent to all determinate conceptions and reasonings. Among these men may be especially mentioiied the so - called scefjtic, (who in his later writings is a natural realist,) G. E. Schulze,* Bouter- wek,+ and Gerlach. J "Schulze, indeed, regards the Feelings as the most obscure and variable phase of the * Psych. Anthropol. ed. 2, § 151, pp. 259, 260; Encycl. der philos, Wissensch. §§ 39, 115; Kritik der theor. Philos. 1. p. 702-720 ; Uuber die menschl. Erkenntniss, § 45-50, pp. 155-174. t Lehrb. der philos. Wissensch. Apod. p. 15-80. t Lehrb. der pliilo.s. Wissensch. i. § 48, p. 48. mental life : he holds them to be incapable of establishing or proclaiming anything ob- jective, and hence to be useless as princi- ples for the demonstration of truth ; but he repeatedly asserts the existence in the human consciousness of certain funda- mental assumptions, of which, by the con- stitution of our nature, we are unable arbi- trarily to divest ourselves, and which have a place in all natural science and in moral and religious convictions. It is true that Schulze did not penetrate to a complete insight into the nature of demonstrative knowledge and transcendental idealism ; and hence, from the position of his natural objective realism, he is unable to discover that our ideal convictions can attain to an equal certainty with the natural conviction of knowledge based on intuition. Bouter- wek, adhering more closely to Jacobi's doctrine, speaks of the consciousness of the original feeling of truth as the first witness of certainty in all human convic- tion ; but, like Jacobi, he seems to believe in a perceptive power of the internal sense, by which even demonstrative phi- losophical cognitions may be realised in consciousness Fries is the first who, by opening a new path of authropologico-critical inquiry, has com- pletely and fully succeeded in organi- cally uniting the immediate products of Jacobi's philosophy with the results of the Kantian criticism, and thus in exhibiting in a clear and scientific light, from the laws of the theory of man's mental life, the relation of Knowledge to Belief, of the natural and ideal aspect of the world, as well as the important relation between the feelmg and the conception of the truth. He is the first philosopher in whose system Feeling has won an independent and firmly established position among the philoso- phical convictions of the reason. " * — Ed.] Merits of the Scottish School. Their proclaiming it as a rule, 1°, That the province of a preliminary or general Logic (Neology) — the ultimate laws, &c., of the human mind — should be sought out and established; 2°, That once recog- nised and given, they should be accept- ed to govern philosophy, as all other sciences. With regard to the first, the Scottish philosophers are not original. It is a perennis philosophia, gravitated towards * On the relation of the system of Fries to that of Raid, see below, Note A, p. 798, No. 95 ; and the references tliere given. — Ed. xMEMORANDA FOR PREFACE. XVM even by those who revolted against it. (See Note A. ) The merit of the Scotti.sh school is one only of degree, — that it is more consistent, more catholic, and em- bodies this pcrcnnis philosophia more purely. [Its writers, however,] are them- selves peccant in details, and have not always followed out the spirit of their own doctrines. [With regard to the second,] Dr Reid and Mr Stewart not only denounce as absurd the attempt to demonstrate that the original data of Consciousness are for us the rule of what we ought to believe, that is, the criteria of a relative — human — subjective truth; but interdict as unphi- losophical all question in regard to their validity, as the vehicles of an absolute or objective truth. M. JonfFroy,* of course, coincides with the Scottish philosophers in regard to the former ; but, as to the latter, he maintains, with Kaut, that the doubt is legitimate, and, though he admits it to be insoluble, he thinks it ought to be enter- tained. Nor, on the ground on which thej- and he consider the question, am I disjjosed to dissent from his conclusion. But on that on which I have now placed it, I cannot but view the inquiry as in- competent. For what is the question in plain terms ? Simply,— Whether what our nature compels us to believe as true and real, be true and real, or only a consistent illusion ? Now this question cannot be philosophically entertained, for two rea- sons. 1°, Because there exists a pre- sumption in favour of the veracity of our nature, which either precludes or peremptorily repels a gratuitous supposi- tion of its mendacity. 2°, Because we have no mean out of Consciousness of testing Consciousness. If its data are found concordant, thej' mii.st be presumed trustworthj' ; if repugnant, they are al- ready proved unworthy of credit. Un- less, therefore, the mutual collation of the primary data of Consciousness be held such an inquiry, it is, I think, mani- festly incompetent. It is only in the case of one or more of these original facts being rejected as false, that the question can emerge in regard to the truth of the others. But, in reality, on this hypothesis, the problem is already decided ; their character for truth is gone ; and all sub- sequent canvassing of their probability is profitless speculation. Kant started, like the philosophei's in general, with the non-acceptance of the • (Euvrca de Rcid, Preface, p. clxxxv.— Ed. deliverance of Consciousness, — that wo are immediately cognisant of extended objects. This first step decided the des- tiny of his philosophy. The external world, as known, was, therefore, only a pha;uomenou of the internal ; and our knowledge in general only of self; the objective only subjective ; and truth only the harmony of thought with thought, not of thought with things ; reality Only a necessary illusion. It was quite in order, that Kant should canvass the veracity of all our inimary beliefs, having founded his philosoijhy on the presumed falseliood of one ; and an in- quiry followed out with such consistency and talent, could not, from such a com- mencement, terminate in a difierent result.* Fichte evolved this explicit idealism — Nihilism, t Following the phantom of the Absolute, Schelling rejected the law of Contradiction, as Hegel that of Excluded Middle; J with the result that, as acknowledged by the former, the worlds of common sense and of philosophy are reciprocally the converse of each other. Did the author not see that this is a rcductio ad ahsurdnm of phi- losophy itself ] For, ex Jujputliesi, -philo- sophy, the detection of the illusion of our nature, shews the absurdity of natm-e; but its instruments are only those of this illusive nature. Why, then, is it not an illusion itself? The philosoph J' which relies on the data of Consciousness may not fulfil the condi- tions of what men conceit that a philo- sophy should be : it makes no pretension to any knowledge of the absolute — the unconditioned — but it is the only philo- sophy which is conceded to man below; and if we neglect it, we must either re- nounce philosophy or pursue an iynh fa- tiius which will only lead us into quag- mires. § [Defects of the Scottish School.] Scottish school too exclusive — intoler- ant, not in spirit and intention, for Reid * Reprinted from Lectures on Metaphysics, vol. i, J). 35)9. From the riifovence below, p. 7-)fi a, n. *, it appears tliat tliis qiie.stion w.'is intended to be (liseussed in the Preface. — Ed. t See below, p. 120, n. *, nnd 796 b.— Ed. J See Lectures on Loyic, vol. 1. p. 90. — Ed. § In the MS. follow references to the two Sealigers, to Grotius, nnd to Cusa ; tlic List being, through Bruno, the fadiei- of the modern Philo- sophy of the Absolute. .\11 theso referenees are given in full, Discussions, pp. 638-041.— Kd. XVUl MEMORANDA FOR PREFACE. and Stewart were liberal — but from not taking higli enough ground, and studying opinions with sufficient accuracy, and from a sufficiently lofty point of view. On the nature and domain of the philo- sophy of mind. Reid and Stewart do not lay it out jiro- perly, though their practice is better than their precept. They do not take notice of the difference between mental and phy- sical inquiry — that the latter is mere induc- tive classification, the former more specula- tive, secerning necessary from contingent. But an element of thought being found necessary, there remains a further process — to ascertain whether it be, 1", by nature or by education ; 2°, ultimately or deriva- tively necessary ; 3°, positive or negative. . . . . A law of nature is only got by general induction ; a law of mind is got by experiment — whether we can not think it; e. g. cause in objective and subjective phi- losophy. The progress of the two sciences not parallel — error of )Stewart (Essays, p. xiii.*) An experimental analj^sis, but of differ- ent kinds, is competent to physical and mental science, besides the observation common to both. To mental, the trying what parts of a conci-ete thought or cog- nition can be thought away, what cannot. \_Further elevelopments srqiplementary to the philosophy of the Scottish school, as re- presented by Reid and Stewwrt.'] [A. On the Principle of Common Sense.l I would, with Leibnitz, t distinguish truths or cognitions into those of Fact, or of Perception, (external and internal), and those of Reason. The truths or cognitions of both classes rest on an ultimate and common ground of a primary and inexpli- cable belief. This ground may be called by the names of Common Sense, of Fun- damental or Transcendental Consciousness, * Coll. Works, vol. v. p. 13. " The order established in the intellectual world seems to be regulated by laws i>erfectly analogous to those which we trace among the phsenomena of the material system; and in all our rl'Uosophical inquiries, (to whatever subject they may relate,) the progress of the mind is liable to be aflTected by the same tendency to a prematm-e generalisa- tion." On tliis passage, there is the following marginal note in Sir W. Hamilton's copy : " Shew how this analogy is vitiated by the fact that the most general facts, being necessities of thought, are among the first established. Existence, the last in the order of induction, is the fii'st in the order of ."—Ed. t Nouveaux Essais, L. iv. ch. 2.— Ed. of Fcelinf/ of Truth or Knowledge, of Na- tural or Instinctive Belief. This, in itself, is simply a fact, simply an experience, and is purely subjective and purely negative. Ic supports the validity of a proposition, only on the fact that I find that it is im- possible for mo not to hold it for true, to suppose it therefoi'e not true — without denying, in the one case, the veracity of consciousness ; and, in the other, the pos- sibility of thought; [without presuming] that I am necessitated to hold the false for the true, the unreal for the real, and therefore that my intelligent nature is radically mendacious. But this is not to be gratuitously presumed ; therefore the proposition must be admitted. But to apply it to the two classes of truths. I. Truths of Fact or of Perception (Ex- ternal and Internal.) Am I asked, for example, how I know that the series of phgenomena called the external world or the non-ego exists — I answer, that I know it by external Per- ception. But if further asked, how I know that this Perception is not an il- lusion — that what I perceive as the ex- ternal world, is not merely a particular order of phajnomena pertaining to the in- ternal — that what I am conscious of as something different from me, is not merely self representing a not-self — I can only answer, that I know this solely inasmuch as I find that I cannot but feel, hold, or believe that what I perceive as not-self, is really presented in consciousness as not- self. I can, indeed, in this, as in the case of every other truth of Fact, imagine the possibility of the converse — imagine that what is given as a mode of not-self, may be in reality only a mode of self. But this only in imagining that my primary con- sciousness deceives me; which is not to be supposed without a ground. Now, the conviction here cannot in propriety be called Reason, because the truth avouched by it is one only of Fact, and because the conviction avouching it is itself onty ma- nifested as a Fact. It may, however, be well denominated Common Sense, Funda- mental or Transcendental Consciousness. Other examples may be taken from Me- mory and its reality, Personal Identity, &c. II. Truths of Reason. Again, if I am asked, how I know that every change must have its cause, that every quality must have its substance, that there is no mean between two contra- dictories, &c., I answer, that I know it by Reason, vods — Reason or vovs being a name for the mind considered as the source, or as the complement, of first princijjles, axioms, native notions, koivoI or (pvcriKol tvvoiai. MEMORANDA FOR PREFACE. xix But if further asked, how I know that Rea- son is not ilkisive — that this, or that first principle may not be false — I can only an- swer, that I know it to be true, solely inas- much as I am conscious that I cannot but feel, hold, believe it to be true, seeing that I cannot even realise in imagination the possibility of the convei'se. Now, this last ground of conviction, in the conscious im- potence of conceiving the converse, is not, I think, so properly styled Reason, which is more of a positive character, as Common Sense, Fundamental Consciousness, &c. This is shewn in the quotations from Locke and Price. Note A, Testimonies, Nos. 51, 78. [The substance of these remarks on the Priuciple of Common Sense, has been already printed, in an abbreviated foi'm, in Note A, p. 754. The present fragment, which has the appearance of being an earlier sketch of the same note, has been inserted in this place, as containing a somewhat fuller statement of an import- ant distinction, which is perhaps liable to be overlooked in the brief form in which it was previously published. Though not apparently designed for this Preface, it is sufficiently cognate in matter to the pre- ceding fragments, to be entitled to a place with them. The following fragment, which is marked " Preface," may be regarded as a continuation of the same subject, being a step towards that further analysis of the Truths of Reason, in relation to the Phi- losophy of the Conditioned, which the Author regarded as his peculiar addition to the philosophy of his predecessors. This analysis will be found further pursued in Notes H and T, and especially in the Philosophical Appendix to the Discussions. —Ed.] [B. Stages in the method of Menial Science.] Three degrees or stages in the method of mental science. 1°, When the mind is treated as matter, and the mere Baconian observation and induction applied. 2°, When the quality of Necessity is in- vestigated, and the empii-ical and neces- sary elements thus discriminated. (Here Reid is honourably distinguished even from Stewart, not to say Brown and other British pliilosopliei's.) 3°, "When the necessity is distinguished into two cla.sses — the one being founded on a power or potency, the other upon an impotence of mind. Hence the Philosophy of the Conditioned. [Testiinonics to the merits oj the BcMish Philosophy, and of Reid as its founder.'] 1. — PouET. — Manuel de Philosophie par Auguste Henri Matthias, traduit de I'Alle- mand sur la troisieme edition, par M. H. Poret, Professeiu- suppliant h, la Faculte des Lettres, et Professeur de Philosophie au College Rollin. Paris, 1837. Preface du Traducteur. — 'II suffit d'a- voir uue id(5e de I'dtat des etudes en France pour veconnaitre que la philosophie ecos- saise y est aujourd'hui naturalisee. Nous la voyons defrayer 'h pen pres seule I'en- seignement de nos colleges; sa langue et ses doctrines ont passd dans la plu- part des ouvrages elementaires qui se publieut sur les matieres philosophiques ; sa methode severe et circonspecte a satisfait les plus difficiles et rassurd les plus defiants, et en meme temps son profond respect pour les croyauces mo- rales et religieuses lui a concilie ceux qui reconnaissent la vdrite surtout h, ses fruits. Les penseurs prevoyants qui se donncrent tant de soins pour I'introduire parmi nous ont eu k se feliciter du succos de leur efi'orts. La seule apparition de cette philosophie si peu fastueuse suffit pour mettre a terre le sensualisme ; une docti'ine artificielle dut s'evanouir devant la simple exposition des faits ; le sens in- time fut retabli dans sa prerogative ; les elements a priori de I'intelligence, si ridi- culement honnis par Locke et son dcole, reutrcrent dans la science dont on avait prctendu les baunir, et y reprirent leur place legitime. Cette espoce de restaura- tion philosophique devait avoir ses con.s^ quences : des questions assoupies, mais non pas mortes, se r^veillerent ; les limites arbitrairement posees a la connaissance disparurent ; la philosophie retrouva son domaine, et de nouveau les esprits s'effor- cerent de le couqudrir. En gdudral, lo bienfait des doctrines ecossaises importdes en France, §'a dtd d'att'raiichir les intelli- gences de tout prejugd d'ecole et de les remettre en prdsence de la realite. Nul doute que ce ne fut la I'indispcnsable con- dition de tout progr5s ulterieur, et cette condition indisjjcnsable, elles I'ont remplie dans toute son dtendue. Aujoiud'iiui meuie qu'elles ont portc ces i)remicrs fruits, les bons eil'ets de ces doctrines ne sont pas, nous le croyons, pres do s'epuiser, et nous regarderions comme un dchcc h. la prospdrite des dtudes philosophiques tout ce qui tondrait h, en contrarier I'influonce.' 2. — Gaunier. — -Critique de la Philoso- phie de Thomas Reid, Paris, 1840. P. 112. — ' Demandcz a ce philosojihe une distribution mdthodiquedesniatdriaux XX MEMORANDA FOR PREFACE. qu il a recueilli.s, unc adroite induction qui des phduom^nes nous conduise &, un petit uombre de causes, vous ne trou- vercz ui cotte classification, ni cette ana- lyse. Ce nctait pourtant pas la tache la plus malaisde ; et le ddpit de lui voir negliger co facile travail est ce qui nous a mis la plume a la main. Mais ces matdri- aux iuuombrables, ces milliers de phd- nom5ncs si patiemment decrits, faut-il les oublierl N'est-ce pas Reid qui nous a montrS b, ne plus confoudre les percep- tions des diflfcrents sens, et en particulier, celles de la vue et du toucher ? Malgrd quelques contradictions, n'est-ce pas chez lui seul qu'on pent recontrer une tlidorie raisonuable de la perception ? Oil trouver une plus'savante exposition de la memoire et des merveilles si varices qui presente la suite de nos conceptions ? Ses essais sur I'abstraction, le jugement, et le rai- sonuement sont encore plus lumineux et plus instructifs que les memes chapitres dans I'admirable Logique de Port-Royal, et les savants solitaires ont partagd la faute de regarder ces operations de I'esprit comme les actes d'autant de facultes distiuctes. Enfin, avec quel pro- fit et quel intdret ne lit-on pas les cha- pitres sur le go(it intellectuel, sur les affec- tions si varices qui se partagent notre ame, sur le sens du devoir et sur la morale's Avec tous ses ddfauts, I'ouvrage de Reid otfrira longtemps encore la lecture la plus instructive pour I'esprit, la plus ddlicieuse pour le coeur, et la plus profitable pour la philosophic.' P. 118. — ' En presence des constructions fantastiques de I'AUemagne, j'aime mieux les materiaux dpars de I'Ecosse. Thomas Reid est I'ouvrier laborieux, qui a peui- blement extrait les blocs de la carriere, qui a tailld les mats et les charpentes : vi- enne I'architecte, il en construira des villes et des flottes. L'AUemand est I'entrepre- neur audacieux qui dans la hate de batir se coutente de terre et de paille.' 3. — Remusat. — Essais de Philosoi^hie, Paris 184-2, t. i. p. 250.—' La philosophic de Reid nous parait un des plus beaux r6- sultats de la metliode psychologique. Plus approfondie, mieux ordonnde, elle pent de- venir plus .systdmatique et plus complete ; elle pent donner h, I'observation une forme plus rationnelle. Sans doute elle n'est.pas tout la vdrite philosophique ; mais dans son ensemble elle est vraie, et nous croyons qu'elle doit etre cousiddree par les dcoles mod ernes comme la philosophie elemen- taire de I'esprit humain.' 4. — Thdrot. — -Introduction a I'^^tude de la Philosophie, Discours Preliminaire, t. i. p. LXiv. Speaking of Reid's Essays — ' L'drudition choisie et variee qu'il a su y repandre, I'amour sincere de la vdritd qui s'y montre partout, et la dignitd calme de I'expressiou en rendent la lecture extreme- ment attachante.' 5. — Cousin.— [Cours d'Histoire de la Philosophie Morale au dix-huiti5me Sidcle, seconde partie, publide par MM. Dantou et Vacherot, Paris, 1840], p. 241 sq.* ' There is a final merit in the doctrine of the Scottish philosopher, which it is impossible too highly to extol. He has done better than ruin the hypotheses which had shaken all the bases of human belief; in fixing with precision the limits of science, he has destroyed for ever the spirit itself which had inspired them. The philosophy which Reid combated had not understood that there were facts inex[)li- cable, facts which carry with them their own light ; and had therefore gone, in quest of a principle of explanation, into a foreign sphere. It is thus that to explain the pha3nomena of jserception, of mem- ory, of imagination, recourse was had to images from the external world ; the phse- nomena of the soul were represented as the effects of sensible impressions, them- selves resulting from a contact between the mind and the body. Reid has laid down the true criterium, in virtue of which we can always recognise the point at which an attempt at explanation ought to stop, when he says : — Facts simple and x>rimi- tive are inexplicahle. It is thus that he has cut short those hypotheses, those pre- sumptuous theories, which history has consigned for ever to the romances of Metaphysic. ' In the meanwhile, it remains for me to consider, whether the i-emedy be not excessive, and whether the philosophy of Reid, in ruining the metaphysical hypo- theses, has not proscribed the metaphysi- cal spirit itself. But before entering upon the question, it is requisite to pre- mise, that even if this be done by Reid, still there is nothing in the proceeding at which criticism ought to take offence. His mission was to proclaim the applica- tion of the experimental method to the philosophy of the human mind, on the ruins of the hypotheses which had issued from the Cartesian school ; this mission he has completely fulfilled, for he has purged philosophy, one after another, of the theory of ideas, of the desolating scepticism * This passage is given in a translation found among Sir W. Haicilton's papers. The other testimonies have been added from his extracts and references. — Ed. MEMORANDA FOR PREFACE. XXI of Hume, of the idealism of Berkeley, of the demonstrations of Descartes ; he has thus made a tabula rasa. Were it then the fact, that the abuse of the metaphysical spirit, and the spectacle of the aberrations into which this spirit has betrayed the human mind, had carried Reid to pro- nounce its banishment from science, for this we ought no more seriously to re- proach him, than we should condemn Bacon for his pi-oscriptiou of the Syllog- ism, of which the Schoolmen had made so flagi-ant an abuse. My intention, there- fore, in touching on this delicate point, is, far less to evince the too empirical char- acter of the philosophy of Reid, than to relieve a great and noble science from the unjust contempt to which it has been exi:)osed from the i^hilosophers both of the school of Bacon and of the Scottish school. ' But let us first see, how far Reid's neglect of Metaphysic has extended. — Ac- cording to him, to explain a fact is to carry it up into a fact more simple ; so that the explanatory principle is of the same nature as the fact explained, nor, in our explanation of facts, is it ever neces- sary for us to transcend experience. I admit the truth of this definition for a certain number of the sciences which ought not to transgress the bounds of ob- servation : thus in Physics, in Natural His- torj-, in P.sychology even, the explanation of the fact can possess no other character, can i^ropose no other aim. But I believe the human mind goes farther ; the ex- planation which consists in the connecting one fact to another more simple does not suffice for it, nor does it even recognise this as a veritable explanation. To ex- plain, to explicate, in the strict propriety of lanjjuacjo, is to reduce that which is to that which ouf/ht to be, in other words, to connect a fact to a principle. Reid, therefore, in the view he takes of the explanation of facts, has banished from science the research of principles, of the nece.s.sary causes and reasons of things, — that is, precisely, metaphysical speculation. ' On the other hand, to distinguish philosophy from the sciences which have nature for their object, he defines it — the science of the human mind; he thus con- siders philosophy as a science no less special than the others, which is only dis- criminated from them by the nature of its object, and wiiich, moreover, has witii them tlie same method and the same end. The same method : for, like tiie natui-al sciences, it observes ; only the facts which it observes are irnrnaterial. The same end : for it proposes the discovery of laws, like the sciences of nature ; the only dif- ference lying in the nature of these laws. As to that general and synthetic science, which applies itself to all, and to which no matter comes amiss, which is distin- guished from other sciences, not by the character of its object but by the elevated point of view from which it contemplates the universe of things, which styles itself philosophy of Nature, philosophy of Mind, philosophy of History, according to the limitation of the object which for the moment it considers, — of such a science Reid does not appear to have even sus- pected the existence. ' In fine, we ought not to forget that Reid is a partisan of the Baconian method, which he has extended from thg sciences of nature to the science of mind. Now, as is well known, Bacon had a proud con- tempt of Metaphysic, and names it only to deride it, or to shew that in retaining the word, he rejects the thing. Accordingly, in his classification of the sciences, he reduces Metaphysic to the mere science of the immutable and universal forms of nature, that is to say, to a transcendental physics; while subsequently, in his Novum Organum, there is no mention of it at aU. Reid, who inherited from Bacon his method, inherited likewise fiom him his contempt of Metajjhysic; and, with Reid, the whole Scottish school. ' Once more I repeat, the reaction of the experimental philosophy, so much and so long oppressed by speculation, is excus- able in Reid as in Bacon, because on their part it was natural and almost necessary ; but in the present day, when this philoso- phy has everywhere triumphed over the obstacles which the spirit of system, the prejudices and the authority of the past, had accumulated in its path,- — in the pre- sent day, when this philosophy in its turn oppresses Metaphysic, and would, if it could, exclude it from the domain of science, it may not be unimportant briefly to shew, that Metaphysic also has its titles, and its legitimate place in the cj'cle of human knowledge. ' In the first place, it is a very ancient science ; under definitions the most di- verse, it has always appeared as the science of principles. Until the eighteenth century, it has never for a moment quit- ted the philosophic stage, and on that stage has never ceased to occupy the most distiiiguislied part. The rea.-ion of this preeminence was very simple ; for to Metaphysic was confided the task of re- solving the most extensive, arduou.^, and important problems : Metaphysic alone spoke of God and his attributes, of the iniivorse considered in its totality and ita xxu MEMORANDA FOR PREFACE. laws, of the human soul and of its destiny; Metaphysic alone shewed to each faculty the end in view for its activity, to the im- agination the ideal of the beautiful, to the will the ideal of tlie good, to the intelli- gence the ideal of the true. Since the empirism of the last century, dominant in France and England, has relegated Metaphysic to the region of chimseras, science rarely agitates those mighty pro- blems, and if perchance it moots them, it does so with a timidity and weakness which make us regret ohat powerful im- pulse of the metaphysical genius which alone is competent to handle and resolve these formidablo questions. Why then has it been repudiated by science] Is it only proper to generate magnificent ro- mances 1 Is it that Metaphysic is without a basis 1 ' To judge of it by the objections of its adversaries and by the unreflective en- thusiasm of its partisans, to judge of it especially by the strange forms in which imagination has been pleased to clothe it, it would seem that Metaphysic is a philo- sophy mysterious and almost superhuman, which descends from another world, and which has nothing in common with the positive and natural methods of science. There is nothing more false. Metaphysic, like the other sciences, has its roots in the nature of the mind. If the sciences of fact repose in observation, if the abstract sciences are founded upon reasoning, Me- taphysic has for its basis the conceptions of reason, as well pure as in combination with the data of experience. I say the conceptions of reason, which I distinguish, and which every observer of the acts of intelligence may distinguish, from the fan- tastic or arbitrary creations of imagination. When on occasion of an existence finite, contingent, relative, individual, attested by experience, I conceive the infinite, the necessary, the absolvite, the universal ; when rising from the phajnomena which the univei'se presents to my observation, I contemplate the great laws of this uni- verse, those laws which constitute the harmony of its movements, the order and the beauty of its plan ; when retiring within the limits of my proper nature, I connect the phsenomena, so various and 80 mutable, in which it is manifested, to a principle, simple, identical, and immut- able in essence, — I neither imagine, nor dream, nor fabricate ; I conceive. My conception is an act of my mind, necessary and legitimate as the very simplest percep- tion. No intelligent being has a right to contest the authority of any faculty whatever of intelligence, and it is lament- able to see the highest and divinest of its functions treated with contempt.' 6. — JoDFFROY. — (Euvres Completes de Thomas Reid, Paris, 183S. Preface, pp. cc. cci. — ' S'il est un service et un service Eminent que les Ecossais aient rendu h, la philosophic, c'est assur^ment d'avoir etabli une fois pour toutes dans les esprits, et de manifere 3, ce qu'elle ne puisse plus en sortir, I'idee qu'il y a une science d'observation, une science de faits, d, la maniere dout I'entendent les physiciens, qui a I'esprit humain pour objet et le sens intime pour instrument, et dont le r^- sultat doit etre la determination des lois de I'esprit, comme celui des sciences physiques doit etre la determination des lois de la matifere. Les philosophes ecos- sais ont-ils eu les premiers cette idee ? Non, sans doute, si par avoir une id^e on entond simplement en ^mettre d'au- tres qui la contiennent ; & le prendre ainsi plusieurs philosophes I'avaient eue avant eux, et, pour ne citer que les plus C^l^bres, on la trouve dans Locke et dans Descartes. Mais si par inventer une idee on entend non j^as seulement en concevoir le germe, mais la saisir en elle- meme dans toute sa v^rit^ et son ^ten- due, mais en voir la portde et les conse- quences, mais y croire, mais la pratiquer, mais la precher, mais la mettre dans une telle lumiore qu'elle p^netre dans tons les esprits et qu'elle soit d^sormais acquise d'une manidre definitive h I'intelligence humaine, on pent dire avec verity que, I'idee dont il s'agit, les Ecossais I'ont eue les premiers et qu'ils en sont les v^ritables inventeurs. ' P. cciv.-ccvi. — ' C'est Ih, en effet le vrai titre, le titre Eminent des philosophes Ecos- sais h I'estime de la posterity et le principal service qu'ils aient rendu h la philosophic. C'est un fait qu'avant eux, ui I'idee de cette science ainsi nettemeut demelee, ni I'idde de la m^thode vraie ;i y appliquer, ni I'exemple d'une application rigoureuse de cette m^thode, n'existaient; e'en est lui autre que depuis eux tout cela existe et que c'est h, eux qu'on le doit. Qu'ils soient trop restcJs dans les limites de cette science, et, faute d'en etre assez sortis, qu'ils n'en aient pas vu toute la portde, ni I'ensemble des liens qui, en y rattachant toutes les sciences philosophiques, en forment le point de depart et la racine de la moitie des connaissances humaines, cela est vrai, et nous I'avons montre; que les vues historiques qui les ont conduits h, I'idde de cette science manquent souvent d'etendue et de justesse, et que dans la determination de la methode, des limites et des conditions de la science meme, ils MEMORANDA FOR PREFACE. XXIU n'aient pas toujours ni bien vii, ni assez vu, c'est ce qui est encore vrai et ce que nous avous egalement montre ; niais tou- jours est-il que rhonneur de Tavoir cr^ee est k eus, et que, quaud I'histoire voudra marquer I'epoque ou la science de I'esprit humain a veritablement ete couQue telle qu'elle doit I'etre, elle sera forcee d'indi- quer celle ou les philosophes ecossais ont ^crit. ' Une seconde id^e qui reste grav^e dans I'esprit quand on a lu les philosophes ^cossais, et dont on peut dire, comme de la prec^dente, qu'ils I'out mise au monde, quoique plusieurs philosophes, et Locke en deruier lieu, I'eusseut indiqu^e, c'est que la couuaissance de I'esprit humain et de ses lois est la condition de solution de la plupart des questions dont la philo- sophic s'occupe, de maniere que pour r^- soudre ces questions il faut avant tout acquerir cette conuaissance, et qu'elles ne peuvent etre resolues que pai' hypothese tant qu'on ne la possede pas. Nous avons montr^ que cette idee n'etait que le germe d'une idee plus grande que les Ecossais n'ont saisie qu'k moitie, h savoir que toutes les sciences philosophiques dependent de la psychologie, parce que toutes les ques- tions qu'elles agitent viennent se resoudre dans la connaissance des ph^nom^ues spi- rituels, et que c'est Ih le caractere com- mun qui unit toutes ces sciences eutre elles, qui en constitue I'unite, et les dis- tingue des sciences phjsiques. Nous avons ajoute que si les Ecossais s'^taient eleves jusqu'h, cette idee, h la gloire d'a- voir fond^ la science de I'esprit humain ils auraient ajout(^ celle d'avoir fix^ I'id^e de la philosophie et d'avoir organist cette moiti^ de la connaissance humaine. Mais si cette conception est rest^e imparfaite dans leur esprit, il n'en est pas moius vrai qu'elle s'y est suffisamment d^veloppde pour imprimer h la philosophie dcossaise une direction originale ct qui est selon nous celle-lbi meme que la philosophie doit suivre. Subordonner toute recherche phi- losophique a la psychologie, sur ce fonde- ment que toute question philosophique a Ba solution dans quelques lois do la nature spirituelle, comme toute question physique a la sienne dans quelques lois de la na- ture physique, voilb, en rdalitd ce que les Ecossais ont fait, et le principe qui plane sur toute leur philosophie, qui I'anime, qui la dirige, et dont on reste pdndtr^ quand on I'a 6tudi^e. La methode phi- losophique des Ecossais n'est autre chose qu'uue consequence de ce principe; et nou-seulemeut ils ont prouv^ la verity de ce principe pour un grand nombre de questions philosophiques et pour les plus importantes, mais ils I'ont constamment pratiqud. ' Pp. ccvii., ccviii. — ' Avant et depuis les Ecossais aucun autre systeme n'ofFre cette constiniction de la science ; elle leur appar- tieut en propre, et c'est la le second service qu'ils ont rendu k la philosophie. lis ont f ondd la science de I'esprit humain, c'est le premier ; apres en avoir fixd I'idee, ils ont fait de cette science le point de ddpart de la philosophie et sont venus chercher dans ses donnfes la solution scientifique de toute question, c'est Ik le second. ' Une troisi^me idde qui n'est moius importante ni moins propre aux Ecossais que les prdcedentes, c'est I'assimilation complete des recherches philosophiques et des recherches physiques, fondee sur ce principe que les unes et les autres ont Egalement pour objet la connaissance d'une partie des oeuvres de Dieu, et qu'il n'y a pas deux manieres de connaltre les oeuvres de Dieu, mais une seule, qui s'ap- plique k la solution des questions philo- sophiques comme k celle des questions physiques.' P. ccxiii. — ' En prouvant cette simili- tude, ils dissipent la superstitieuse ob- scurity qui entoure les recherches philoso- phiques; ils les ram^nentaux simples con- ditions, a la simple nature, 3, la simple methode de toutes les recherches scientifi- quos; ils montrent I'erreur constante des philosophes qui ont mdconnu cette v(5rit(5; ils expliquent par cette erreur la destinde mlaheureusedecesrecherches;ilsrassurent ainsi les esprits que cette destinco eloig- nait de s'en occuper, et les rappellent a la philosophie en la mettant dans une voio nouvelle et cepcndant dprouvee, dans la grande voie qu'indiquent les lois do I'en- tendement, qu'ont suivie toutes les sci- ences, et par laquelle I'esprit humain est ai'rive k toutes les verites qui font sa puis- sance et sa gloire. ' ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OE THOMAS REID, D.D., F.R.S.E., I.ATE PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHV IN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. BY DUGALD STEWART, Esa., F.R.SS L. & E., PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH. BEAD AT DIFFERENT MEETINGS OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF EDINBUROH, PUBLISHED IN 1803. ACCOUNT OP THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS REID D.D SECTION I. FROM DR REiD's BIRTH TILL THK DATE OF HIS LATEST PUBLICATION. The life of which I am now to present to the Royal Society a short account, aithouiih it fixes an era in the history of modern philosophy, was uncommonly barren of tho-e incidents which furnish materials for bioj:;raphy — strenuously devoted to truth, to virtue, and to the best interests of man- kind, but spent in the obscurity of a learned retirement, remote from the pursuits of ambition, and with little solicitude about literary fame. After the agitation, however, of the political convulsions which Europe has witnessed for a course of years, the simple record of such a life may derive an interest even from its uniformity ; and, when contrasted with the events of the passing scene, may lead the thoughts to some views of human nature on which it is not ungrateful to repose. Thomas Reid, D.D., late Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Glas- gow, was born, on tlie 20th of A])ril 1710, at Strachan, in Kincardineshire, a country parish, situated about twenty miles from Aberdeen, on the north side of the Gram- pian mountains. II is father, the Jiav. Lewis Roid, was minister of this parish for fifty years. He was a clergyman, according to his son's account of hiui, respected by all who knew him, for his piety, jirndonce, and benevo- lence ; inhfritin^' from his ancestors (most of whom, from the time of the Protestant establishmoiif, had been ministers of the Church of Scotlan i) that purity and sim- plicity of manners which became his station ; and a love of letters, which, without attract- ing the notice of the world, amused his leisure and dignified his retirement. For some generations before his time, a propensity to literature, and to the learned professions — a propensity which, when it has once become characteristical of a race, is peculiarly apt to be ]5ropagated by the influence of early associations and habits — may be traced in several individuals among his kindred. One of his ancestors, .James Roid, was the first minister of Banchory- Ternan after the Reformation, and trans- mitted to four sons a predilection for those studious habits which formed his own llap- piness. He was himself a younger son of ]Mr Reid of Pitfoddels, a gentleman of a very ancient and respectable family in the county of Aljgrdeen. .Tames Reid was succeeded as minister of Banchory by his son Robert. Another son, Thomas, rose to considei-able distinc- tion, both as aphilosojiher and a poet ; and seems to have wanted neither ability nor inclination to turn his attainments to the best advantage. After travelling over Europe, and maintaining, as was the cus- tom of his age, ]iublic disputations in seve- ral universities, he collected into a volume the theses and dissertations which had been the subjects of his literary contests ; and also published some Latin poems, wliich may be found in the collection entitled, " Delitiee Pi'dtarum Scntorvm." On his return to his native country, he fixed his residence in London, wliere he was ap- pointed secretary in the Greek and Latin tongues to King .Tames T. of Eitg and," and lived in habits of intimacy with some * Whose English w-rks ho, along wiih the.learned Patrick YouiiR, translated into Latin.— I!. ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS of the most distinguished characters of that period. Little more, I beheve, is known of Thomas Keid's history, excepting that he bequeathed to the INIarischal College of Aberdeen a curious collection of Ixioks and manuscripts, with a fund for establishing a salary to a librarian. Alexander Reid, the third son, was physi- cian to King Charles I., and published several books ou surgery and medicine. The fortune he acquired in the course of his practice was considerable, and enabled him (beside many legacies to his relations and friends) to leave various lasting and honourable memorials, both of his benevo- lence and of his attachment to letters. A fourth son, whose name was Adam, translated into English Buchanan's His- tory of Scotland. Of this translation, which was never published, there is a manuscript copy in the possession of the University of Glasgow. A grandson of Robert, the eldest of these sons, was the third minister of Banchory after tlie Reformation, and was great- grandfather of Thoma.s Reid, the subject of this memoir." The particulars hitherto mentioned, are stated on the authority of some short memorandums written by Dr Reid a few weeks before his death. In consequence of a suggestion of his friend, Dr Gregory, he had resolved to amuse himself with col- lecting such facts as his papers or memory could supply, with respect to his life, and the progress of his studies ; but, unfortun- ately, before he had fairly entered on the subject, his design was interrupted by hi? last illness. If he had lived to complett it, I might have entertained hopes of pre- senting to the public some details with respect to the history of his opinions and si>eculations on those important subjects to which he dedicated his talents — the most interesting of all articles in the biography of a philosopher, and of which it is to be lamented that so few authentic records are to be found in the annals of letters. All the information, however, which I have derived from these notes, is exhausted in the foregoing pages ; and I must content myself, ia the continuation of my narrative, with those indirect aids which tradition, and the recollection of a few old acquaint- ance, afford ; added to what I myself have learned from Dr Reid's conversation, or col- lected from a careful perusal of his writings. His mother, Margaret Gregory, was a daughter of David Gregory, Esq. of Kin- nairdie, in Banffshire, elder brother of James Gregory, the inventor of the reflect- ing telescope, and the antagonist of Huy- ghens. She was one of twenty-nuie children ; *■■ Note A. the most remarkable of whom was David Gregory, Savilian Professor of Astronomy at Oxford, and an intimate friend of Sir Isaac Newton. Two of heryounger brothers were at the same time Professors of Mathe- matics — the one at St Andrew's, the other at Edinburgh — and were the first persons who taught the Newtonian philosophy in our northern universities. The hereditary worth and genius which have so long dis- tinguished, and which still distinguish, the descendants of this memorable family, are well known to all who have turned their attention to Scottish biography ; but it is not known so generally, that, tlirough the female line, the same characteristical endow- ments have been conspicuous in various instances ; and that to the other monuments which illustrate the race of the Gregories, is to be added the Fhilosophy of Reid. With respect to the earlier part of Dr Reid's life, all that I have been able to learn amounts to this : — That, after two years spent at the parish school of Kincar- dine, he was sent to Aberdeen, where he had the advantage of prosecuting his class- ical studies under an able and diligent teacher ; that, about the age of twelve or thirteen, he was entered as a student in Marischal College ; and that his master in philosophy for three years was Dr George Turnbull, who afterwards attracted some degree of notice as an author ; particularly by a book entitled, " Principles of Moral Philosophy ;" and by a voluminous treatise (long ago forgotten) on " Ancient Paint- ing."* The sessions of the College were, at that time, very short, and the educa- tion (according to Dr Reid's own account) slight and superficial. It does not appear, from the information which I have received, that he gave any early indications of future eminence. His industry, however, and modesty, were con- spicuous from his childhood ; and it was foretold of him, by the parish schoolmaster, who initiated him in the first principles o. learning, " That he would turn out to be a man of good and well-wearing parts ;" a prediction which touched, not unhappily, on that capacity of " patient thought" which so peculiarly characterised liis philo- sophical genius. His residence at the University was pro- longed beyond the usual term, in conse- quence of his appointment to the office oi librarian, which had been endowed by one of his ancestors about a century before. The situation was acceptable to him, as it afforded an opportunity of indulging his passion for study, and united the charms of a learned society with tlie quiet of an academical retreat. * Note B. OF THOMAS llEID, D.D. 5 During this period, he formed an hitiniacy with John Stewart, afterwards Professor of ^Mathematics in JNlarisclial College, and author of " A Commentary on Newton's Quadrature of Curves." His predilection for mathematical pursuits was confirmed and strengthened by this connection. I have often heard him mention it with nmch pleasure, while he recollected the ardour with which they both prosecuted these fas- cinating studies, and the lights which they imparted mutually to each other, in their first perusal of the " Principia,'''' at a time when a knowledge of the Is^ewtonian dis- coveries was only to be acquired in the writings of their illustrious author. In 1736, Dr Reid resigned his office of librarian, and accompanied Mr Stewart on an excursion to England. They visited together London, Oxford, and Cambridge, and were introduced to the acquaintance of many persons of the first literary eminence. His relation to Dr David Gregory procured htm a ready access to IMartin Folkes, whose house concentrated the most interesting objects which the metropolis had to ofl'er to his curiosity. At Cambridge he saw Dr Bentley, who delighted liim with his learn- ing, and amused him with his vanity ; and enjoyed repeatedly the conversation of the blind mathematician, Saunderson — a pheno- menon in the history of the human mind to which he has referred more than once in his philosophical speculations. AVith the learned and amiable man who was his companion in this journey, he main- tained an uninterrupted friendship tiU 17C6, w hen Mr Stewart died of a malignant fever. His death was accompanied with circum- stances deeply afflicting to Dr Reid's sensi- bility ; the same disorder proving fatal to his wife and daughter, both of whom were buried with him in one grave. In 1737, Dr Reid was presented, by the King's College of Aberdeen, to tlie living of New-Machar, in the same county ; but the circumstances in which he entered on his preferment were far from auspicious. The intemperate zeal of one of his predecessors, and an aversion to the law of patronage, had so inflamed the minds of his parishioners against him, tliat, in the first discharge of liLs clerical functions, he had not only to en- counter the most violent opposition, but was exposed to personal danger. His unwearied attention, liowever, to the duties of his office, the niiMness and forlioarance of his temper, and tlie active spirit of his humanity, soon overcame all these prejuilices ; and, not many years aft<'rward8, when he was called to a different situation, the same per- sons who had suttered tlieniselves to be ho far misled as to take a share i)i the outrages againt-t him, followed him, on his departure, with their blessings and tears. Dr Reid's popularity at New-Machar (as I am informed by the respectable clergy- man* who now holds that living) increased greatly after his marriage, in 1740, with Elizabeth, daughter of his uncle, Dr George Reid, physician in London. The aecom- modatmg manners of this excellent woman, and her good offices among the sick and necessitous, are still remembered with gra- titude, and so endeared the family to the neighbourhood, that its removal was re- garded as a general misfortune. The simple and affecting language in which some old men expressed themselves on this subject, in conversing with the present minister, deserves to be recorded :— " We fought ayainst Dr Reid when he came, and would have fought for him when he went away. " In some notes relative to the earlier part of his history, which have been kindly com- municated to me by the Rev. Mr Davidson, minister of Rayne, it is mentioned, as a proof of his uncommon modesty and diffi- dence, that, long after he became minister of New-Machar, he \\as accustomed, from a distrust in his own powers, to preach the sermons of Dr Tillotson and of Dr Evans. I have heard, also, through other channels, that he had neglected the practice of com- position to a more than ordinary degree in the earlier part of his studies. The fact is curious, when contrasted with that ease, perspicuity, and purity of style, which he afterwards attained. From some informa- tion, however, which has been lately trans- mitted to tne by one of his nearest relations, I have reason to believe that the number of original discourses which he wrote while a country clergyman, was not inconsider- able. The satisfaction of his own mind was probably, at this period, a more powerful incentive to his philosophical researches, tlian the ho]ie of being able to instruct the world as an author. But, whatever his views were, one thing is certain, that, during liis residence at New-Machar, the greater part of his time was spent in the most intense study; more particularly in a careful exami- nation of the laws of external perception, and of the other principles which form the groundwork of human knowledge. His chief relaxations were gardening and botany, to both of which pursuits he retained liis attachment even in old age. A paper which he jjublishcd in the Phi- losoj)hical Transactions of the Royal Society of London, for the year \'i'M>, att'ords some light with respect to the jirogiess of his sjieculations about this period. It is en- titled, " An Essay on Quantity, occasioned by reading a Treatise in which Simple and Comnound Ratios are anplied to Virtue and • 'I'ho Rev. Willixm Strunacn. 6 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS Merit ;" and sliewa plainly, by its contents, that, althouj^li he had not yet entirely re- linquished the favourite researches of his youth, he was beginning to direct his thoughts to other objects. The treatise alluded to in the title of this paper, was manifestly the " Inquiry into the Orij,'in of our Ideas of Benuly and Vir- tuf ;" by Dr Hutchesou of Glasgow. Ac- cording to this very ingenious writer, the moment of public good produced by an indi- vidual, depending partly on his bf:iierolenre, and partly on his ainti y, the relation between these different moral ideas may be expressed in the technical form of algebraists, by say- ing that the first is in the compound pro- portion of the two others. Hence, Dr Hutcheson infers, that " the benmoirire ot an agent (which in this system is synony- mous with his moral merit) is proportional to a fraction, having the moment of good for the numerator, and the ability of the agent for the denominator." Various other examples of a similar nature occur in the same work ; and are stated with a gravity not altogether worthy of the author. It is probable that they were intended merely as illustr/itions of his general reasonings, not as media of investigation for the discovery of new conclusions ; but they appeared to Dr Reid to be an innovation which it was of importance to resist, on account of the ten- dency it might have (by confounding the evidence of different branches of science) to retard the progress of knowledge. The very high reputation which Dr Hutcheson then possessed in the universities of Scotland, added to the recent attempts of Pitcairn and Cheyne to apply mathematical reasoning to medicine, would bestow, it is likely, an in- terest on Dr Reid's Essay at the time of its publication, which it can scarcely be expected to possess at present. Many of the observations, however, which it contains, are acute and original ; and all of them are expressed with that clearness and precision so conspicuous in his subsequent composi- tions. The circumstance which renders a subject susceptible of mathematical consider- ation, is accurately stated ; and the proper province of that science defined in such a manner as sufficiently to expose the absur- dity of those abuses of its technical phrase- ology which were at that time prevalent. From some passages in it, there is, I think, ground for concluding that the author's reading had not been very extensive pre- vious to this period. The enumeration, in particular, which he has given of the differ- ent kinds of proper quandty, affords a proof that he was not acquainted with the re- fined yet sound disquisitions concerning the nature of number and of proportion, which had appeared, almost a century before, in the " Aj athematical Lectures" of Dr Bar- row ; nor with the remarks on the same subject introduced by Dr Clarke in one of his controversial letters addressed to Leibnitz. In the same paper, Dr Reid takes occa- sion to offer some reflections on the dispute between the Newtonians and Leibnitzians, concerning the measure of forces. The fundamental idea on which these reflections proceed, is just and important ; and it leads to the correction of an error com- mitted very generally by the partisans of both opinions— that of mistaking a question concerning the comparative advantages of two ({"Jiiiitions for a difterence of statement with respect to a physical fact. It must. I t'.iink, be acknowledged, at the same time, that the whole merits of the controversy are not here exhausted ; and that the hon- our of placing this very subtle and abstruse question in a point of view calculated to reconcile completely the contending parties, was reserved for M. D'Alembert. To have fallen short of the success which attended the inquiries of that eminent man, on a subject so congenial to his favourite habits of study, will not reflect any discredit on the powers of Dr Reid's mind, in the judgment of those who are at all acquainted with the history of this celebrated discussion. In 1752, the professors of King's Col- lege elected Dr Reid Professor of Philoso- phy, in testimony of the high opinion they had formed of his learning and abilities. Of the particular plan which he followed in his academical lectures, while he held this office, I have not been able to obtain any satisfactory account; but the depart- ment of science which was assigned to him by the general system of education in that university, was abundantly extensive ; com- prehending Mathematics and Physics as well as Logic and Ethics. A similar system was pursued formerly in the other univer- sities of Scotland ; the same professor then conducting his pupil through all those branches of knowledge which are now ap- propriated to different teachers. And where he happened fortunately to possess those various accomplishments which distin- guished Dr Reid in so remarkable a degree, it cannot be doubted that the unity and comprehensiveness of method of which such academical courses admitted, must neces- sarily have possessed important advantages over that more minute subdivision of liter- ary labour which has since been introduced. But, as public establishments ought to adapt themselves to what is ordinary, rather than to what is possible, it is not surprising that experience should have gradually suggested an arrangement more suitable to the narrow limits which commonly circumscribe human genius. Soon after Dr Reid's removal to Aber OF THOMAS REID, D.D. deen, he projected (in conjunction with his friend Dr John Gregory) a literary society, which subsisted for many years, and which seems to have had the happiest effects in awakening and directing that spirit of pliilo- sophical research which has since reflected so much lustre on the north of Scotland. The meetings of this society were held weekly ; and afforded the members (beside the advantages to be derived from a mutual communication of their sentiments on the common objects of their pursuit) an oppor- tunity of subjecting their intended publica- tions to the test of friendly criticism. The number of valuable works which issued, nearly about the same time, from individuals connected with this institution — more par- ticularly the writings of Reid, Gregory, Campbell, Beattie, and Gerard — furnish the best panegyric on the enlightened views of those under whose direction it was origmally formed. Among these works, the most original and profound was unquestionably the " In- quiry into the Human iNIind," published by Dr Reid in 1764. The plan appears to have been conceived, and the subject deeply medi- tated, by the author long before ; but it is doubtful whether his modesty would have ever permitted him to present to the world the fruits of his solitary studies, without the encouragement which he received from the general acquiescence of his associates in the most important conclusions to which he had been led. From a passage in the dedication, it would seem that the speculations which termi- nated in these conclusions, had commenced as early as the year 1739 ; at which period the publication of Mr Hume's " Treatise of Human Nature," induced him, for the first time, (as he himself informs us,) " to call in question the ])rinci])les commonly received with regard to the human understanding." In his " Essays on the Intellectual Powers," he acknowledges that, in his youth, he had, without examination, admitted the esta- blished opinions on which Mr Hume's sys- tem of scepticism was raised ; and that it was the consequences which these opinions seemed to involve, which roused his suspi- cions concerning their truth. " If I may presume," says he, " to speak my own sen- timents, I once believed the doctrine of Ideas 80 firmly as to embrace the whole of Berke- ley's system along with it ; till, finding other consequences to follow from it, which gave me more uneasiness than thf want of a ma- terial world, it came into my mind, more than forty years ago, to put the question. What evidence have I for this doctrine, that all the objects of my knowledge are ideas in my own mind ? I""roiii that time to the pre- Bent, 1 have been candidly and impartiy,all a« I think, seeking for the evidence of this principle ; but can find none, excepting the authority of philosophers." In following the train of Dr Reid's re- searches, this last extract merits attention, as it contains an explicit avowal, on his own part, that, at one period of his life, he had been led, by Berkeley's reasonings, to abandon the belief of the existence of matter. The avowal does honour to his candour, and the fact reflects no discredit on his saga- city. The truth is, that this article of the Berkleian system, however contrary to the conclusions of a sounder philosophy, was the error of no common mind. Considered in contrast with that theory of materialism which the excellent author was anxious to supplant, it possessed important advantages, not only in its tendency, but in its scientific consistency ; and it afforded a proof, wher- ever it met with a favourable reception, of an understanding superior to those casual associations which, in the apprehensions of most men, blend indissolubly the pheno- mena of thought with the objects of external perception. It is recorded as a saying of M. Turgot, (whose philosophical opinions in some important points approached very nearly to those of Dr Reid,*) that " he who had never doubted of the existence of matter, might be assured he had no turn for metaphysical disquisitions. '' As the refutation of Mr Hume's sceptical theory was the great and professed object of Dr Reid's " Inquiry," he was anxious, before taking the field as a controversial writer, to guard against the danger of misapprehend- ing or misrepresenting the meaning of liis adversary, by submitting his reasonings to Mr Hume's private examination. With this view, he availed himself of the good offices of Dr Blair, with whom both he and Mr Hume had long lived in habits of friend- ship. The communications which he at first transmitted, consisted only of detached parts of the work ; and appear evidently, from a correspondence which I have per- used, to have conveyed a very imperfect idea of his general system. In one of Mr Hume's letters to Dr Blair, he betrays some want of his usual good humour, in looking forward to his new antagonist. " I wish," says he, " that the parsons would confine themselves to their old occupation of worry- ing one another, and leave philosophers to argue with tenii)er, moderation, and good manners." After Mr Hume, however, had read the manuscript, he addressed liimself directly to the Author, in terms so candid and liberal, that it woidd be unjust to his memory to withhold from the public so pleasing a memorial of his character : — " By Dr Blair's means I have been * Sec, In parlinilnr, the article *' Kxlitcnce" In the " Encyclopeitie." ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS favoured with the perusal of your perform- ance, which I liavc read with great pleasure and attention. It is cert Car. tet was acquaiiiied with the wrilincs of his great predecessor in the early |iari of his life^ and hisovi n views i.i philosophy were probably not allettCil by • his influence. Mr Stewart, likewise, greatly under. rates th" influence ot the Kaconian writings in pene. ral. previous to the iecoti;mendatiori of D'Alein- bert. On this subject, tlir reader is referred lo a valuable paper by i'roh'ssdr N.ipier on the " Scope an'J liiflueoceof the f'.aconian I'I'ilosophv," in the Transactions of the Koyal Society of Kdinburgh.— H. + See a note on Ueid's >ixlh " Essay on the Intel. /ei'iual Powers," chap I.,atid ol Iheorieiual edition, 1>. iI7,— H science is involved. It is sufficient at present to mention those which arise from the metaphorical origin of all the words which express the intellectual phenomena ; from the subtle and fugitive nature of the objects of our reasonings; from the habits of inattention we acquire, in early life, to the subjects of our consciousness ; and from the prejudices which early impressions and asso- ciations create to warp our opinions. It must be remembered, too, that, in the science of mind, (so imperfectly are its logi- cal rules as yet understood ! ) we have not the same checks on the abuses of our rea- soning powers which serve to guard us against error in our other researches. In physics, a speculative mistake is abandoned when contradicted by facts which strike the senses. In mathematics, an absurd or inconsistent conclusion is admitted as a demonstrative proof of a faulty hypothesis. But, in those inquiries which relate to the principles of human nature, the absurdities and inconsistencies to which we are led by almost all the systems hitherto proposed, instead of suggesting corrections and im- provements on these systems, have too frequently had the efltect of producing scepticism with respect to all of them alike. How melancholy is the confession of Hume ! — " The intense view of these manifold contradictions and imperfections in human reason, has so wrought upon me, and heated my brain, that I am ready to reject all belief and reasoning, and can look upon no opinion even as more prob- able or likely than another." Under these discouragements to this branch of study, it affords us some comfort to reflect on the great number of important facts with respect to the mind, which are scattered in the writings of philosojihers. As the subject of our inquiry here lies within our own breast, a considerable mix- ture of truth may be expected even in those systems which are most erroneous ; not only because a number of men can scarcely be long imposed on by a hypothesis which is perfectly groundless, concerning the ob- jects of their own consciousness, but because it is generally by an alliance with truth, and with the original principles of human nature, that prejudices and associations produce their effects. Perhaps it may even be affirmed, that our progress in this re- search depends less on the degree of our industry and invention, than on our saga- city and good sense in scpaiating old dis- coveries from the errors which have bet ii blended with them ; and on th;it candid and dispassionate temiier that miy i)revent us from being led astray by th ■ love of novelty, or the affectation of singulirity. In this respect, (ho science of mind pos- sesses a very important advantage over 14 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND VFRITINGS that wliich relates to the laws of the mate- rial world. The former has been culti- vated with more or less success in all ages and countries : the facts which serve as the basis of the latter have, with a very few exceptions, been collected during^the course of the two last centuries. An observation similar to this is applied to systems of ethics by Mr Smith, in his account of the theory of Mandeville ; and the illustration he gives of it may be extended with equal propriety to the science of mind in general : — " A system of natural philosophy," he remarks, " may appear very plausible, and be, for a long time, very generally received in the world, and yet liave no foundation in nature, nor any sort of resemblance to the truth. But it is otherwise with systems of moral philosophy. When a traveller gives an account of some distant country, he may impose upon our credulity the most ground- less and absurd fictions as the most certain matters of fact ; but when a person pretends to inform us of what passes in ourneighbour- hood, and of the affairs of the very parish we live in — though here, too, if we are so careless as not to examine things with our own eyes, he may deceive us in many re- spects — yet the greatest falsehoods which he imposes on us must bear some resem- blance to the truth, and must even have a considerable mixture of truth in them." These considerations demonstrate the es- sential importance, in this branch of study, of forming, at the commencement of our inquiries, just notions of the criteria of true and false science, and of the rules of philoso- phical investigation. They demonstrate, at the same time, that an attention to the rules of philosophizing, as they are exemplified in thephysical researches of Newton and his fol- lowers, although the best of all preparations for an examination of the mental phenomena, is but one of the steps necessary to insure our success. On an accurate comparison of the two subjects, it might probably appear, that, after this preliminary step has been gained, the most arduous part of the process still remains. One thing is certain, that it is not from any defect in the power of ratio- cination or deduction, that our speculative errors chiefly arise — a fact of which we have a decisive proof in the facility with which most students may be taught the mathematical and physical sciences, when compared with the difficulty of leading their minds to the truth, on questions of morals and politics. The logical rules which lay the foundation of sound and useful conclusions concerning the laws of this internal world, although not altogether overlooked by Lord Bacon, were plainly not the principal object of his work ; and what he has written on the sub- ject,consists chiefly of detached hints dropped casually in the course of other speculations. A comprehensive view of the sciences and arts dependent on the philosophy of the human mind, exhibiting the relations which they bear to each other, and to the general system of human knowledge, would form a natural and useful introduction to the study of these logical principles ; but such a view remains still a desideiutnm, after all the advances made towards it by Bacon and D'Alembert. Indeed, in the present im- proved state of things, much is wanting to complete and perfect that more simple part of their intellectual map which relates to the material universe. Of the inconsider- able progress hitherto made towards a just delineation of the method to be pursued in studying the mental phenomena, no other evidence is necessary than this, That the sources of error and false judgment, so pe- culiarly connected, in consequence of the association of ideas, with studies in which our best interests are immediately and deeply concerned, have never yet been investigated with such accuracy as to afford effectual aid to the student, in his attempts to coun- teract their influence. One of these sources alone — that which arises from the imper- fections of language — furnishes an exception to the general remark. It attracted, fortu- nately, the particular notice of Locke, whose observations with respect to it, compose, perhaps, the most valuable part of his philo- sophical writings; and, since the time of CondiUac, the subject has been still more deeply analyzed by others. Even on this article, much yet remains to be done ; but enough has been already accomplished to justify the proi'ound aphorism in which Bacon pointed it out to the attention of his follow- ers : — " Credunt homines rationem suam verbis imperare ; sed fit etiam ut verba vim suam super rationem retorqueant."* Into these logical discussions concerning the means of advancing the philosophy of human nature, Dr Reid has seldom entered ; and still more rarely has he indulged him- self in tracing the numerous relations by which this philosophy is connected with the practical business of life. But he has done what was still more essential at the time he wrote : he has exemplified, with the happiest success, that method of investigation by which alone any solid progress can be made ; directing his inquiries to a subject which forms a necessary groundwork for the labours of his successors — an analysis of the various powers and principles belonging to our con- stitution. Of the importance of this under- taking, it is sufficient to observe, that it * This passage of Bacon forms the motto loa very ingenious and phil;ium iimiiium 1.111, nl punt et proilucil."' Of this passage, so strongly marked xi'ith Bacon's capacious intellect, and so richly adorned with his " philosophical fancy,"' I will not weaken the impression by any comment ; and, indeed, to those who do not intuitively perceive its evidence, no comment would be useful. In what I have hitherto said of Dr Keid's speculations, I have confined myself to such general views of the scope of his researches, and of his mode of philosophizing, as seemed most likely to facilitate the perusal of his works to those readers who have not been much conversant with these abstract disqui- sitions. A slight review of some of the more important and fundamental objections w hidi have been proposed to his doctrines, may, I hope, be useful as a farther preparation for the same course of study. Of these objections, the four following appear to me to be chiefly entitled to atten- tion : — 1. That he lias assumed gratuitously, in all his reasonings, that theory concerning the hunuin soul which the scheme of materialism calls in question. 2. That his views tend to damp tlie ardour of philoso])hical curiosity, by stat- ing as ultimate facts, phenomena which » In the forcRoing paiagraph, I have liorrowcd (Willi a very tiilliiig allcralmii) J.urd liolingljr' ki'i Wdril", ill a iicaulidil p.-naplira-c on Hafon't icniark. — Sio his " lilta cil ii I'alijul Kiiig." 18 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFK AND WRITINGS may be resolved into principles more simple and general. 3. That, by an nnnocessary niultiplioa- tion of ori;;inal or instinctive principles, he has bronght the science of mind into a state more perplexed and nnsatisfactory than that in which it was left by Locke and his successors. 4. That his philosophy, by sanctioning an appeal from the decisions of the learned to the voice of the multitude, is unfavour- able to a spirit of free inquiry, and lends additional stability to popular errors. 1. With respect to Dr Reid's supposed assumption of a doubtful hypothesis con- cerning the nature of the thinking and sentient principle, it is almost sufficient for me to observe, that the charge is directed against that very point of his philosophy in which it is most completely invulnerable. The circumstance which peculiarly charac- terises the inductive science of mind is, that it professes to abstain from all specu- lations concerning its nature and essence ; confining the attention entirely to pheno- mena for which we have the evidence of consciousness, and to the laws by which these phenomena are regulated. In this respect, it difters equally, in its scope, from the pneumatological discussions of the schools, and from the no less visionary theories so loudly vaunted by the physio- logical metaphysicians of more modern times. Compared with the first, it differs as the inquiries of the mechanical philoso- phers concerning the laws of moving bodies differ from the discussions of the ancient sophists concerning^the existence and the nature of motion. Compared with the other, the difference is analogous to what exists between the conclusions of Newton concerning the law of gravitation, and his query concerning the invisible ether of which he supposes it might possibly be the effect. The facts which tliis inductive science aims at ascertaining, rest on their own proper evidence ; an evidence uncon- nected with all these hypotheses, and which would not, in the smallest degree, be affected, although the truth of any one of them should be fully establislied. It is not, therefore, on account of its inconsistency with any favourite opinions of my own, that I would oppose the disquisitions either of scholastic pneumatology, or of physiological metaphysics ; but because I consider them as an idle waste of time and genius on ques- tions where our conclusions can neither be verified nor overturned by an appeal to ex- periment or observation. Sir Isaac New- ton's query concerning the cause of gravi- tation was certainly not inconsistent with his own discoveries concerning its laws ; but what would have been the consequences to the world, if he had indulged himself in the prosecution of hypothet cal theories with respect to the tormer, instead of directing his ivstonisiiiug powers to an investigation of the latter ? That the general spirit of Dr Reid » philosophy is hostile to the conclusions of the materialist, is indeed a fact. Not, however, because his system rests on the contrary hypothesis as a fundamental prin- ciple, but because his inquiries have a powerful tendency to wean the understand- ing gradually from those obstinate associa- tions and prejudices to which the common mechanical theories of mind owe all their plausibility. It is, in truth, much more from such examples of sound research con- cerning the laws of thought, than from any direct metaphysical refutation, that a change is to be expected in the opinions of those who have been accustomed to con- found together two classes of phenomena, so completely and essentially different. But this view of the subject does not belong to the present argument. It has been recommended of late, by a medical author of great reputation, to those who wish to study the human mind, to begin with preparing themselves for the task by the study of anatomy. I must con- fess, I cannot perceive the advantages of this order of investigation ; as the anatomy of the body does not seem to me more likely to throw light on the philosophy of the mind, than an analysis of the mind to throw light on the physiology of the body. To ascertain, indeed, the general laws of their connection from facts established by observ- ation or experiment, is a reasonable and most interesting object of philosophical curiosity ; and in this inquiry, (which was long ago proposed and recommended by Lord Bacon,) a knowledge of the constitu- tion both of mind and body is indispensably requisite ; but even here, if we wish to pro- ceed on firm ground, the two classes of iacts must be kept completely distinct ; so that neither of them may be warped or distorted in consequence of theories suggested by their supposed relations or analogies.* Thus, in many of the [thenomena connected with custom and habit, there is ample scope for investigating general laws, both with respect to our mental and our corporeal frame ; but what light do we derive from such information concerning this part of our constitution as is contained in the fol- lowing sentence of Locke ? — " Habits seem to be but trains of motion in the animal spirits, which, once set a-going, continue ift the same steps they had been used to, which, by often treading, are worn into a » " Elements of the Philosophy of the Humab Mind," pp. 11, 12. 2d edit. OF THOMAS llEID, D.D. 19 smooth patli." In like manner, the laws which regulate the connection between the mind and our external origans, in the case of perception, have furnislied a very fertile subject of evaniination to some of the best of our modern philosophers ; but how im- potent does the genius of Newton itself appear, when it attempts to shoot the gulf which separates the sensible world and the sentient principle ! " Is not the sensorium of animals," he asks in one of his queries, " the place where the sentient substance is present, and to which the sensible species of things are brought through the nerves and brain, that they may be perceived by the mmd present in that place ?" It ought to be remembered, also, that this inquiry, with respect to the laws regulating the connection between our bodily organiz- ation, and the phenomena subjected to our own consciousness, is but one particular department of the philosophy of the mind ; and that there still remains a wide, and, indeed, boundless region, where all our 'lata must be obtained from our own mental operations. In examining, for instance, the powers of judgment and reasoning, let any person of sound understanding, after perus- ing the observations of Bacon on the di lifer- ent classes of our prejudices, or those of Locke on the abuse of words, turn his atten- tion to the speculations of some of our con- temporary theorists, and he will at once perceive the distinction between the two modes of investigation which I wish at pre- sent to contrast. " Reasoning," says one of the most ingenious and original of these, " is that operation of the npitsonum by which we excite two or many tribes of ideas, and then re-excite the ideas in which they ditter or correspond. If we determine this difference, it is called Judgment; if we in vain endeavour to determine it, it is called Doubting; if we re-excite the ideas in which they differ, it is called Distinguishing ; if we re-excite those in which they correspond, it Is called Comparing."* In what accept- ation the word iden is to be understood in the foregoing passage, may be learned from the following definition of the same author : — " The word idea has various meanings in the writers of metaphysic : it is here used Bimply for those notions of external things which our organs of sense bring us ac- quainted with originally ; and is defined a contraction, or motion, or configuration, of the fibres which constitute the immediate organ of !-ense."f Mr Hume, who was less of a physiologist than Dr Darwin, has made use of a language by no means so theoretical and arbitrary, but still widely removed from tliesimplicityand precision essentially ncccs- • " Zoniiomi!)," vol. 1. |) 18!, ahysical sys- tems,) that those who have a jiliasure in detracting from the merits of their prede- cessors, may be disposed to represent it as iin idle waste of labour and ingenuity to luno entered into a serious refutation of a hyiKi- 22 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRIT[NGS thesis at once gratuitous and inconceivable. A different judgment, however, will be formed by such as are acquainted with the extensive influence which, from the ear- liest accounts of science, this single preju- dice has had in vitiating almost every branch of the philosojjhy of the mind ; and who, at the same time, recollect the names of the illustrious men by whom, in more modern times, it has been adopted as an incontrovertible principle. It is sufficient for me to mention those of Berkeley, Hume, Locke, Clarke, and Newton. To the two first of these, it has served as the basis of their sceptical conclusions, which seem, in- deed, to follow from it as necessary conse- quences ; while the others repeatedly refer to it in their reasonings, as one of those facts concerning the mind of which it would be equally superfluous to attempt a proof or a refutation. I havt enlarged on this part of Dr Reid's writings the more fully, as he was himself disposed, on all occasions, to rest upon it his chief merit as an author. In proof of this, I shall transcribe a few sen- tences from a letter of his to Dr Gregory, dated 20th August 1790 :— " It would be want of candour not to cwn that I think there is some merit in what you are pleased to call my Philoso- phy ; but I think it lies chiefly in having called in question the common theory of Ideas, or Images of things in ihe mind being the only objects of thought ; a theory founded on natural prejudices, and so uni- versally received as to be interwoven with the structure of language. Yet, were I to give you a detail of what led me to call in question this theory, after I had long held it as self-evident and unquestionable, you would think, as I do, that there was much of chance in the matter. The discovery was the birth of time, not of genius ; and Berkeley and Hume did more to bring it to light than the man that hit u]5on it. I think there is hardly anything that can be called mine in the philosophy of the mind, which does not foUov/ with ease from the detection of this prejudice. " I must, therefore, beg of you most ear- nestly, to make no contrast in my favour to the disparagement of my predecessors in the same pursuit. I can truly say of them, and shall always avow, what you are pleased to say of me, that, but for the assistance I have received from their writ- ings, I never could have wrote or thought what I have done." 3. Somewhat connected with the last objection, are the censures which have been so frequently bestowed on Dr Reid, for an unnecessary and un systematical multiplica- tion of original or instinctive principles. In reply to these censures, I have httle to add to what I have remarked on the same topic, in the " Philosophy of the Human JNJind." That the fault which is thus ascribed to Dr Reid has been really committed by some ingenious writers in this part of the island, 1 most readily allow ; nor will I take upon me to assert that he has, in no instance, fallen into it himself. Such instances, however, will be found, on an accurate examination of his works, to be comparatively few, and to bear a very trifling proportion to those in which he has most successfully and decisively displayed his acuteness in exposing the premature and flimsy generalizations of his prede- cessors. A certain degree of leaning to that ex- treme to which Dr Reid seems to have inclined, was, at the time when he wrote, much safer than the opposite bias. From the earliest ages, the sciences in general, and more particularly the science of the human mind, have been vitiated by an undue love of simplicity ; and, in the course of the last century, this disposition, after having been long displayed in subtle theo- ries concerning the active powers, or the principles of human conduct, has been directed to similar refinements with resrcct to the faculties of the understanding, u.ud the truths with which they are conversant. Mr Hume himself has coincided so far with the Hartleian school, as to represent the "principle of union and cohesion among our simple ideas as a kind of attraction, of as universal application in the mental world as in the natural ;"* and Dr Hartley, with a still more sanguine imagination, looked forward to an era '' when future generations shall put all kinds of evidences and inquiries into mathematical forms ; reducing Aristotle's ten categories, and Bishop Wilkin's forty summa genera, to the head of quantity alone, so as to make mathematics and logic, natural history and civil history, natural philosophy and philo- sophy of all other kinds, coincide, omni ex parte.^'f It is needless to remark the obvious ten- dency of such premature generalizations, to withdraw the attention from the study of particular phenomena ; while the effect of Reid's mode of philosophizing, even in those instances where it is carried to an ex- cess, is to detain us, in this preliminary step, a little longer than is absolutely ne- cessary. The truth is, that, when the phenomena are once ascertained, generaliz- ation is here of comparatively little value, and a task of far less difficulty than to observe facts with precision, and to record them with fairness. • " 'I'reatise of Human Nature," vol. i. p. ."0. f Hartley " On Man," p. 207, 4to edit. London, 1791. OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 23 In no part of Dr Reid's writings, I am inclined to think, could more plausible criti- cisms be made on this ground, than in his classification of our active principles : but, even there, the facts are always placed fully and distinctly before the reader. That several of the benevolent affections which he has stated as ultimate facts in our con- stitution, might be analyzed into the same general principle differently modified, ac- cording to circumstances, there can, in my opinion, be little doubt. This, however, (as I have elsewhere observed,*) notwith- standing the stress which has been some- times laid upon it, is chiefly a question of arrangement. Whether we suppose these affections to be all ultimate facts, or some of tliem to be resolvable into other facts more general, they are equally to be regarded as constituent parts of human nature ; and, upon either supposition, we have equal reason to admire the wisdom with which that nature is adapted to the situation in which it is placed. The laws which regulate the acquired perceptions of sight, are surely as much a part of our frame as those which regulate any of our original perceptions ; and, altliough they require, for their developement, a certain degree of experience and observation in the individual, the uniformity of the result shews that there is nothing arbitrary nor accidental in their origin. In this point of view, what can be more philosojiliical, as well as beautiful, than the words of Mr Ferguson, that " natural affection springs up in the soul of the motiier, as the milk springs in her breast, to furnish nourish- ment to her child !" "The effect is here to the race," as the same author has excel- lently observed, " what the vital motion of the heart Ls to the individual ; too neces- sary to tlie preservation of nature's works, to be intrusted to the precarious will or intention of those most nearly concerned, "f The question, indeed, concerning the origin of our different affections, leads to some curious analytical disquisitions ; but is of very subordinate importance to tliose inquiries which relate to their laws, and uses, and mutual references. In many ethical systems, however, it seems to have been consiilered as the most interesting subject of (hsfjuisition which this wonder- ful part of our frame presents. In Dr Reid's "Essays on the Intellec- tual Powers of Man," and in his "Inquiry into the Human Mind,'' I recollect little • " Outlines of Moral Philosopliy," pp. 79, Sri, 2d edit. Edinburf^h, IHdI. t " Principles of Moral and Political Science," p«rt I. cha|i. 1. sect. '.i. " (Jt I lie Principlcnol Society in Homan Nature." 'J'hcwliolf dincvukion uiivtCB, in » sinRular dcprec, the iioiii de«t philoso),hy with the nnoiil ckiqueDt desmption. that can justly incur a similar censure, notwithstanding the ridicule which Dr Priestley has attempted to throw on the last of these performances, in his " Table of Reid's Instmctive Principles."* To examine all the articles enumerated in that table, would require a greater latitude of disquisition than the limits of this memoir allow ; and, therefore, I shall confine my observations to a few instances, where the precipitancy of the general criticism seems to me to admit of little dispute. In this light I cannot help considering it, when applied to those dispositions or determma- tions of the mind to which Dr Reid has given the names of the " Principle of Credulity," and the " Principle of Vera- city." How far these titles are happily chosen, is a question of little moment ; and on that point I am ready to make every concession. I contend only for what is essentially coimected with the objection which has given rise to these remarks. " That any man," says Dr Priestley, " should imagine that a peculiar instinctive principle was necessary to explain our giving credit to the relations of others, appears to me, who have been used to see things in a different light, very extraordi- nary ; and yet this doctrine is advanced by Dr Reid, and adopted by Dr Beattie. But really," he adds, " what the former says iji favour of it, is hardly deserving of the slightest notice."-)- The passage quoted by Dr Priestley, in justification of this very peremptory deci- sion, is as follows : — " If credulity were the effect of reasoning and experience, it must grow up and gather strength in the same proportion as reason and experience do. But, if it is the gift of nature, it will be the strongest in childhood, and limited and restrained by experience ; and the most superficial view of human life shews that this last is the case, and not the first.'' To my own judgment, this argument of Dr Reid's, when connected with the ex- cellent illustrations which accompany it, carries complete conviction ; and I am con- firmetl in my opinion by finding, that Mr Smith (a writer inferior to none in acute- ness, and strongly disposed, by the peculiar bent of his genius, to simplify, as far as possible, the philosoiihy of human nature) has, in the latest edition of his " Theory of Moral Sentiments," acquiesced in tliis very conclusion ; urging in support of it the same reasimiiig which Dr Priestley affects to estimate so lightly. " Tliere seems to be in young children an instinctive * Examination ol' Reid's " Inquiry," \o. London 1774. f Kxamiiiatlon of Rrld's '• Iiiijiiiry," Ac, p. 88. 24 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS disposition to believe whatever they are told. Nature seems to have judfjed it ne- cessary for their preservation that they should, for some time at least, ])ut implicit confidence in tiMse to wlioiu the care of their childhood, and of the earliest and most necessary part of their education, is intrusted. Their credulity, ar-cordin;jfiy, is excessive ; and it ro([uires lonj; and much experience of the falsehood of mankind to reduce tliein to a reasonable degree of ditH- dence and distrust."* That Mr Smitli's opinion also coincided with Dr Reid's, in what he has stated concerning the principle of veraciti/, appears evidently from the remarks which immediately follow the pas- sage just quoted. But I must not add to the length of this memoir by uunecessary citations. Another instinctive principle mentioned by Reid, is " our belief of the continuance of the present course of uature." " All our knowledge of nature,'' he observes, " be- yond our original perceptions, is got by experience, and consists in the interpreta- tion of natural signs. The appearance of the sign is followed by the belief of the thing signified. Upon this principle of our constitution, not only acquired perception, but also inductive reasoning, and all rea- soning from analogy, is grounded ; and, therefore, for want of a better name, we shall beg leave to call it the inductive prin- ciple. It is from the force of this principle that we immediately assent to that axiom upon which all our knowledge of nature is built, that eff'ects of the same kind must liave the same cause. T.dce away the light of this inductive principle, and ex- perience is as blind as a mole. She may indeed feel what is present, and what im- mediately touches her, but she sees nothing that is either before or behind, upon the right hand or upon the left, future or past." On this doctrine, likewise, the same critic has exi^ressed himself with much severity ; calluig it " a mere quibble ;" and adding, " every step that I take among this writer's sophisms, raises my astonish- ment higher than before." In this, how- ever, as in many other mstances, he has been led to censure Dr Reid, not because he was able to see farther than his antago- nist, but because he. did uot see quite so far. Turgot, in an article inserted in tlie French " Encyclop&lie," and Condorcet, in a discourse prefixed to one of his mathe- matical publications,t have, both of them, stated the fact with a true philosophical precision ; and, after doing so, have de- * Smith's "Theory," last edit, part VII. sect I. t " Ks^ai sur Tap ilicitioii tie I'anaiv.'ie ii la pro- bahilit6 (ies 'lecision's riniliics h la iiliiralile dos voix." Psris, ns.'i. duced from it an inference, not .jfny the same ui substance with that of Dr Reid, ijut almost expressed in the same form of words. In these references, as well as in that already made to Mr Smith's " Theory," I would not be understood to lay any undue stress on authority in a philosophical argu- ment. I wish only — by contrasting tiie modesty and caution restdtiiig from habits of profound thought, with that theoretical intrepidity which a blindness to insuper- able difficulties has a tendency to inspire — to invite those whose prejudices against this part of Reid's system rest chiefly on the great names to which they conceive it to be hostile, to re-examine it with a little more attention, before they pronounce finally on its merits. The prejudices which are apt to occur against a mode of philosophizing so morti- fying to scholastic arrogance, are encour- aged greatly by that natural disposition, to refer particular facts to general laws, which is the foundation of all scientific arrange- ment ; a principle of the utmost importance to our intellectual constitution, but which requires the guidance of a sound and ex- perienced understanding to accomplish the purposes for which it was destined. They are encouraged also, in no inconsiderable degree, by the acknowledged success of mathematicians, in raising, on the basis of a few simple da/a, the most magnificent, and, at the same time, the most solid fabric of science, of which human genius can boast. The absurd references which logicians are accustomed to make to Euclid's " Elements of Geometry,'' as a model which cannot be too studiously copied, both in physics and in morals, have contributed, in this as in a variety of other instances, to mislead phi- losophers from the study of facts, into the false refinements of hypothetical theory. On these misapplications of mathemati- cal method to sciences which rest ulti- mately on experiment atid observation, I shall take another opportunity of offering some strictures. At ])resent, it is suffi- cient to remark the peculiar nature of the truths about which pure or abstract mathe- matics are conversant. As these truths have all a necessary connection with each other, (all of them resting ultimately on those definitions or hypotheses which are the principles of our reasoning,) the beauty of the science cannot fail to increase in proportion to the siaiplicity of the 'h/ia, compared with th.e incalculable variety of consequences which they involve : and to the simplific.ntions and generalizations of theory on sucii a subject, it is perhaps im- possible to conceive any limit. How dif- ferent is the Ciise in those inquiries wliere our first principles are not definitions but OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 26 fad.- , aud wnere our business is not to trace necessary coiiuections, but the laws which regulate the established order of the universe ! In various attempts which have been lately made, more especially on the Conti- nent", towards a systematical exposition of the elements of physics, the eftects of the mistake I am now censuring are extremely remarlvable. The happy use of mathema- tical principles, exhibited in the writings of Newton and his followers, having ren- dered an extensive knowledge of them an indispensable pre|iaratii>n for the study of the mechanical philosophy, the early habits of thouglit acquired in the former pursuit are naturally tiansferred to the latter. Hence the illogical aud obscure manner in which its elementary principles have fre- quently beeu stated ; an attempt being made to deduce, from the smallest possible imndier of daim betraying any overween- ing confidence in his own understanding, arc an indirect tribute to the talents of those from who-e failure he draws an aiguineiit against the possibility of their undertaking. The same eagerness to simplify and to generalize, which led Priestley to complain of the number of Reid's instinctive prin- ciples, has carried some later philosophers a step farther. According to them, the very word iiislinrl is unipliiUisojihical ; and everything, either in man or brute, which has been hitherto referred to this mysteri- ous source, may be easily accounted lor by experience or imitation. A few instances in which this doctrine aiqioars to have been successfully verified, have been deemed sufficient to establish it without any lindt- ation. In a very original work, on which I have already hazarded some criiicisms, much in- genuity has been employed in analyzing the wonderful efforts which the human infant 26 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS is enabled to make for its own preservation the moment after its introduction to the liffht. Thus, it is observed that thefce'us, while still in the vtfiu.s, learns to perform the operation of swallowing ; and also learns to relieve itself, by a change of posture, from the irksomenoss of continued rest : and, therefore, (if we admit these proposi- tions,) we must conclude that some of the actions which infants are vulgarly supposed to perform in conscijuence of instincts coeval with birth, are only a continuation of actions to which they were determined at an earlier period of their being. The remark is inge- nious, and it may perhaps be just ; but it does not prove that inxli net is an nnphiloso- phical term ; nor does it render the opera- tions of the infant less mysterious than they seem to be on the common supposition. How far soever the analysis, in such in- stances, may be carried, we must at last arrive at some p/iiBnumeuon no less wonder- ful than that we mean to explain : in other words, we must still admit as an ultimate fact, the existence of an original determina- tion to a particular mode of action salutary or necessary to the animal ; and all we have accomi)lished is, to connect the origin of this instinct with an earlier period in the history of tlie human mind. The same author has attempted to ac- count, in a manner somewhat similar, for the different degrees in which the young of ditterent animals are able, at the moment of birth, to exert their bodily powers. Thus, calves and chickens are able to walk almost immediately ; while the human in- fant, even in the most favourable situations, is six or even twelve months old before he can stand alone. For this Dr Darwin assigns two causes. 1. That the young of some animals come into the world in a more complete state than that of others- the colt and lamb, for example, enjoying, in this respect, a striking advantage over the puppy and the rabbit. 2. That the mode of walk- ing of some animals, coincides more per- fectly than that of others, with the previous motions of the y(B'(/»i;/ u/ero. The struggles of all animals, he observes, in the womb, must resemble their manner of swimming, as by this kind of motion they can best change their attitude in water. But the swinuning of the calf and of the chicken resemblos their ordinary movements on the ground, wliicli they have thus learned in part to execute while concealed from our observation ; whereas, the swimming of the human infant differing totally from his manner of walking, he has no opportunity of acquiring the last of these arts till he is exposed to" our view. The theory is ex- tremely plausible, and does honour to the author's sagacity ; but it only places in a new light that provident care which Nature has taken of all her offspring in the infancy of their existence. Another instance may contribute towards a more ample illustration of the same sub- ject. A lamb, not many minutes after it is dropped, jiroceeds to search for its nour- ishment in that spot where alone it is to be found ; apjdy ing both its limbs and its eyes to their resjiective oflices. The peasant ob- serves the fact, and gives the name of iii- sliuct, or some corresponding term, to the unknown principle by which the animal is guided. On a more accurate examination of circumstances, the philosopher finds reason to conclude that it is by the sense of smelling it is thus directed to its object. In proof of this, among other curious facts, the following has been quoted : — " On dissecting," says Galen, " a goat great witli young, I found a brisk emhri/on, and having detached it from the matii.r, and snatching it away before it saw its dam, I brought it into a room where there were many vessels ; some filled with w ine, others with oil, some with lioney, others with milk, or some other liquor ; and in others there were grains and fruits. We first ob- served the young animal get upon its feet and walk ; then it shook itself, and after- wards scratched its side with one of its feet ; then we saw it smelling to every one of those things that were set in the room ; and, when it had smelt to them all, it drank up the milk." ' Admitting this very beautiful story to be true, (and, for niy own part, I am far from being disposed to ques- tion its probability,) it only enables us to state the fact with a little more precision, in consequence of our having ascertained, that it is to the sense of smelling the in- stinctive determination is attached. The conclusion of the peasant is not here at variance with that of the philosopher. _ It differs only in this, that he expresses him- self in those general terms which are suited to his ignorance of the particular process by which Nature, in this case, accomplishes her end ; and, if he did otherwise, he would be censurable for prejudging a ques- tion of which he is incompetent to form an accurate opinion. The application of these illustrations to some of Dr Reid's conclusions concerning the instinctive principles of the human mind, is, I flatter myself, sufficiently mani- fest. They relate, indeed, to a subject which differs, in various respects, from that which has fallen under his more particular consideration ; but the same rules of \A\\\o- sophizing will be found to apply equally to both. 4. The criticisms which have been made on what Dr Reid has written concerning • Darwin, vol. i pp. 190, 196. OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 27 the intuitive truths which he distinguishes by the title of " Principles of Common Sense," would require a more ample dis- cussion than I can now bestow on them ; not that the importance of these criticisms (of such of them, at least, as I have happened to meet with) demands a long or elaborate refutation, but because the subject, accord- ing to the view I wish to take of it, involves some other questions of great moment and difficulty, relative to the foundations of human knowledge. Dr Priestley, the most formidable of Dr Eeid's antagonists, has granted as much in favour of this doctrine as it is worth while to contend for on the present occasion. " Had these writers," he observes, with respect to Dr Reid and his followei"s, " assumed, as the elements of their Common Sense, certain truths which are so plain that no man could doubt ol them, (without entering into the ground ol our assent to them,) their conduct would have been liable to very little objection. All that could have been said would have been, that, without any necessity, they had made an innovation in the received use of a term ; for no person ever denied that there ai-e self-evident truths, and that these must be assumed as the foundation of all our reason- ing. I never met with any person who did not acknowledge this, or heard of any argu- mentative treatise that did not go upon the supposition of it."* After such an acknow- ledgment, it is impossible to forbear asking, (with Dr Campbell,) " What is the great point which Dr Priestley would controvert ? Is it, whether such self-evident truths shall be denominated Principles of Common Sense, or be distinguished by some other appella- tion ?"t That the doctrine in question has been, in some publications, presented in a very exceptionable form, I most readily allow ; nor would I be understood to subscribe to it im[)licitly, even as it appears in the works of Dr Reid. It is but an act of justice to him, however, to re(iuest that his ojiinions may be judged of from his own works alone, not from those of others who may have happened to coincide with him in certain tenets, or in certain modes of expression ; and that, before any ridicule be attempted on his conclusions concerning the authority of Common Sense, his antagonists would take the trouble to examine in what accept- ation he has employed that phrase. The truths which Dr Reid seems, in most instances, disposed to refer to the judgment of this tribunal, niiglit, in my o])inion, be denominated more \niexceptionably, " fun- damental laws of human belief." They • " Examination of Dr Ueid's Inquiry," &c. p. + " Philoiophy of nhtlonc," v(.l. i. p. 1 1 1 .— Sec Niilc F, have been called by a very ingenious fo- reigner, (^r. Trembley of Geneva,) but certainly with a singular infelicity of lan- guage, Prcjiifjtn Luiitimrs. Of this kind are the following propositions : — " I am the same person to-day that I was yesterday ;" " The material world has an existence in- dependent of that of percipient beings ;" " There are other intelligent beings in the universe beside myself ;" " The future course of nature will resemble the past." Such truths no man but a philosopher ever thinks of stating to himself in words ; but all our conduct and all our reasonings pro- ceed on the supposition that they are admit- ted. The belief of them is essential for the preservation of our animal existence ; and it is accordingly coeval with the first opera- tions of the intellect. One of the first writers who introduced the phrase Common Sense into the tech- nical or appropriate language of logic, was Father Buffier, in a book entitled, " Tmili^ ■Irs l-'rcnue.ies Veriles.'''' It has since been auo])ted by several authors of note in this country ; particularly by Dr Reid, Dr Os- wald, and Dr Beattie ; by all of whom, however, I am afraid, it must be confessed, it has been occasionally employed without a due attention to precision. The last of these writers uses it* to denote that power by which the mind perceives the truth of any intuitive proposition ; whether it be an axiom of abstract science ; or a statement of some fact resting on the immediate inform- ation of consciousness, of perception, or of memory ; or one of those fundamental laws of belief which are implied in the ap- plication of our faculties to the ordinary business of life. The same extensive use of the word may, I believe, be found in the other authors just mentioned. But no authority can justify such a laxity in tlie employment of language in philosophical discussions ; for, if mathematical axioms be (as they are, manifestly and indisputably) a class of propositions essentially distinct Irom the other kinds of intuitive truths now described, why refer them all indis- criminately to the same principle in our constitution ? If this jdirase, therefore, be at all retained, precision requires that it should be employed in a more limited ac- eepiution ; and, accordingly, in the works under our consideration, it is appropriated most frequently, though by no means uni- formly, to that class of intuitive truths which I have already called " fundamental laws of belief.''i- When thus restricted, it conveys a notion, unambiguous, at least, • " Fssay on Truth," aiition second, p. 40, el Srq. ; also p KUi, ft srq. t This seems to \w nearly the meaning annexed to the plirase, by the learned and acute author of " The Thilo-^ophy of lihetonc," vul i p lO'J, ct srq. 28 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITJNGS and definite ; and, consequently, tlie ques- tion about its i)r()|)riety or ini propriety turns entirely on tlio coincidence of this definition with tlie meaning of the word as employed in ordinary discourse. What- ever objections, therefore, may be stated to the expression as now defined, will apply to it with ailditio al force, when used with the latitude wliieh has been already censured. I have said that the question about the propriety of the phrase Couinion Sense as employed by jihilosophers, must be decided by an appeal to general practice ; for, although it be allowable, and even neces- sary, for a ]duloso])her to limit the accepta- tion of words which are employed vaguply in common discourse, it is always dangerous to give to a word a scientific meaning essentially distinct from that in which it is usually understood. It has, at least, the effect of misleading those who do not enter deeply into the subject ; and of giving a paradoxical appearance to doctrines which, if expressed in more unexceptionable terms, would be readily admitted. It appears to me tliat this has actually happened in the present instance. The phrase Common Sense, as it is generally understood, is nearly synonymous with rncther-wit; denoting that degree of sagacity (depending partly on original capacity, and partly on personal experience and observa- tion) which qualifies an individual for those simple and essential occupations which all men are called on to exercise habitually by their common nature. In this acceptation, it is opposed to those mental acquiiements which are derived from a regular education, and from the study of books; and refers, not to the speculative convictions of the under- standing, but to that prudence and discretion which are the foundation of successful con- duct. Such is the idea which Pope annexes to the word, when, speaking of good sense, (which means only a more than ordinary share of common sense,) he calls it — • " Thp gilt of floaven. And, though no science, (airly uortli the seven." To speak, accordingly, of appealing from the conclusions of philosophy to connnon sense, had the appearance, to title-page readers, of appealing from the verdict of tlie learned to the voice of the multitude ; or of attempting to silence free discussion by a reference to .'•onie arbitrary and undofiiiable standard, distinct from any of the intel- lectual powers hitherto enumerated by logi- cians. Whatever countenance may be sup- posed to have been given by some writers to such an interpretation of this doctrine, I may venture to assert that none is afforded by the worlis of Dv Reid. The standard to which he appeals is neit'ier the creed of a particular sect, nor the inward light of enthusiastic presumption, but that constitu- tion of human nature without which all the business of the world would immediately cease ; and the substance of his argument amounts merely to this, that those essential laws of belief to which sceptics have objected, when considered in connection with our scientific reasonings, are implied in every step we take as active beings ; and if called in question by any man in his prac- tical concerns would expose him universally to the charge of insanity. In stating this important doctrine, it were perhaps to be wished that the subject had been treated with somewhat more of ana- lytical accuracy ; and it is certainly to be regretted that a phrase should have been employed, so well calculated by its ambiguity to furnish a convenient handle to misre- presentations; but, in the judgment of those who have perused Dr Reids writings with an intelligent and candid attention, these misrepresentations nmst recoil on their authors ; while they who are really inter- ested in the progress of useful science, will be disposed rather to lend their aid in sup- plying what is defective in his views than to reject hastily a doctrine which aims, by the developeraent of some logical principles overlooked in the absurd systems which have been borrowed from the schools, to vin- dicate the authority of truths intimately and extensively connected with human happiness. In the prosecution of mj' own speculations on the human mind, I shall have occasion to explain myself fully concerning this, as well as various other questions connected with the foundations of jihilosophical evi- dence. The new doctrines and new phrase- ology on that subject, ^vhich have lately become fashionable among some metaphy- sicians in Germany, and which, in my opinion, have contributed not a little to involve it in additional obscurity, are a sufficient proof that this essential and funda- mental article of logic is not as yet com- pletely exhausted. In order to bring the foregoing remarks within some compass, I have found it necessary to confine myself to such objec- tions as strike at the root of Dr Reid's philosophy, without tcniching on any of his opinions on particular topics, however im- jiortant. I have been obliged also to com- press what I have stated within narrower limits than were perhaps consistent with complete perspicuity ; and to reject many illustrations which crowded upon me at almost every step of my progress. It may not, perhaps, be superfluous to add, that, supposing some of these objections to possess more force than I have ascribed to them in my reply, it will ncjt therefore follow, that little advantage is to be derived OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 29 from a careful [lerusa! uf the speculations :i<^ainst which they are directeJ. Even they who dissent the most widely from Dr Reid's conclusions, can scarcely fail to admit, that, as a writer, he exhibits a striking contrast to the most successful of his predecessors, ill a logical precision and simplicity of laiiu:uaL!;e — his statement of facts being neither vitiated by physiological hypothesis, nor obscured by scholastic mystery. Who- ever has reflected on the infinite importance, in such inquiries, of a skilful use of words as the essential instrument of tliought, must be aware of the influence which his works are likely to have on the future pro- gress of science, were they to produce no other effect than a general imitation of his mode of reasoning, and of his guarded phraseology. It is not, indeed, every reader to whom these inquiries are accessible ; for habits of attention in general, and still more habits of attention to the pl.ceiKimeuH of thought, require early and careful cultivation ; but tliose who are capable of the exertion will soon recognise, in Dr Reid's statements, the faithful history of their own minds, and will find their labours amply rewarded by that satisfaction which always accompanies the diseovei'v of useful truth- They may expect, also, to be rewarded by some intel- lectual acquisitions not altogetlier useless in their other studies. An author well quali- fied to judge, from his own experience, of wliatever conduces to invigorate or to em- bellish the understanding, has beautifully remarket'., that " by turning the soul inward on itself, its forces are concentrated, and are fitted for strony;er and bolder fiiglits of science; and that, in such pursuits, wliether we take, or whether we lose the game, tlie chase is certainly of .'■ervice."* In this respect, the jihilosophy of the mind (ab- straftiiig entirely from that pre-eminence which belongs to it in conse()iience of its practical a]>plications) may claim a distin- guish d rank among those preparatory dis- ciplines which anotlier writer, of no less emint ncc, has happily compared to " the crojis which are raised, not for the sake of the harvest, but to be ploughed in as a dress- ing to the land."-}- SFX'TION III. CO.\CI.''S!ON Ol' THE NARRATIVE. The three works to which the foregoing remarks refer- together with the Essay on Quantity, pubiishec] in the " Philosopiiical * Preface to Mr Burk '« " liway on the Sublime and Keaiiliful." •f liirtuji Kerkeley'i " Querist." Transactions of the Royal Society of Lon- don," and a short but masterly Analysis of Aristotle's Logic, which forms an ap- pendix to the third volume of Lord Kames' " Sketches'' — comprehend the whole of Dr Reid's publications.* The interval between the dates of the first and last of these amounts to no less than forty years, although he had attained to the age of thirty-eight before he ventured to appear as an author. With the " Essays on the Active Powers of Man," he closed his literary career; but he continued, notwithstanding, to prosecute his studies with unabated ardour and activity. The more modern improvements in chemis- try attracted his particular notice ; and he applied himself, with his wonted diligence and success, to the study of its new doctrines and new nomenclature. He amused him- self also, at times, in preparing, for a philo- sophical society of wliich he was a member, short essays on particular topics which happened to interest his curiosity, and on which he thought he might derive useful hints from friendly discussion. The most important of these were — " An Examination of Priestley's Opinions concerning Matter and jMind;" "Observations on the 'Utopia' of Sir Thomas More ;" and " Physiologi- cal Refiections on Muscular Motion." This last essay appears to have been written in the eighty-sixth year of his age, and was read liy the author to his associates, a few months before his death. His "thoughts were led to the speculations it contains," (as he himself mentions in the conclusion,) " by the experience of some of the efl'ects which old age produces on the muscular motions." '• As they were occasioned, therefore," he adds, " by the infirmities of age, they will, I hope, be heard with the greater indulgence." Among tiie various occupations with which he thus enlivened his retiremeut, the mathematical pursuits of his earlier years held a distinguished ])lace. He aeliglited to converse about them with his friends ; and often exercised his skill in the investi- gation of jiarticnlar jiroblenis. His know- ledge of ancient geometry had not probably b( en, at any time, very extensive ; but he had cultivated diligeiitly those parts of H:athematical science which are subservient to the study of Sir Isaac Newton's works. He had a predilection, more particularly, for researches rc(iniring the aid of arith- metical calculation, in the practice of whii h he possessed nnconnnon expertness and address. I think I ha\i; sometimes ob- served in him a slight ami amiable vanity, connected with this accomplishment. * Reid's" History (if the L'n vrrsity of fil.i>gow," was )ml)li>ticil, .liter lii» ile.itli, in tlio " Slilll^(H.ll Account iif Sciill.iiul '' It is now, for tl.e (ir^t tiiue, B(lcl(.d to liiK uiljtr woilv.s. — H. 30 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS The revival, at this period, of Dr Reid's first scientific propensity, has often recalled to me a favourite remark of Mr Smith's that of all the amusements of old age, the most grateful and soothing is a renewal of acquaintance with the favourite studies and favourite authors of our youth ; a re- mark which, in his own case, seemed to be more particularly exempliKed, while he was re-perusing, with the enthusiasm of a stu- dent, the tragic poets of ancient Greece. I heard him, at least, repeat the observa- tion more than once, while Sophocles or Euripides lay open on his table. In the case of Dr Reid, other motives perhaps conspired with the influence of the agreeable associations to which Mr Smith probably alluded. His attention was always fixed on the state of his intellectual facul- ties ; and for counteracting the effects of time on these, mathematical studies seem to be fitted in a peculiar degree. They are fortunately, too, within the reach of many individuals, after a decay of memory dis- qualifies them for inquiries which involve a multiplicity of details. Such detached problems, more especially, as Dr Reid com- monly selected for his considei'ation — pro- blems where all the data are brought at once under the eye, and where a connected train of thinking is not to be carried on from day to day — will be found, (as I have wit- nessed with pleasure in several instances,) by those who are capable of such a recrea- tion, a valuable addition to the scanty re- sources of a life protracted beyond the or- dinary limit. While he was thus enjoying an old age happy in some respects beyond the usual lot of humanity, his domestic comfort suf- fered a deep and incurable wound by the death of Mrs Reid. He had had the mis- fortune, too, of surviving, for many years, a numerous family of promising children ; four of whom (two sons and two daughters) died after they attained to maturity. One daughter only was left to him when he lost his wife ; and of her affectionate good offices he could not always avail himself, in con- sequence of the attentions which her own husband's infirmities required. Of this lady, who is still alive, (the widow of Patrick Carmichael, M. D.,*) I shall have occasion again to introduce the name, be- fore I conclude this narrative. * A learned and worthy physician, who, after a long residence in Holland, where he p^acti^ed medi- cine, retired to Glasgow. He was a younger son ol Professor Ger.-chnm Carmichael, who publshefl, about the year \~riO, an edition of Puffenriorff, De Officio H minis et Civis, and who is iironounced by Dr Hutcheson, " by far the liest cjimmentator on that book." [Carmichael was HiHchesoirs imrne. diate predecessor in the chair of M-ral Piiilosophy in the University ot Glasgow, and may be regarded, on good grounds, as the real founder of the Scottish school ot philosophy. — H.] A short extract from a letter addressed to myself by Dr Reid, not many weeks after his wife's death, will, I am persuaded, be acceptable to many, as an interesting relic of the writer. " By the loss of my bosom friend, with whom I lived fifty-two years, I am brought into a kind of new world, at a time of life when old habits are not easily forgot, or new ones acquired. But every world is God's world, and I am thankful for the comforts he has left me. Mrs Carmichael has now the care of two old deaf men, and does every thing in her power to please them ; and both are very sensible of her goodness. I have more health than, at my time of life, I had any reason to expect. I walk about ; entertain myself with reading what I soon forget ; can converse with one person, if he articulates distinctly, and is within ten inches of my left ear ; go to church, without hearing one word of what is said. You know I never had any pretensions to viva- city, but I am still free from languor and ennui. " If you are weary of this detail, impute it to the anxiety you express to know the state of my health. I wish you may have no more uneasiness at myage, — being yours most affectionately." About four years after this event, he was prevailed on, by his friend and relation, Dr Gregory, to pass a few weeks, during the summer of 1796, at Edinburgh. He was accompanied by .Mrs Carmichael, vvho lived with him in Dr Gregory's house ; a situation which united under the same roof, every advantage of medical care, of tender attachment, and of philosophical inter- course. As Dr Gregory's professional e:'.- gagements, however, necessarily interfered much with his attentions to his guest, I enjoyed more of Dr Reid's society than might otherwise have fallen to my share. I had the pleasure, accordingly, of spend- ing some hours with him daily, and of attending him in his walking excursions, which frequently extended to the distance of three or four miles. His faculties (ex- cepting his memory, which was considerably impaired) appeared as vigorous as ever ; and, although his deafness prevented him from taking any share in general conversa- tion, he was still able to enjoy the company of a friend. Mr Playfair and myself were both witnesses of the acuteness which he displayed on one occasion, in detecting a mistake, by no means obvious, in a manu- script of his kinsman, David Gregory, on the subject of " Prime and Ultimate Ratios." Nor had his temper suffered from the hand of time, either in point of gentleness or of gaiety. " Instead of repining at the en- joyments of the young, he delighted in pro- moting them ; and, after all the losses he OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 31 bad sustained in his own family, he con- tinued to treat children with such conde- scension and benignity, that some very young ones noticed the peculiar kindness of h s eye."* In apparent s-oundness and activity of body, he resembled more a man of sixty than of eighty-seven. He returned to Glasgow in his usual health and spirits ; and continued, for some weeks, to devote, as formerly, a regular por- tion of his time to the exercise both of body and of mind. It appears, from a letter of Dr Cleghorn's to Dr Gregory, that he was still able to work with his own hands in his garden ; and he was found by Dr Brow n, occupied in the solution of an algebraical problem of considerable difficulty, in which, after the labour of a day or two, he at last succeeded. It was in the course of the same short interval, that he coiimiitted to writing those particulars concerning his an- cestors, which I have already mentioned. This active and useful life was now, how- ever, drawing to a conclusion. A violent disorder attacked him about the end of September ; but does not seem to have occasioned much alarm to those about him, till he was visited bv Dr Cleghorn, who soon after comniunicated his apprehensions in a letter to Dr Gregory. Anionir other symptoms, he mentioned particularly "that alteration of voice and features which, though not easily described, is so well known to all who have opportunities of seeing life clo?e." Dr Reid's own opini(m of Ills case was probably the same with that of his physician ; as lie expressed to him on his first visit his hope that he was "soon to get his dismission." After a severe struggle, iittcndcd with repeated strokes of palsy, he ditd on the 7th of October following. Dr Circgory had the melancholy satisfaction of visiting his venerable friend on liis death- Il-iI, and of jjaying him tliis ur.avaiiingmark •if attachment before his powers of recol- lection were entirely gone. The only surviving descendant of Dr R<-id is Mrs Carmichael, a daughter worthy in every respect of such a father — long the chief comfort and supj)ort of his old age, and his anxious nurse in his last moments.t Jn point of bodily constitution, few men have been more indebted to nature than Dr Reid. His form was vigorons and athletic ; and his muscular force (though he was somewhat under the middle size) uiiconi- monly great; advantages to which his lialiits of temperance and exercise, and the un- clouded serenity of his temper, did ample • I have hnrrdwcd tliis ^Piifc-urr frciin a just anil elf'ttaiit cl.ar.icur ii( Dr Hciil, whirli :i|iiic.iriil, a few clayn attiT lii^ dc aili, in one ol the (Jlasijow journals 1 had fMcisiori frcquenlly to vriilV the ttulli ol the obscrvaiion during his vikit to Kduibiirgh. i Note F. justice. His countenance was strongly expressive of deep and collected thought ; but, when brightened up by the face of a friend, what chiefly caught the attention was a look of good-will and of kindness. A picture of him, for which he consented, at the particular request of Dr Gregory, to sit to Mr Raeburn, during his last visit to Edmburgh, is generally and justly ranked among the happiest performances of that excellent artist. The medallion of Tassie, also, for which he sat in the eighty-first year of liis age, presents a very perfect resemblance. I have little to add to what the foregoing pages contain with respect to his character. Its most pronuiient features were, intrepid and inflexible rectitude, a pure and devoted attachment to truth, and an enti.e crm- maiid (acquired by the unwearied exertions of a long life) over all his passions. Hence, in those parts of his writings where his subjectforces him to dispute the conclusions of others, a scrupulous rejection of every expression calculated to irritate those w horn he was anxious to convince : and a spirit of liberality and good-humour towards his opponents, from w hich no asperity on their part could provoke him for a moment to deviate. The progress of useful know ledge, more especially in what relates to human nature and to human life, he believed to be retarded rather than advanced by the in- temperance of controversy ; and to be secured most effectually wlien intrusted to the slow but irresistible influence of sober reasoiiing. That the argumentative talents of the disjiutants might be improved by such altercations, he was willing to allow ; but, considered in their connection w ith the great objects which all classes of writers piofess equally to liave in view, he was ccnvinced " that they have done more harm to the practice, than they have done service to the theory, of morality.' * In private life, no man ever maintained, more eminently or more miifoinily, the dignity of jihilosophy ; combining with the most amiable modesty and gentleness, the noblest spiiit of indej)endci;ce. 'i'he only jirel'ernients which he ever enjoyed he owed to the unsolicited favour of the two learned Ijodies who successively adopted him into their number ; and the respectable rank which he supported in society was the well- eained reward of liis own academical la- bours. The studies in which he deliglited were little calculated to draw on him the jiatronage of the great ; and he was un- skilled in the art of courting advancement bv " fashioning his doctrines to the varying hour.'' As a philosopl or, his genius was more * Preface to !'■ [>c's " Tssay on Man." 32 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS peculiarly characterised by a sound, cautious, distinguishing judgment, by a singula r jiatience and pcr.severance ol' thougiit, anil by habits of the most fixed and concentrated attention to his own mental operations ; endowments wliicli, although not the most splendid in the estimation of the multitude, would seem entitled, from the history of science, to rank among the rarest gifts of the mind. With these habits and powers, he united (what does not always accompany them) the curiosity of a naturalist, and the eye of an observer ; and, accordingly, his inform- ation about everything relating to physical science, and to the useful arts, was exten- sive and accurate. Ilis memory for his- torical details was not so remarkable ; and he used sometimes to regret the imperfect decree in which he possessed this faculty. I am inclined, however, to think, that, in doing so, he underrated his natural advan- tages ; estimating the strength of memory, as men commonly do, rather by the recol- lection of particular facts, than by the ])os- sess on of those general conclusions, from a subserviency to which such facts derive their principal value. Towards the close of life, indeed, his memory was much less vigorous than the other powers of his intellect ; in none of which could I ever perceive any symptom of decline. His ardour for knowledge, too, remained unextinguished to the last ; and, when cherished by the society of the young and inquisitive, seemed even to increase with his years. What is still more remark- able, he retained, in extreme old age, all the sympathetic tenderness and all the moral sensibility of youth ; the liveliness of his emotions, wherever the happiness of others was concerned, forming an aft'ecting con- trast to his own unconquerable firmness under the severest trials. Xor was the sensibility which he retained the selfish and steriie offspring of taste and indolence. It was alive and active, wher- ever he could command the means of re- lieving the distresses or of adding to the comforts of others ; and was often felt in its effects, where he was unseen and unknown. Among the various proofs of this which have happened to fall under my own know- ledge, I cannot help mentioning ]jarticularly (upon the most unquestionable authority) the secrecy with which he conveyed his occasional benefactions to his former parish- ioners at New-.AIachar, long after his esta- blishment at Glasgow. One donaticju, in particular, during the scarcity of 17<''- — a donation which, notwithstanding all liis precautions, was distinctly traced to his beneficence — mig'it perhaps have been thought dispropoitionate to his limited in- come, had not his own siujple and moderate I habits multiplied the resources of his I humanity. His opinions on the most important sub- jects are to be found in his works ; and that s})irit of piety which animated every part r the love I bear to the town of New Aberdeen, and wishing the new college and schools thereof should flouri^h," is still extant amongst the town's records. He had pur. chased in Ins travels some of the best editions of the classics and commentators upon them, which were then to be obtained. His brother Alexander, M.D , (.Stewart, p. 4,) died in London about ItiJl-. In 1630, he intimated to the magistrates of Aberdeen his having bequeathed his books a;'d MSS., and funds for bursaries to the col. lege; and, in a letter to them, (4th Oct 1(133, ) he trans'mitted £110 sterling for the latter pur|iose. From a paper, dated in 1736, in Dr Thomas Reid's hand-writing, it appears that he had an intention nf being served heir to his direct progenitor, Robert, the brother and heir of Secretary Reid in i6^4, in order to enable h'm to insti' ute a suit with the mat;i.strates of Aberdeen, about their management ot the fund left bv his ancestor for the librarian's salary, which fund had been greatly ddapidatcd by them since 1677. I'his was, however, rendered unnccess.iry by a decision of the Court of Session, which deprived them of the patronage ot that office, and restored it to the persons in whom the Secretary's will had vested it. Dr Reid appears from the College records, to have been in Dr (i. Turnbull's class, (as Mr Stewart men. tions p. 4,) studying under him three sessions, and becoming A. M in 17i6. He entered college in H^-i, and was in the first fireek class taught by Dt Thomas Blackwell, afterwards Principal, and celebrated, at the time, for his strenuous attempts to revive the study of the Greek language in the northern parts of Scotland. Dr lieid had entered in'o this plan with enthu- siasm ; for his pupil and colleague, the late Professor William Ogilvie, used to relate that he had heard him recite to his class, demonstrations of Euclid in the original language The sermon which was preached by Mr John Bis- set, on the day of moderating a call for Dr Reid, (to the parish of New-Machar, near Aberdeen,) p. 5, attracted much attention, and continued to be long a favourite with the opponents of patronage. P. 6. Immediately on Dr Reid's appointment to the place of one of the Regents of King's College, he prevailed on his colleagues to make great improve- ments in their system of University education. Tlie session was extended from five to seven months. [ 39 ] CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. The follow-ing correspondence consists of three consecutive series. The /'•«/, for which I am indebted to my friend, Alexander Thomson, Esq., of Ban- chory, extends from 1764 to 1770, and contains letters by Reid, during the first six years after his removal to Glasgow, to Dr Andrew Skene, and his son, Dr David Skene, physicians in Aberdeen. This correspondence was terminated, by the death of the father, in 1767, and of the son, in 1771- Both were highly eminent in their profession; but the latter, who hardly reached the age of forty, was one of the most zealous culti- vators of the natural sciences in Scotland, and the valued correspondent of Linnaeus, Pennant, Lord Kames, and other distinguished contemporaries. These letters afford what was perhaps wanting to Mr Stewart's portraiture of Reid — they shew us the philo. sopher in all the unaffected simplicity of his character, and as he appeared to his friends in the familiar intercourse of ordinary life. The second series comprises the letters addressed to Lord Kames, as given in Lord Woodhouselee's Memoirs of the Life and Writings of that ingeuious philosopher. They extend from 1772 to 1782, and are chiefly of scientific interest. The third series contains a selection from Reid's letters to his kinsman, the late Dr James Gregory, Professor of the Practice of Medicine in the University of Edinburgh. Dr Gregory is known, not only as a distinguished physician, but as one of the most elegant scholars and vigorous thinkers of his time. He was indeed a remai-kable member even of a family in which, for two centuries, talent would almost seem to have been entailed. To Dr Gregory and Mr Dugald Stewart, Reid appropriately dedicated his prin- cipal work — the " Essays on the Intellectual Powers." The correspondence, which is of varied interest, extends from 1783, and was only terminated by Reid's death in 1796. I owe my best thanks to John Gregory, Esq., for the flattering manner in which he placed these valuable letters at my disposal ; but my friend Dr Alison is not the only other member of the family for whose kindness I have also to express my obligation — H. A.— LETTERS TO DRS ANDREW AND DAVID SKENE. I. TO DR ANDREW SKENE. Glasgow, Nov. 1 4th, 1764. Dear Sir, — I have been for a long time wishing for as much leisure as to write you, if it was only to revive the memory of the many happy hours which I have enjoyed in your company, when, tete-a- tete, we sat down to speak freely of men and things, without reserve and without malignity. The time slipt away so smootlily. humanity clasriwas added, on a higher scale than had been taiiMht pri-viously ; and the teaching of the tie. ments of Latin, by the Profensor of Humanity, dis. cotiiinued ; eoiiic of the fimall bursaries were united ; mid an account of these alterations was given to tlie I'Ublic ill a -mall tract, puhlislied in nm Dr Heid Wrts in favour of one prolcusor tcachinR Ihe wliolc, or the greater part of the curriculum, and ilierefore did nr t follow the i)lan of eonfminf,' the professors to W-paratc I rnn< hes, as hnd been eri»Mit(- prove, that the worst and the nin*t c<'rriii)t depositaries of acadeir'cal pa. ironape arc a scU-ilrciivc body of prolessors.— H. ♦ Not St Francii), hut St Antony (of Tadua.)— H. don't know what pleasure he had in his audience ; but I should have none in mine if there was not in it a mixture of reason- able creatures. I confess I think there is a smaller proportion of these in my class this year than was the last, although the number of the whole is not less. I have long been of the opinion, that, in a right con- stituted college, there ought to be two Pro- fessors for each class — one for the dunces, and another for those who have parts. The province of the former would not be the most agreeable, but, perhaps, it would require the greatest talents, and, therefore, ought to be accounted the post of honour. There is no part of my time more disagree- ably speut than that which is spent in College meetings, of which we have often five or six in a week. And I should have been attending one this moment if a bad cold I have got had not furnished me with an excuse. These meetings are become more disagreeable by an evil spirit of party that seems to put us in a ferment, and, I am afraid, will produce bad consequences. The temper of our northern colonies makes our mercantile people here look very grave. Several of them are going to Lon- don about this matter, to attend the pro- ceedings of Parliament. It is said that tho effects in those colonies belonging to this town amount to above £400,000 sterling. The mercantile people are for suspending the stamp-act, and redressing the grievances of the colonists. Others consider their conduct as an open rebellion, and an avowed claim to independence, which ought to be checked in the beginning. They say that, for all their boasting, the colonists are a das- tardly, pusillanimous race, and that a Bri- tish fieet and army would soon reduce them to such terms as would secure their future dependence upon the mother country; that this is the most proper time for doing so when we are at peace with all our neigh- bours. In what light the House of Com- mons will view this matter, I don't know, but it seems to be one of the most import- ant matters that have come before tliein. I wish often an evening with you, such as we have enjoyed in the days of former times, to settle the important afi'airs of State and Church, of Colleges and Corpora- tions. I have found this the best expedient to enable me to think of them without melancholy and chagrin. And I think all that a man has to do in the world is to keep his tenij)er and to do his duty. Mrs Reid is tolerably well just now, but is often ailing. She desires to be remenibered to you and all your iamily.— I am, dear Sir, Yours most affectionately, Thomas Ukid. Glasyou. Dec. 30, 1705. 44 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. TO DR I>AVID SKENE. Glasgow, 23 March I766. Dear Sir, — I had yours of the 14th, and this moment that of Thursday the 20, with the inclosed, a letter from your papa by Mr Duguid, with your circular thermo- meter. I returned the thermometer, re- paired by Mr Annan, who left this two days ago, but was to be a week at Edinburgh in his return. I shall remember Sir Archi- bald Grant's commission, but must take some time to think of it. What would you think of Alex. Mearns in Gordon's Hospi- tal ? If you are not acquainted with him, you may learn his qualities, and tell me your sentiments. I shall likewise mind your elliptical thermometer. Mr Stewart's* death affects me deeply. A sincere friendship, begun at twelve years of age, and continued to my time of life without any interruption, cannot but give you some pangs. You know his worth, yet it was shaded ever since you knew him by too great abstraction from the world- The former part of his life was more amiable and more social, but the whole was of a piece in virtue, candour, and humanity. I have often regretted that the solicitude of providing for a numerous family, and the labour of managing an -estate and a farm, should make a man in a great measure unknown, whose virtue, integrity, and judg- ment ought to have shone in a more exten- sive sphere. His scholars could not but observe and revere his virtues ; and I have no doubt but great numbers of them have reaped great improvement by him in matters of higher importance than mathematical knowledge. I have always regarded him as my best tutor, though of the same age with me. If the giddy part of my life was in any degree spent innocently and virtuously, I owe it to him more than to any human creature ; for I could not but be virtuous in his company, and I could not be so happy in any other. But I must leave this pleas- ing melancholy subject. He is happy; and I shall often be happy in the remembrance of our friendship ; and I hope we shall meet again. There is no such thing as chjTnical fur- naces made here tor sale. They are made of plate iron; and a white-iron-man manages that material better than a blacksmith. But you must direct them in everything, and be still over tlie work. I can give but an imperfect account of • John Stuart, Professor of Mathematics in Marischal Collefte. This ch -ir is in the presentation of the Town Council of Aberdeen ; and on the va- cmcy, by Smart's death, Dr Keidwas aiipointed one of the examinators of candidates lor the office — H- the doctrine of latent heat ; but some liint I shall give, trusting entirely to your honout that you will be cautious not to make any use of it that may endanger the discoverer being defrauded of his property. There is in every body a certain quantity of heat, which makes a part of its form or constitution, and which it never parts with without losing or changing its form. This is called the latent heat of that body. All or most bodies have three different forms — hardness, fluidity, and steam or vapour. Take water, for an example, in its hard state, that of ice : we have no means of knowing what latent heat it may contain ; but in its fluid state it has about 140° of latent heat more than it had in the state of ice. This heat is latent while the water is fluid ; it does not affect the thermometer, nor pro- duce any other effect but that of making the body fluid. In the very act of melting from the state of ice to that of water, 140° of heat is absorbed from the circumambient bodies without making the water sensibly warmer than the ice ; and in the act of passing from the state of water to that of ice, 140° of heat which was latent in the water becomes sen- sible, and must pass from the water to the ambient bodies before it can wholly be con- verted into ice. As there is no intermediate state between water and ice, a very small pari of the water freezes at once ; and the latent heat of that part being communicated to the remaining water, the freezing even in the coldest air goes on piecemeal, according as the latent heat goes off first into the water not yet frozen, and from that into the air or ambient bodies. Spermaceti, in passing from a solid to a perfectly fluid form, requires about 150'^ of heat, which becomes latent ; bees' wax about 160°. But there is this remarkable difference between these bodies — as well as iron and some other metals on the one hand, and water on the other — that the former soften by degrees, so that there are many intermediate degrees of softness be- tween the hardest state which the body takes by cold, and the state of perfect fluidity ; whereas in water there seems to be no intermediate degree between perfect ice and perfect water. Accordingly, in spermaceti, bees' wax, and iron, the latent heat is more or less, according to the de- gree of softness ; but in water it is always the same. As water has about 140° of latent heat more than ice, so steam has about 800° of latent heat more than water ; hence, an ounce of steam, though it have little more sensible heat than boyling water, will heat the cold water that condenses it almost as much as four ounces of boyling water would do. I can only at present give you an experiment or two of the many by which this tlieory is confirmed. But LETTERS TO DRS A. AND D. SKENE. 45 first, it 13 proper to observe, that equal quantities of the same fluid of different temperatures, being mixed, tlie tempera- ture of the mixed fluid is always an arith- metical mean between the temperatures of the ingredients. Thus, if a pound of water of 40° be mixed with a pound of 100", the mixed is found precisely (iO^. This has been tried in an infinite variety of cases, and found to hold invariably, proper allowance being made for the heat communicated to the vessels, or drawn from them in the operation. Experiment 1. — Two Florence flasks had six ounces of water put into each. In one it was made to freeze ; in the other brought as near as possible to the freezing point without freezing — that is, to about 'S'S\ Both were set to warm in a large warm room. The unfrozen water soon came to the temperature of the room ; but the frozen water took eleven or twelve hours to dis- solve, and for the greatest part of that time was not sensibly heated. A calculation was made upon the supposition that the frozen water had as much heat communi- cated to it every half hour as the unfrozen water had the first half hour. The result of this calculation was, that the frozen water had absorbed I'dG' or 140° of heat in melting, over and above that which affected the thermometer. Exp. 2. — Six ounces of ice of the tem- perature of 32° had six ounces of boyling water poured upon it. The ice melted im- mediately, and the whole water was 52° temperature. Exp. 3. — From Musschenbroek, with a little variation. WJien the air is ten degrees below the freezing point, set a deep, narrow beer-glass of water to freeze, and let it re- main perfectly at rest, without the least motion. Tlie water will cool regularly below 32° without freezing, even to 22° ; but, as soon as it is disturbed, a number of icy spiculte are formed ; and in the same moment the sensible heat rises to 32°, and contiimes so till all is frozen. I need not tell you, that by sensible heat is meant that wliich diffuses itself to the ambient bodies till all are brought to an equilibrium. Of this the thermometer is the measure. But latent heat adheres to the body without any tendency to diffuse itself to other bodies, unless they are able to change the foi m of the body from vapour to a fluid, or from a fluid to iceorhardncss — then the latent heat goes off to otiier bodies, and becomes sensible. I liope you will un- derstand me, tJiough I have wrote in a great hurry. Yet I cannot find that Culien or the Ivlinburgh people know anything of this matt(.T. I may give y(;u more of tliu ex- periments afterwards. Thomas Ram. VI. TO DR DAVID SKENE. G/as„ow, l8lJi April [176G.] Dear Sin, — There is like to be a vacancy in one of the medical professions of this col- lege, by the I'emoval of .Joseph Black to Edinburgh. I thought, when I heard of Dr White's death, that there was very little probability of our losing Dr Black by that event ; because the Clnniical Profession in Edinburgh was that which was thought fittest for Dr Black ; and there was good reason to think that Culien would not give up the Chemistry for the Theory of Medi- cine—though he would very willingly ex- change it for the Practice of Medicine. But I was informed late yesternight, that Dr Black is willing to accept of the Theory of Medicine in Edinburgh, and that the Council are certainly to present him. I am very dubious whether his place here would be worth your accej)tance ; but I am sure it would be so much the mterest of this society to have such a man in it, (and I need not say how agreeable it would be to me,) that I beg leave to inform you of what 1 know of -the state of the matter, that you may think of it, and let me know your thoughts. The salary of Dr Black's place, is £50 as Professor of the Theory and Practice of Medicine ; and the presentation is in the Crown. The recommendation of the College would probably have great weight, if unanimous ; but I think there is no pro- bability of an unanimous recommendation ; so that the Court interest must probably determine it. Dr Black, and Dr Culien be- fore him, had £20 yearly from the College, for teaching chemistry ; and the College have, from time to time, allowed, I believe, above £500 for a laboratory. The chemical class this session might bring £50 or £G0 of fees, and the medical class from £20 to £30; so that the wIkjIc salary and fees will be between £140 .and £100. At th. same time, the College can at any time withdraw the £20, and give that and the chemical laboratory to another ; and it is not improbable that this may be done if one be presented of whose al)ilities in clu^mistry tlie College is not satisfied. Dr Black, of late, had got a great deal of practice in Ijie medical way, so as to leave him but little time for prose- cuting his chemical discourses, and I think you might expect the same after some time; for he had no natural connectinn hero: it was his merit alone that brought him into it; and he long resisted, instead of courting it ; so that it was in a manner forced ujioil him. The other medical Professor has anatomy and botany for his jiroviiice ; Jie lias a jiiMid analonn'cal class; but he doea 46 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. not teach botany at all, nor is, as I appre- hend, qualified to teach it. All I have far- ther to say is, that there is a great spirit of inquiry here among the young people. Lite- rary merit is much regarded ; and I con- ceive the opportunities a man has of improv- ing himself are much greater than at Aber- deen. The communication with Edinburgh is easy. One goes in the stage-coach to Edin- burgh before dinner ; has all the afternoon there ; and returns to dinner at Glasgow next day : so that, if you have any ambition to get into the College of Edinburgh, (which, I think, you ought to have,) I conceive Glasgow would be a good step. Now, sir, if you incline this place, you must, without delay, try your interest at Court, and get the best recommendations you can to the members of this College. The Principal and Mr Clow are not engaged ; they are the only persons to whom I have made known, or intend to make known, my writing to you. Lord Findlater's interest, I think, would have weight with Trail and Williamson. I am told of three candidates — Dr Stevenson, in Glasgow; Dr Smith Carmichael, a young doctor, presently at London ; and one Dr Stork, who was educated here. Each of these, I apprehend, has interest with some of the members, and depend upon them ; so that we will probably be divided, and, con- sequently, our recommendation, if any is given, will have little weight at Court. If, after due deliberation, you tliink it not worth your while to stir in this matter for yourself, will you be so good as communicate the state of the case to Dr George Skene ?* He is the man — that is, next to you — I would be fond of for a colleague ; and in this I think I am determined more by the public good than my private. VIL TO UR ANDREW SKENE. Dear Sir, — I cannot presently lay my hand upon the last letter I had from you, and I beg you will impute it to that and to my bad memory if there was anything in it I ought to answer. I have sent by the bearer, Mr Duguid, merchant in Aberdeen, an elliptical thermometer for Dr David, which I could not find an opportunity of sending till now. Mrs Reid was, this day, at one in the afternoon, brought to bed of a daughter, whom we have named Elizabeth, and I hope is in a good way We liave had great canvassing here about * A third Ahe»donian physician of distinction, ot the name of Skene, but not a relation, at least not a near relation, ol the other two He was Protessoi of Philosophy, Marischal C ollege; an eminent scholar; and father of the late Solicitor.General._H. a Professor of the Theory and Practice of J'hysic, to succeed Dr Jo. Black, although all that we do is to recommend one to the King, who has the presentation. Dr Stevenson, a son of the late Dr Stevenson in Edinburgh, who has by much the best practice in this town and neighbourhood, has obtained a recommendation from the majority of the College, not without much interest. The only objection to him was his great practice, which it was thought might tempt liim to neglect regular teach- ing. And, I believe, the majority would have preferred to him any man of character wlio had not such a temptation to neglect the duties of his office. However, the strongest assurances that he would not ne- glect the class— nay, that he would think himself bound in honour to give up the Profession if he could not keep up a class, brought in a majority to sign a recom- mendation in his favour ; and, as he has a strong interest at Court, and no rival, as far as we know, it is thought he will be the man. He declines teaching the chemistry class, which is in the gift of the College, and, I conceive, will be given to one of Dr Black's scholars. My class will be over in less than a month, and by that time I shall be glad to have some respite. I hope to have the pleasure of seeing my friends at Aberdeen in the month of August, if not sooner. We have had a thronger College this year than ever before. I had som« reason to think that I should not have so good a class as last year, and was dis- appointed, for it was somewhat better. I expect a good one next winter, if I live so long. The Irish, on whom we depend much, have an ebb and flow, as many of them come but one year in two. We have been remarkably free from riots and dis- orders among the students, and I did not indeed expect that 350 young fellows could have been kept quiet, for so many months, with so little trouble. They commonly attend so many classes of different profes- sors, from half-an-hour after seven in the morning till eight at night, that they have little time to do mischief. You'll say to all this that cadgers are aye speaking of crooksaddles. I think so they ought ; besides, I have nothing else to say to you, and I have had no time to think of anything but my crooksaddles for seven months past. When the session is over I must rub up my mathematicks against the month of August. There is one candidate for your Profession of Mathematicks to go from this College ; and, if your College get a better man or a better mathematician, they will be very lucky. I am so sensible of the honour the magistrates have done me in naming me to be one of the examinators, that I will not decline it, though, I confess, LETTERS TO DRS A. AND D. SKENE. 47 I like the honour better than the office — I am, dear Sir, Yours most affectionately, Thomas Reid. Glasgow, 8th May, 1766. Half an hour after eleven at night. VIII. TO DR ANDREW SKENE. When you are dis- posed to laugh you may look into the in- closed proposals from a physician here who has been persecuting everybody with an edition of Celsus, and now with an index to him as large as the book. Another physi- cian here is printing a History of Medicine, and of all the arts and sciences from the beginning to the present time, four vols. 8vo, price one guinea. He is not thought mad, but whimsical. I have not the pro- posals to send you, and I suppose I have sei.t enough of this kind. We authors had rather be known for madmen or fools than pass our lives in obscurity. Stevenson's presentation to the Profession of Medicine here is not yet come, but is expected as cer- tain. The College have appointed a Lec- turer in Chemistry, and one in Materia Medica, for next session. I think we might have a college of medicine here if we had an infirmary. I think our surgeons eclipse our M.D's. I do not hear much of the last, if you except Black and Stevenson. Our Professor of Anatomy is not an M.D., otherwise I would have excepted him also. Have you ever tried the seeds of the dau- cus sylveslrh in nephritick cases ? It has been much t.ilked of of late. I never saw it in the north, but it is pretty common in the fields here. — I am, dear Sir, Yours most affectionately, THo^fAS Reid. C.lasyow. lolh Juli/ 1/66. IX. TO DR ANDRKW SKENE. GlasffMv College, Dec. 17, 1766. ... I live now in the College, and have no disUmce to walk to my class in dark mornings, as I had before. I enjoy tliis case, though I am not sure whether the necessity of walking up and down a steep hill three or four times a-day, was not of use. I have of late had a little of your distemper, finding a giddiness in my head when I lie down or rise, or turn myself in my bed. Our College is very well peopled this eeHsion ; my jiublic claHM is above three score, besides the private class. Dr Smith never had so many in one year. There is nothing so xmeasy to me here as our fac- tions in the College, which seem to be rather more infiamed than last session. Will you take the trouble to ask of Dr David, whether he knows of a bird called a stankhen.* It is a water fowl, less than a duck, with scolloped membranes at the toes, but not close-footed, and has a crest on the forehead of the same kind of sub- stance with a cock's comb, but whiteand flat. It has a very fishy taste, and is found here in the lochs. If he has none of this kind, I could send him one when I find a proper occasion. I am, with entire affection and regard, dear Sir, yours, Thomas Reid. X. TO DR DAVID SKENE. G/a^gow College, 25'A Feby. I767. Dear Sir, — I intend to send your stank- hen along with the funiace, which was ready long ago, and I suppose would have been sent before now, but that Dr Irvine was confined a long time by a megrim, and was like to lose one eye by it ; but is now pretty well recovered, and intends to send your furnace this week. Since the repeal of the stamp-act, trade, which was languishing, has revived in this place, and there is a great bustle and great demand for money. We are now resolved to have a canal from Carron to this place, if the Parliament allows it. £40,000 was subscribed last week by the merchants and the Carron Company for this purpose ; and commissioners are immediately going up to London to apply for an act of Parlia- ment. The freight upon this canal is not to exceed twopence per ton for every mile ; the land carriage is more than ten times as much. Our medical college has fallen off greatly this session, niost of tlie students of medi- cine having followed Dr Black ; however, our two medical professors and two lec- turers have each of them a class, and Irvine expects a great many to attend him for botany in summer. The natural .and moral philoso])hy classes are more numerous than they have ever been ; but I expect a great falling off, if 1 see; another session. The Lecturer in Chemistry has general approba- tion. He chiefly follows Dr Black and Stalil. Tiiere is a book of Stahl's, called " Three Hundred Exjx riments," which ho greatly admires, and very often quotes. I was just now seeing your furnace along with ♦ The RalliiiuU Chloropus. — H. 48 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. Irvine ; I think it a very decent piece of furniture for a man of your profession, and that no limb of the faculty should be without one, accompanied with a proper apparatus of retorts, cucurbits, &c. For my part, if I could find a machine as proper for ana- lyzing ideas, moral sentiments, and other materials belonging to the fourth kingdom, I believe I should find in my heart to be- stow the money for it. I have the more use for a machine of this kind, because my alembick for performing these operations — I mean my cranium — has been a little out of order this winter, by a vertigo, which has made my studies go on heavily, though it has not hitherto interrupted my teaching. I have found air and exercise, and a clean stomach, the best remedies ; but I cannot command the two former as often as I could wish. I am sensible that the air of a crowded class is bad, and often thought of carrying my class to the common hall ; but I was afraid it might have been construed as a piece of ostentation. I hope you are carrying on your natural history, or something else, in the Club, with a view to make the world wiser. What is my Lord Linnseus doing ? Are we ever to expect his third volume upon the fossile kingdom or not ? We are here so busie reading lec- tures, that we have no time to write. . . . XI. TO UK DAVID SKENE. Glasgow Col'ege, 14 Sepf. 1767. Dear Sir, — It gives me much surprise, as well as aftliction, to hear from niv daughter Patty, of the death of my dear friend, your papa. Fifteen years ago it would have been no surprise ; but for some years back, I thouglit there was great probability that his life aud usefulness might have had a longer period. I can never, while I remember anything, forget the many agreeable hours I have en- joyed with him, in that entire confidence and friendship which give relish to life. I never had a friend that shewed a more hearty affection, or a more uniform dispo- sition to be obliging and useful to me and to my family. I had so many opportuni- ties of observing his disinterested concern to be useful in his profession to those from whom he could expect no return, his sym- pathy with the distressed, and his assiduity m giving them his best assistance, that, if I had had no personal friendship with him, I could not but lament his death as a very great and general loss to the place. It is very uncommon to find a man that at any time of life, much more at his, possessed the active, the contemplative, and the social disposition at once in so great vigour. I sincerely sjTnpathize with you ; and I beg you will assure each of your brothers and sisters of my sympathy ; and that, besides my personal regard to every one of them, I hold myself to be under the strongest obligation from gratitude and regard to the memory of my deceased friend, if I can ever be of the least use to any of them. You are now, dear Sir, in the providence of God, called to be a father as well as a brother ; and I doubt not but you will ac- quit yourself in that character as y|ifniliX to (IMP nC Lord Kaiiics'ii" Sketches of the History (il Mail ■•— H. V. 50 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. would be fond of your acquaintance. As to myself, the immaterial world has swal- lowed up all my thoughts since I came here ; but I meet with few that have travelled far in that region, and am often left to pursue my dreary way ui a more solitary manner than when we used to meet at the club. What ia LinniBus doing ? When you have leisure, indulge me with the pleasure of knowing that you have not forgot, dear Sir, your affectionate friend, Thomas Reid. B.— LETTERS TO LORD KAMES. ON THE DOCTRINE OF NECESSITY IN RELA- TION TO MORALS. Glasgow College, 3d Dec. 1772. Mv Lord, — I was very glad to under- stand, by the letter you honoured me with of >Jovember 9, that you got safe home, after a long journey, in such dreadful rainy weather. I got to Mr C 's on horse- back soon after you left me, where I was in good warm quarters. The case you state is very proper, to dis- cover how far we differ with respect to the influence of the doctrine of necessity upon morals. A man in a mad fit of passion stabs his best friend ; immediately after, he condemns himself ; and, at last, is condemned by a court of justice, although his passion was no less irresistible than if he had been pushed on by external violence. My opinion of the case, my Lord, is this : if the passion was really as irresistible as you represent it, both in its beginning and progress, the man is innocejit in the sight of God, who knows that he was driven as by a whirlwind, and that, the moment he was master of himself, he abhorred the action as much as a good man ought to do. At the same time, he reasonably may condemn himself, and be condemned by a court of justice. He condemns himself, because, from his very constitution, he has a conviction that his passion was not irresistible. Every man has this conviction as long as he be- lieves himself not to be really mad, and incapable of self-government. Even if he is a fatalist in speculation, that will not hinder this natural conviction when his conscience smites him, anymore than specu- lative scepticism will hinder a man from apprehension of danger when a cart runs against him. The court of justice condemns him for the same reason, because they believe that his passion was not irresistible. But, if it could be proved that the man was really incapa- ble of bridling his passion — that is, that he was really mad— then the court of justice ought not to punish him as a criminal, but to confine him as a madman. AVhat is madness, my Lord ? In my opinion, it is such weakness in the power of self-government, or such strength of pas- sion, as deprives a man of the command of himself. The madman has will and inten- tion, but he has no power to restrain them. If this madness continues so long as to be capable of proof from the tenor of a man's actions, he is no subject of criminal law, because he is not a free agent. If we sup- pose real madness to continue but for a moment, it makes a man incapable of a crime, wliile it lasts, as if it had continued for years. But a momentary madness can have no effect to acquit a man in a court of justice, because it cannot be proved. It would not even hinder him from condemn- ing himself, because he cannot know that he was mad. In a word, if, by a mad fit of passion, your Lordship means real madness, though temporary, and not permanent, the man is not criminal for what this fit of madness produced. A court of justice would not impute the action to him, if this could be proved to be the case. But if, by a mad fit of passion, you mean only a strong pas- sion, which still leaves a man the power of self-government, then he is accountable for his conduct to God and man ; for every good man — yea, every man that would avoid the most heinous crimes— must at some times do violence to very strong passions. But hard would be our case indeed, if we were required, either by God or man, to resist irresistible passions. You think that will and intention is suf- ficient to make an action imputable, even though that will be irresistibly determined. I beg leave to dissent, for the following reasons : — 1 A n invincible error of the understanding, of memory, of judgment, or of reasoning, is not imputable, for this very reason, that it is invincible : why, then, should an error of the will be imputable, when it is supposed equally invincible ? God Almighty has given us various powers of understanding and of will. They are all equally his workmanship. Our LETTERS TO LORD KAMES. 51 understandings may deviate from truth, as vnr wills may deviate from virtue. You will allow tliat it would be unjust and tyran- nical to punish a man for unavoidable devi- ations from truth. Where, then, is the justice of condemning and punishing him for the deviations of another faculty, which are equally unavoidable ? You say we are not to judge of this mat- ter by reasons, but by the moral sense. Will you forgive me, my Lord, to put you in mind of a saying of Mr Hobbes, that when reason is against a man he will be against reason. I hope reason and the moral sense are so good friends as not to differ upon any point. But, to be serious, 1 agree with your Lordship, that it is the moral sense that must judge of this point, whether it be just to punish a man for doing what it was not in his power not to do. The very ideas or notions of just and un- just are got by the moral sense ; as the ideas of blue and red are got by the sense of seeing. And as by the sense of seeing we de- termine that this body is red, and thatisblue; so, by the moral sense, we determine this action tobejust,andthattobeunjust. Itisby the moral sense that I determine, in general, that it is unjust to require any duty of a man which it is not in his power to perform. By the same moral sense, in a particular case, I determine a man to be guilty, upon finding that he did the deed voluntarily and with intention, without making any inquiry about his power. Tlie way to reconcile these two determinations I take to be this : — that, in the last case, I take for granted the man's power, because the common sense of man- kind dictates, that what a man did volun- tarily and with intention, he had power not to do. 2. A second reason of my dissent is. That the guilt of a bad action is diminished in proportion as it is more difficult to resist the motive. Suppose a man entrusted with a secret, the betraying of which to the ene- my may ruin an army. If he discloses it for a bribe, however great, he is a villain and a traitor, and deserves a thousand deaths. But, if he falls into the enemy's hands, and tlie secret be wrested from him by the rack, our sentiments are greatly ciianged; we do not charge him with vil- laiiy, but with weakness. We liardly at all blame a woman in such a case, because we conceive torture, or the fear of present death, to be a motive hardly resistible by the weaker sex. As it is, therefore, tlie uniform judgment of mankind, that, where the deed is tlie same, and the will and intention the same, the degree of guilt must depend upon the difficulty of resisting the motive, will it not follow, that, when the motive is absolutely irresistible, the guilt vanishes altogether ? 3. That this is the common sense of mankind, appears further from the way in which we treat madmen. They have will and intention in what they do ; and, there- fore, if no more is necessary to constitute a crime, they ought to be found guilty of crimes. Yet no man conceives that they can be at all subjects of criminal law. For what reason ? for this, in my opinion, that they have not that power of self-command which is necessary to make a man account- able for his conduct. You suppose, my Lord, a physical power to forbear an action even when it is neces- sary. But this I cannot grant. Indeed, upon the system of free agency, I can easily conceive a power which ia not exerted ; but, upon the system of necessity, there can be no such thing— every power that acts by necessity must be exerted. I do indeed think, that a man may act without a motive ; and that, when the mo- tives to action lie all on one side, he may act in contradiction to them. But I a^ree with your Lordship, that all such actions are capricious ; and I apprehend that, if there were no actions of this kind, there could be no sucli thing as caprice, nor any word in language to signify it : for why should every language have a word to sig- nify a thing which never did nor can exist ? I agree also with your Lordship, that there can be no merit in such an action, even if it is innocent. But if it is vicious, it has the highest degree of demerit ; for it it is sinning without any temptation, and serving the devil without any wages. It ought to be observed, however, that a vir- tuous action can never be capricious; because there is always a just and sufficient motive to it. For, if I have no other motive, I must at least have this, that is a worthy action, and is my duty ; which, in reason, ought to weigh down all motives that can be put into the opposite scale. A capricious action may be innocent, and then it is folly ; or it may be vicious, and then it is pure wickedness. Liberty, like all other good gifts of God, may be abused. As civil liberty may be abused to licentiousness, so our natural liberty may be abused to caprice, folly, and vice. But the proper exercise of liberty ia, after weighing duly the motives on both sides, to be determined, not by the strongest mo- tive, but by that which has most authority. It is of great importance in this matter, to distinguish between the authority of mo- tives and their force. The part that is decent, that is manly, that is virtuous, that is noble, has always authority upon its side. Every man feels this authority in his own breast ; and there are few men so wicked as not to yield to it when it has no antago- nist. r « 52 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. But pleasure, interest, passion, slotli, often muster a great force on the other side, which, though it has no authority, has often the greater power ; and a conflict arises between these opposite parties. Every man is conscious of this conflict in liis own breast, and is too often carried down by tlie superior force of the party which he knows to have no authority. This is the conflict which Plato describes between reason and appetite ; this is the conflict which the New Testament describes between the spirit and the flesh. The op- posite parties, like Israel and Am.alek, dis- pute the victory in the plain. When the self-determining power, like Moses upon the mount, lifts up its hand and exerts itself, then Israel prevails, and virtue is triumphant ; but when its hands hang down and its vigour flags, then Amalek prevails. I am, my dear Lord, most respectfully yours, Tho. Reid. II. ON THE MATERIALISM OP PRIESTLEY AND THE EGOISM OF FRENCH PHILOSOPHERS. 1775. Dr Priestley, in his last book, thinks that the power of perception, as well as all the other powers that are termed mental, is the result of such an organical structure as that of the brain. Consequently, saj's he, the whole man becomes extinct at death, and we have no hope of surviving the grave, but what is derived fiom the light of Revelation. I would be glad to know your Lordship's opinion, whether, when my brain has lost its original structure, and when, some hun- dred years after, the same materials are again fabricated so curiously as to become an intelligent being, whether, I say, that being will be mc ,•• or, if two or three such beings should be formed out of my brain, whether they will all be me, and conse- quently all be one and the same intelligent being. This seems to me a great mystery, but Priestley denies all mysteries. He thinks, and rejoices in thinking so, that jjlants have some degree of sensation. As to the ■lower animals, they differ from us in degree only, and not in kind. Only they have no promise of a resurrection. If this be true, why should not the King's advocate be ordered to prosecute criminal brutes, and " Our English / being of an ambiguous sound, it would he convenient in psychology, could we occasion, ally employ tne for a nominative, as the French do their moi But this not being the case, Reid is here, as elsewhere in his letters, grammatically at fault. — H. you criminal judges to try them ? You are obliged to Dr Priestley for teaching you one-half of your duty, of which you knew nothing before. But I forgot that the fault lies in the legislature, which has not given you laws for this purpose. I hope, ho w- ever, when any of them shall be brought to a trial, that he will be allowed a. jury of his peer f:. I am not much surprised that your Lordship has found little entertainment in a late French writer on human nature.* From what I learn, they are all become rank Epicureans. One would think that French politesse might consort very well with disinterested benevolence ; but, if we believe themselves, it is all grimace. It is flattery, in order to be flattered; like that of the horse, who when his neck itches, scratches his neighbour, that he may be scratched by him again. I detest all sys- tems that depreciate human nature. If it be a delusion, that there is something in the constitution of man that is venerable and worthy of its author, let me live and die in that delusion, rather than have my eyes opened to see my species in a humi- liating and disgusting light. Every good man feels his indignation rise against those who disparage his kindred or his conntry ; why should it not rise against those who disparage his kind 9 Were it not that we sometimes see extremes meet, I should think it very strange to see atheists and high-shod divines contending as it were who should most blacken and degrade human nature. Yet I think the atheist acts the more consistent part of the two : for surely such views of human nature tend more to promote atheism, than to promote religion and virtue. .... . ■ IIL ON THE CONVERSION OF CLAY INTO VEGETABLE MOULD. October 1, 1775. . . The theory of agriculture is a wide and deep ocean, wlierein we soon go beyond our depth. I believe a lump of dry clay has much the same degree of hardness, whether the weather be hot or cold. It seems to be more affected by moisture or drought : and to be harder in dry weather, and more easily broken when a little moistened. But there is a degree of wetness in clay which makes it not break at all when struck or pressed ; it is compressed and changes its figure, but does not break. Clay ground, I think, ought to be ploughed • Helvetius, Del'Esprit. — Lokd Woodhoi^sei.ef. Hardly; this work tjeing then, nearly twenty years old. Probably the work, " Sur rHoinme." — H. LETTERS TO LORD KAMES. 53 in the middle state between wetness and dryness, for this reason : When too dry, the plough cannot enter, or cannot make handsome woi-k. Those clods are torn up, which require great labour and ex- pense to break them. And unless they are broken, tlie roots of vegetables cannot enter into them. When too wet, the fur- row, in being raised and laid over by the plough, is very luuch compressed, but not broken. The compression makes it much harder when it dries, than it would have been without that compression. But when the ground is neither too wet nor too dry, the furrow, in being raised and laid over by the plough, breaks or cracks with in- numerable crevices, which admit air and moisture, and the roots of vegetables. Clay, when exposed in small parts to the air, and to alternate moisture and drought, mellows into mould. Thus a clod of clay, which is so hard in seed-time that you may stand upon it without breaking it, ■will be found in autumn of the colour of mould, and so softened, that when you press it with the foot it crumbles to pieces. On some clays this change is produced in a shorter time, in the same circumstances ; others are more refractory, and require more time. If wet clay is put into the fire uncom- pressed, I am informed that it burns to a.-^he.-, which make no bad manure. But if the clay be wrought and compressed when wet, and then dried, and then put into the fire, it burns into brick, and with a greater degree of heat, into a kind of glass. These, my Lord, are facts ; but to deduce them from principles of attraction and re- pulsion, is beyond the reach of my philo- sophy : and I suspect there are many things in agriculture, and many things in che- mistry, that cannot be reduced to such principles ; though Sir Isaac Newton seems to iiave thought otherwise. Human knowledge is like the steps of a ladder. The first step consists of particular truths, discovered by observation or expe- riment: the second collects these into more general truths : the third into still more general. But there are many such steps before we come to the top ; that is, to the most general truths. Ambitious of know- ledge, and unconscious of our own weak- ness, we would fain jump at once from the lowest step to the highest ; but the conse- quence of this is, that we tumble down, and find that our labour must be begun sinew. Is not this a good picture of a phi- losopher, my Lord ? I think so truly ; and I should be vain of it, if I were not afraid that I have stolen it from Lord Bacon. I am, &c. Tiin. Rkio. IV. ON THE GENERATION OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS. No date — but supposed 1775. My Lord, — I have some compunction for having been so tardy in answering the letter which your Lordship did me the honour to write me of the Cth November, especially as it suggests two very curious subjects of correspondence. But, indeed, my vacant time has been so much filled up with trifles of College business, and with the frequent calls of a more numerous class of students than I ever had before, that there was no room for anything that could admit of delay. \'ou have expressed with great elegance and strength the conjectui-e I hinted with rCj^ard to the generation of plants. I am indeed apt to conjecture, that both plants and animals are at first organized atoms, having all the parts of the animal or i)lant, but so slender, and folded up in such a manner, as to be reduced to a par- ticle far beyond the reach of our senses, and perhaps as small as the constituent parts of water.* The earth, the water, and the air may, for anything I know, be full of such organized atoms. They may be no more liable to hurt or injury, than the con- stituent elementary parts of water or air. They may serve the purposes of conmion matter until they are brought into that situation which nature has provided for thrir unfolding themselves. When brought into their proper matrix or womb, perhaps after some previous preparations, tliey are commonly surrounded with some fluid matter, in which they unfold and stretch themselves out to a length and breadth perhaps some thousand times greater than they had when folded up in the atom. They would now be visible to the naked eye, were it not that their limbs and vessels are so slender that they cannot be distin- guished from the fluid in which they float. All is equally transparent, and therefore neither figure nor colour can be discerned, although the object has a considerable bulk. The fcjetus now has a fluid circulating in its vessels ; all the animal functions go on ; it is nourished and grows ; and some parts, first the heart, tl:en the head, then the ♦ 'I'his O' ii'ioii is sini lar lo that ol M. Bonnet. See his " Con idt rations siir lis tops Orpanizi«,'* ami his '' ('ontcn:i)l (ion de la Nature" ( okd WoiiiiiiDii I i.Ki-: — Riid's ()|)iiiion has eonipnralivi ly little ri'scmlilai ICC- to the involution theory ot lloiinci : it bears, how(\er, a strotig analoRV to the fnn^per- mia of tlic Ionic philosopliers, more especially at inodilicil l>y some of 1 he recent physiolojjical specii- latisln of (icrinany 1 I is conjecture is curious, a* a solitary escapade of our cautious philosopher in the region (il iuaginatinn.— II. 54 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. spine, by getting some colour, become visible. It is to be observed, that, from the time that the heart first appears in the pellucid liquor, until the time of birth, the animal grows gradually and insensibly, as it does after birth. But, before it is visible, it must have uicreased in size many thousand times in a few days. This does not look like growth by nourishment, but like a sudden unfolding of parts, which before were wrapped up in a small atom. I go along with your Lordship cordially, till you come to the first formation of an organized body. But there I hesitate. "5lay there," say you, " not be particles of a certain kind endowed with a power to form in conjunction an organized body ?" Would your Lordship allow that certain letters might be endowed with the power of forming themselves into an " Iliad" or " ^neid," or even into a sensible discourse in prose ?• I confess our faculties carry us but a very little way in determining what is possible and what is impossible, and therefore we ought to be modest. But I cannot help thinking that such a work as the " Iliad," and much more an animal or vegetable body, must have been made by express design and counsel employed for that end. And an author whom I very much respect, has taught me, " That we form this conclusion, not by any process of reasoning, but by mere perception and feel- ing, "-f And I think that conclusions formed in this manner, are of all others most to be trusted. It seems to me as easy to con- trive a machine that should compose a variety of epic poems and tragedies, as to contrive laws of motion, by which unthink- ing particles of matter should coalesce into a variety of organized bodies. " But," says your Lordship, " certainly the Almighty has made none of his works so imperfect as to stand in need of perpe- tual miracles." Can we, my Lord, shew, by any good reason, that the Almighty finished his work at a stroke, and has con- tinued ever since an unactive spectator ? Can we prove that this method is the best ; or that it is possible that the universe should be well governed in this way ? I fear we cannot. And, if his continued operation be neces- sary or proper, it is no miracle, while it is uniform, and according to fixed laws. Though we should suppose the gravitation of matter to be the immediate operation of the Deity, it would be no miracle, while it is constant and uniform ; but if in that case it should cease for a moment, only by his • Thia illustration is borrowed from Cicero. (" De Katura Deorum," 1. ii c. 37.)— H + Lord Kames himself. " Essays on Morality," «c.. Chapter " On the Idea of Power." withholding his hand, thia would be a mi- racle. That an animal or vegetable body is a work of art, and requires a skilful workman, I think we may conclude, without going beyond our sphere. But when we would determine how it is formed, we have no data; and our most rational conjectures are only reveries, and probably wide of the mark. We travel back to the first origin of things on the wings of fancy. We would discover Nature in puris naluralibus, and trace her first operations and gradual pro- gress. But, alas ! we soon find ourselves unequal to the task : and perhaps this is an entertainment reserved for us in a future state. As to what you say about earth or soil ; there seems, indeed, to be a re))ulsion of the parts, when it is enriched by the air, or by manure. And, in consequence of this, it swells and occupies more space. But, I conceive, it gets an additional quantity of matter, from the moisture and air which it imbibes, and thereby increases both in bulk and weight. I have been told that a dung- hill made up of earth, dung, and lime, trenched over two or three times, at proper intervals, and then led out, will be found to make more cart-loads than it received : and I believe this to be true. If the earth taken out of a pit does not fill it again, I am apt to think there must have been va- cuities in the earth at first, perhaps made by the roots of plants that have decayed, by moles, insects, or other causes. — I am, my Lord, &c. Tho. Reid. ON THE LAWS OF MOTION. NEWTON S AXIOMS AND DEFINITIONS. Glasgow College, May 19, 1780. My Lord, — In order to understand the preliminary part of Newton's Principia, it is necessary to attend to his general design, both in his axioms and definitions. First, As to his axioms : he sets down the three laws of motion as axioms. But he does not mean by this, that they are to be held as self-evident truths ; nor does he in- tend to prove tliem in what he says upon them. They are incapable of demonstra- tion, being matters of fact, which universally obtain in the material world, and which had before been observed by philosophers, and verified by thousands of experiments by Galileo, by Wren, Wallis, Huygens, and Mariotte, to whom he refers for the proof of them. Therefore, that he might not actum agere, he lays them down as established truths, saying some things upon them by LETTERS TO LORD KAMES. 55 way of illustration, and deducing some gene- ral corollaries from them. That this was his view, he expressly says in the scholium following the axioms : JIactenus principia Iradidi, a Miithematicis recepla, et muUiplici cjrperientia confirmata, ^c. The very same method he follows in his optics, laying down as axioms what had before been discovered in that science. The axioms, or established principles in the Principia, are three : — \U, Every body perseveres in its present state, whether of motion or rest, until it is made to change that state by some force unpressed upon it. 2d, The change of motion produced is al- ways proportional to the force impressed, and in the direction of that force, id. All action of bodies upon each other is mutual or reciprocal, and in contrary directions ; that is, if the body A produces any motion or change of motion in B ; by the reaction of B, an equal change of motion, but in a contrary direction, will be produced in A. This holds in all action of bodies on •each other, whether by a stroke, by pressure, by attraction, or by repulsion. Perhaps, you will say these principles ought not to be taken for granted, but to be proved. True, my Lord, they ought to be proved by a very copious induction of experiments ; and, if they are not proved, the whole system of the Principia falls to the ground ; for it is all built upon them. But Sir Isaac thought they were already proved, and refers you to the authors by whom. He never intended to prove them, but to build upon them, as mathematicians do upon the Elements of Euclid. Secondly, As to the definitions. They are intended to give accuracy and precision to the terms he uses, in reasoning from the laws of motion. The definitions are accom- modated to the laws of motion, and fitted so as to express with precision all reasoning grounded upon the laws of motion. And, for this reason, even the definitions will appear obscure, if one has not a distinct conception of the laws of motion always be- fore his eye. Taking for granted the laws of motion, therefore, he gives the name of vis insiln, or vis inertia, to that property of bodies, whereby, according to the first and second laws of motion, they persevere in their Btiite, and resist any change, either from rest to motion, or from motion to rest, or from one degree or direction of motion to another. This vis insita is exercised in every case wherein one body is made to change its Btate by tiie action of another boiiy ; and the exertion of it may, in difVercnt respects, be called Ijolh resistani'C and impetus. The reluctance whicrh tlile respects to her, and to the Rev. Mr Wil- liam, when you write him. I send you on the other page an anecdote respecting Sir I. Newton," which I do not remember whether I ever happened to men- tion to you in conversation. If his descent be not clearly ascertained, (as I think it is not in the books I have seen,) might it not be worth while for the antitjuarian branch of your R. Society, to inquire if they can finrl evidence to confirm the account wliich he is said to have given of himself. Sheriff Cross was very zealous about it, • See Brcwuter'ii " Life of Newton," .mtl, inf,-n, Itcid's later to Mr Roljikoii, at the end of his Cor- Ti'iiKimlcricc.— .H. when death put a stop to his inquiries. — I am, dear Sir, yours most respectfully, Tho. Reid. When I lived in Old Aberdeen, above twenty years ago, I happened to be con- versing over a pipe of tobacco, with a gen- tleman of that coimtry, who had been lately at Edinburgh. He told me that he had been often hi company with Mr Hepburn of Kehh, with whom I had the honour of some acquaintance. He said that, speaking of Sir Isaac Newton, Mr Hepburn men- tioned an anecdote, which he had from Mr James Gregory, Professor of Mathematics at Edinburgh, which was to this purpose : — Mr Gregory being at London for some time after he resigned the mathematical chair, was often with Sir I, Newton. One day Sir Isaac said to him, " Gregory, I believe you don't know that I am connected with Scotland." " Pray, how. Sir Isaac ?" said Gregory. Sir Isaac said — " He was told, that his grandfather was a gentleman of East Lothian ; that he came to London with King James at his accession to the Crown of England, and there spent his fortune, as many more did at that time, by which his son (Sir Isaac's father) was reduced to mean circumstances." To this Gregory bluntly replied — " Newton, a gentleman in East Lothian ? — I never heard of a gentleman of East Lothian of that name." Upon this Sir Isaac said, that, being very young when his father died, he had it only by tradition, and it might be a mistake ; and imme- diately turned the conversation to another subject. I confess I suspected that the gentleman who was my author had given some colour- ing to this story ; and, therefore, I never mentioned it for a good many years. After I removed to Glasgow, I came to be very intimately acquainted with Mr Cross, the Sheriff" of Laiierick, and one day at his own house mentioned this story with- out naming my author, of whom I expressed some diffidence. The Sheriff immediately took it up as a matter worth being inquired into. He said he was well acquainted with Mr Hepburn of Keith, (who was then alive,) and tliat he would write him, to know whether he ever heard Mr Gregory say that he had such a conversation with Sir Isaac Newton. He said, he knew that Mr Keith, the ambassador, was also inti- mate with Mr Gregory, and that he would write him to the same purpose. Some time after, Mr Cross told me, that he had answers from botli the gentlemen above- mentioned, and that both remembered to have heard Mr CJregory mention the con- versation between him and Sir Isaac New- ton to the purpose above narrated ; and at tile same time acknowledged that they liad 6-1 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. made uo farther inquiry about the mat- ter. Mr Cross, however, continued in the inquiry ; and, a sliort time before his death, told me, that all lie had learned was, that there is, or was lately, a baronet's family of the name of Newton in West-Lothian, or Mid-Lothian, (I have forgot which;) that there is a tradition in that family that Sir Isaac Newton wrote a letter to the old knight that was, (I think Sir John New- ton of Newton was his name,) desiring to know what children, and particularly what sons he had ; their age, and what profes- sions they intended. That tlie old baronet never deigned to return an answer to this letter, which his family was sorry for, as they thought Sir Isaac might have intended to do something for them. IV. Dear Sir, — Happening to have gone into the country a little way, your letter of 5th June did not reach me in time to write you before you set out upon your journey, which I wish to be attended with much happiness to the parties, and comfort to their friends. * I was so stupid at first as to misunder- stand the direction you gave me how to write you. Now I see it is plain enough, and I hope have taken it right. I send you the enclosed to Dr Rose, as you desire. I have by me our friend D. Stewart's " Discourse on the Ideas of Cause and Effect," &c. ; and I have this day sent him my remarks upon it. I am happy to find his sentiments on that subject agree so much witli my own. I think it well wrote, and hope it will be very useful. Dr Rose will shew you the letter I wrote to him along with the MSS., and one from Mr Bell-f- to me, which I enclosed in it : these contain all the information I have to give, and all the instructions I thought necessary. I expect an answer from one quarter, at least, before the work be cold from the press. But the only answer that shall ever have any reply from me must be one who keeps good temper, and who observes good manners, in the first place ; and next one wjio, in my opinion, gives new light to the subject. I wish you happy success in your own affairs, and a safe return. If nothing hap- pens of which you wish to acquaint me sooner, I shall be glad to hear from you on your return ; being, dear sir. Most affectionately yours, Tho. Reid. Glasgow Coll. 1784. • This alludes to the marriage of Dr Gregory's eldest sister lo the licv. Archibald Alison. — H. f Tlie pul)lislicr — H. [ The letter quoted above by Mr Stewart, {p. 34) " /o one of Dr Iieid\s most hitimnte friends,'''' was ar/t/ressed to Dr James Greyory on the death ticuiar to every Necessitarian of the auihor's ac. quainance, with the assurance th.n, if any error could be pointed out in the reatoinng — which, as mathematical, could be examined with the utmost rigour — the ohjection should either be complete y answered, or the essay itaelf suppressed. Duly one Necessitarian, however, allowed his objections to he published ; :in. lUhed, the '• Thildsophical .ind Literary E«»iy»" were inscribed. — H. V ame university. The second of these -oiis, James, succeeded his brother David as t'rofe-sor of Ma' hematics in Edin. burgh, and retired in favour of the celebrated Wac- laurin, in I7hiiig for a few days, he died Mr Francis and I i. serv.mt did not comptar. The rel'^vaiicy of the libel aganst l.ord Freiidraught was impugnecrv ottice ol instructor for tiieirown conve. nieiice, thouf>h without the ability adequate to dis. charge its duties — such a university niu-t be content, not only always to teach little, and that little ill, but to continue often tor a long time to teach what is cisewliere otisolete or exploded. Accordingly, in New!on's own uinversity, ilie Cartesian theories con- tinued to be tnugbt as the orthodox doctrine, after the Newtonian physics had, in other uiuve'siiies, super- seilq , (I)r firc'(!(iry'B Iricnrl.) ai'd pubiishi-d Ijy .Mr VNilt-uiiin 1187 — H + The " Philo«0|.hical and I itoiary hhSiiyR,'" or rather their Introduction, which wui in Kfat part printed (cveral jearis bclorc publication.— H. intention of inscribing the book, if published, to me, I account a very great honour done me ; and, if you do not alter your mind, would not be so self-denying as to decline it ; but, as a real friend, I think you ought to inscribe it to some man in power that may be of use to you, though I hate dedi- cations stuffed with flattery to great men. Yet I know no reason why a man of your time of life may not court the notice of a great man by a dedication, as well as by a visit. When I inscribed a book to you, my situation was very dift'erent. I was past all hopes and fears with regard to this world ; and, indeed, had Lord Kaimes been alive, intended to have addressed it to him. When he was dead, there was not a man of his eminence that I had so much ac- quaintance with as to j iistify such an address. I therefore seriously wi h you to spend a second thought upon this subject ; and not to suffer your friendship, of wiiich I need no new proof, to lead you to do an impru- dent thing, and what the world would thigk such, or even perhaps construe as a con- tempt put upon your ^n-i/ friends.* As to the two ponts wherein you and I differ, after what you have said of them in this letter, I am really uncertain wlietlier we differ about things or only about words. You deny that of every change there must he an efficient cause, in my sense — that is, an intelligent agent, who by his power and will effected the change. But I think you urant that, when the change. is not effected by such an agent, 'it nmst have a piiysical cause — tiiat is, it must be the necessary consequence of thenatureand previous state of things unintelligent and inactive. I admit that, for anything 1 know to the contrary, there may be such a nature and state of things which have no proper ac- tivity, as that certain events or changes must necessarily follow. I admit that, in such a case, that which is antecedent may be called the physical cause, and «hat is necessarily consequent, may be called the effect o*' that cause. I likewise admit, laws of nature may be called (as they commonly are called) phy- sical causes — in a sense indeed somewhat different from the former— because laws of nature effect nothing, but as far as they are put to execution, either by some agent, or by some physical cause ; they being, how- ever, our HI- plus nil I a in natiiral phi osoi)hy, which professes to shi'W us the causes of natural things, and being, both in ancient and modern times, called caiisfs, tlicy have by prescrii)tion acquired a right to that name. I tliink also, and I believe you agree with • It. is needless to say that l)r Gregory did not comply wilh this prudei.t advice. '1 he " E«.''ayi" are iiedicated to Heid.— H. 74 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. me, that every physical cause must be the work of some agent or efficient cause. Thus, that a body put in motion continues to move till it be stopped, is an effect which, for what I know, may be owing to an inherent pro- perty in matter ; if this be so, this pro- perty of matter is the physical cause of the continuance of the motion ; but the ultimate efficient cause is the Being who gave this property to matter. If we suppose this continuance of motion to be an arbitrary appointment of the Deity, and call that appointment a law of nature and a physical cause ; such a law of nature requires a Being who has not only enacted the law, but provided the means of its being executed, either by some physical cause, or by some agent acting by his order. If we agree in these things, I see not wherein we differ, but in words. I agree with you that to confound the notion of agent or efficient cause with that of physical cause, has been a common error of philosophers, from the days of Plato to our own. I could wish that the same gene- ral name of cautx had not been given to both, as if they were two species belonging to the same genus. They differ toto gencre.. For a physical cause is not an agent. It does not act, but is acted upon, and is as passive as its effect. You accordingly give them different generical names, calling the one the agent, and not the cause — the other the cause, but not the agent. I approve of your view in this ; but think it too bold an innovation in language. In all writing, preaching, and speaking, men have been so nmch accustomed to call the Deity the first cause of all things, that to maintain that he is no cause at all, would be too shocking. To say that the world exists without a cause, would be accounted Atheism, in spite of all explications that could be given of it. Agency, efficiency, operation, are so conjoyned in our concep- tions with a cause, that an age would not be sufficient to disjoyn them. The words agent and action are not less ambiguous than cause and causation ; they are applied, by the most accurate thinkers and speakers, to what you call physical causes. So we say, one body acts upon another, by a stroke, by pressure, by attrac- tion or repulsion ; and in vain would one attempt to abolish this language. "We must bear with the imperfections of language in some degree ; we are not able to make it so philosophical as we wish. To remedy the ambiguity of cause and agent as far as possible, without too bold an innovation, I say that each of these words has two meanings — a lax and popular meaning, and a philosophical. In the po- pular meaning, both are applied to what you call a physical cause. In the strict or philo- sophical meaning, both are applied onely to what you call an agent — I, an efficient cause. I choose to distinguish the philoso- phical meaning of cause, by calling it an efficient cause ; and to distinguish the philosophical meaning of agent, by calling it an agent in the strict and proper sense. You distinguish the philosophical mean- ing of these two ambiguous words from the popular, by appropriating one to the philo- sophical meaning, and the other to the popular. Is not this the difference between you and me ? It is remarkable that the philosophical meaning of those two words, and of the others that depend upon them, must have lieen the first, and the popular meaning a corruption of the philosophical, introduced by time, but so deeply rooted in the struc- ture of all languages, that it is impossible to eradicate it ; for nothing external to us could introduce into the human mind the general notion of priority and constant con- junction, but nothing farther. Power and activity are first conceived from being conscious of them in ourselves. Conceiving of other beings from what we know of ourselves, we first ascribe to them such powers as we are conscious of in our- selves. Experience, at least, informs us that the things about us have not the same powers that we have ; but language was formed on a contrary slipposition before this discovery was made, and we must give a new, and perhaps a very indistinct, mean- ing to words which before had a clear and distinct one. As to the other difference you mention between you and me, I have quite forgot it. But I think one can hardly be too cautious of denying the bona files of an antagonist in a philosophical dispute. It is so bitter a pill, that it cannot be swallowed without being very well gilded and aromatized. I caimot but agree with you that assent or belief is not a voluntary act. Neither is seeing when the eyes are open. One may voluntarily shut his bodily eyes, and perhaps the eye of his understanding. I confess this is mala fides. But as light may be so offensive that the bodily eye is shut involun- tarily, may not something similar happen to the eye of the understanding, when brought to a light too offensive to some favourite prejudice or passion, to be endured ?* As soon as I have done with your book, I shall execute your commission to Mr Ar- thur. — I am, dear Sir, yours very sincerely, Tho. Reid. Thursday, July 30, 1789- * This passage (" But 1 think"—" be endured ?"') is quoted in the Introduction to Or Gregory's Essays, p. 3li;.— H. LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 75 XV. ARISTOTELIC SFECIES OF CAUSES — ORIGIN OF NOTIONS OF CAUSE AND POWER WHAT ES- SMNTIAL TO THE NATURE OF CAUSE — DIS- TINCTION OF PHYSICAL AND METAPHYSICAL CAUSES. Remarks on the Inlroduction* 1. I humbly think you are too severe against Aristotle and Plato, especially the former. i" Two hundred years ago, it was proper to pull him down from the high seat he held ; but now he is sufficiently humbled, and I would not have him tramjiled upon. I confess that his distinction of causes into four kinds is not a division of Hffenui into its species, but of an ambiguous word into its different meanings, and that this is the case with many of his divisions. But, in>the in- fancy of philosophy, this ought to be corrected without severity. It was more inexcusable in many philosophers and divines of the seholastick ages to handle every subject in one method, namely, by shewing its four causes — Efficient, Material, Formal, and Final. A very learned divine, whose compend was the text-book in the school where I was taught, treating of the creation, when he comes to the material cause, pronounces it to be nihil. If Aristotle had treated of his materia prima in this method, he must have made the mateiial cause to be the thing it- self, and all the three other causes to be nihil ; for it had no form, no efficient, con- sequently no end. But the absurdity of making everything to have four causes, can- not, I believe, be imputed to Aristotle. 2. You challenge him with a violation of propriety in the Greek language. J I am dis- posed to take it upon the authority of Aris- totle, as a man wlio understood Greek better than any modern, that the word kiTnti was sometimes used to signify the form, some- times the matter of a thing. If these were not j)0])ular meanings of the word, might they not be philosophical, and perhaps to bo found only in the writings of philosophers, which are now lost ? But I cannot think that Aristotle would have given these mean- ings without authority ; and I think it bold in any modern to impute this to him, 3. You are likewise severe upon the to tj ». || May it not be .said that it is very like the sup. po. vl. Seg. 10. The dfflnillon If riBtoV — H. 78 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. wliich it actually produces. The power of an acid to dissolve iron is measured by what it actually dissolves. We get the notion of active power, as well as of cause and effect, as I think, from what we feel in ourselves. We feel in our- selves a power kto move our limbs, and to produce certain effects when we choose. Hence, we get the notion of power, agency, and causation, in the strict and philosophical sense ; and this I take to be our first notion of these three things. If this be so, it is a curious problem in human nature, how, in the progress of life, we come by the lax notion of power, agency, cause, and effect, and to ascribe them to things that have no will nor intel- ligence. I am apt to think, with the Abb^ Raynal, " that savages," (I add children as in the same predicament,) " wherever they see motion which they cannot account for, there they suppose a soul." Hence they ascribe active power and causation to sun, moon, and stars, rivers, fountains, sea, air, and earth ; these are 'conceived to be causes in the strict sense. In this period of society, language is formed, its funda- mental rules and forms established. Ac- tive verbs are applied onely to things that are believed to have power and activity in the proper sense. Every part of nature which moves, without our seeing any exter- nal cause of its motion, is conceived to be a cause in the strict sense, and, therefore, is called so. At length, the more acute and speculative few discover that some of those things which the vulgar believe to be ani- mated like themselves, are inanimate, and have neither will nor understanding. These discoveries grow and spread slowly in a course of ages. In this slow progress, what use must the wise men make of their dis- coveries ? Will they affirm that the sun does not shine nor give heat, that the sea never rages, nor do the winds blow, nor the earth bring forth grass and corn ? If any bold spirit should maintain such para- doxes, he would probably repent his teme- rity. The wiser part will speak the com- mon language, and suit it to their new no- tions as well as they can ; just as philoso- phers say with the vulgar, that the sun rises and sets, and the moon changes. The philosopher must put a meaning upon vul- gar language that suits his peculiar tenets as well as he can. And, even if all men should become philosophers, their language would still retain strong marks of the opi- nions that prevailed when it was first made. If we allow that active verbs were made to express action, it seems to be a necessary consequence, that all the languages we know were made by men who believed almost every part of nature to be active, and to have inherent power. Volume Third. The philological discussion is new to me ; and it would require more time in my slow way to make up my mind about it, than you allow me. But the general principle — that every distinction which is found in the structure of a common language, is a real distinction, and is perceivable by the com- mon sense of mankind — this I hold for cer- tain, and have made frequent use of it. I wish it were more used than it has been ; for I believe the whole system of metaphy- sicks, or the far greater part, may be brought out of it ; and, next to accurate reflexion upon the operations of our own minds, I know nothing that can give so much light to the human faculties as a due considera- tion of the structure of language. From this principle, you prove to my satisfaction that there is a real distinction between the relation which a living agent has to his action, and the relation between an inanimate and the effect of which it is the cause, mean, or instrument. But I know no language in which the word cause is confined to inanimate things, though, perhaps, it may be more frequently applied to them than to things that have life and intelligence. If I were convinced that it cannot be said, in a plain, literal sense, that I am the cause of my own actions, or that the Deity is the cause of the universe — if I were convinced that my actions, or the production of the universe, are not effects, or that there must be a cause of these effects distinct from the agent, I should in this case agree to your reasoning. The rule of Latin syntax from which you reason, seems, indeed, to suppose that all causes are inanimate things, like means and instruments ; but I desiderate better authority. I am not sure but power and agency are as often ascribed to inanimate things as causation. Thus we speak of the powers of gravity, magnetism, mechanical powers, and a hundred more. Yet there is a kind of power and agency which you acknowledge to belong only to mind. Your system, if I comprehend it, (which, indeed, I am dubious about.) seems to go upon the supposition that power and agency belong onely to mind and that in language causation never belongs to mind. If this be so, you and I may, after all, differ only about the meaning of words. What you call an agent, and a being that has power, that I call a cause with regard to every ex- ertion of his power. That which alone you call a cause, I think is no cause at all in the strict sense of the word ; but I acknowledge it is so in the lax and popular sense. LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 79 In these remarks I thought friendship obHged nie to lay aside all regard to friend- ship, and even to indulge a spirit of severity that seems opposite to it. I hope you will make allowance for this. For, in reality, I have such an opinion of your judgment and taste, that I cannot help suspecting my own where thev dift'er. XVII. AN AMBIGUITY OF HUME — MEANINGS OF WILL AND VOLITION — POWER. Motive — SiXt U 27. [Page 21, published work.]— It does not api)ear to nie, that the long pas- sage quoted from IMr Hume's reconciling project, is so full of ambiguous expressions and hypothetical doctrine, as it is said to be ; though I think it is very clearly shewn to be full of weak reasoning. I think lie does not confound a constant conjunc'ioii with a necessary connection, but plainly dis- tinguishes them ; affirming, that the fiist is all the relation which, upon accurate reflec- tion, we are able to perceive between cause and effect ; but that mankind, by some pre- judice, are led to think that cause and effect have moreover a necessary connection ; when at the same time they acknowledge onelya constant conjunction betweenmotive and action ; so far I see no obscurity or ambiguity. The words cons/ant conjunction and necessary connection, I think, are the best that can be used to express the meaning of each, and the difference between them. At the same time, to suppose, without assigning any reason for the su[iposition, that the constant conjunction of cause and effect leads men to believe a necessary con- nection between them, but that the con- stant conjunction ]!et\yccn motiee nnd action lias no such efl'ect, appears to me very weak and UMiihilosophical ; and this account of the phenomenon of men's putting a differ- ence between the relation of motive and action, and the relation of cause and effect, does not appear to me to deserve the epithet you give it, of very ingenious. The last part of the quotation, beginning with — " Let any one concernmR the Human Un.lor. utandinj;," sect. viii. part I. prope fmem. " I.et any one f/c/Snf a cause, without romprehendinp.ai a part of the dtfiiiitioii, a necessary connection with its cffict ; and let him«hew distinctly IheoiiKin of tlie idea, ex pressed by the ilefinilion, and 1 shall readily give up ihewhole controversy."— I)r Reid. in his remarks on this pansaxe, would be ri(;ht, did Hume nuan l)y necesfaiy connrcti-n, a really necessary con. TKCIion, and not merely a feeling of necessity in us, and that not a priori, but a poiteiiori— not the meaning ; but that meaning is so imperti- nent to his purpose, and so contrary to his principles, that I cannot help thinking that he meant to say the very contrary of what he says ; and that the word without has slipt into the sentence by an oversight of the author or printer. For, does not he him- self define a cause without comprehending, as a part of the definition, a necessary con- nection between the cause and the effect ? Does he not maintain that we have no idea of necessary connection ? He certainly meant to say, that he would give up the whole controversy, if any one could shew that we have such an idea, and not to say that he would give up the controversy, if any one could give a definition of cause without comprehending that idea. Were I to comment upon this passage in the Bentleian style, I would say dele zvithout, meo periciilo. After all, how he should think that the bulk of mankind have, without reason, joyned the idea of necessary con- nection to that of constant conjunction, in the relation of cause and effect, when man- kind have no such idea, I cannot account for. Of the Notion of Instrument. 66, &c. — I am not pleased with the three different meanings you put upon the word volition, nor do I think it ambiguous. Will is indeed an ambiguous word, being some- times put for the faculty of willing ; some- times for the act of that faculty, besides other meanings. But volition always sig- nifies the act of willing, and nothing else. Willingness, I think, is opposed to unwil- lingness or aversion. A man is willing to do what he has no aversion to do, or what he has some desire to do, though perhaps he has not the opportunity ; and 1 think this is never called volition. Choice or preference, in the proper sense, is an act of the understanding ; but some- times it is improperly put for volition, or the determination of the will in things where there is no judgment or preference ; thus, a man who owes me a shilling, lays down three or four equally good, and bids me take which I clioo.se. I take one without any judgment or belief that there is any ground of preference — this is merely an act of will that is a volition. An effort greater or less, I think, always accompanies volition, but is not called vo- lition. There may be a determination of will to do something to-morrow or next week. This, though it be i>roperly an act ofisprint? Ol'kilowl(d|;e, lull of blind habit. II ishciC the part ol the sceplic, not to disprove the subjective phtcnomcnon ol mcessity, but to shew that it is ille- gitimate and objectively barren. — H. 80 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. of win, is not called volition, because it has a proper name of its own — we call it a reso- lution or purpose ; and here the effort is suspended till the purpose is to be ex- ecuted. I apprehend that, in dreaming, the effort accompanies volitioii, as well as when we are awake ; but in most persons the effort in dreaming produces little or no motion in the body, as is the case in palsy. When a hound dreams, we see a feeble attempt to move his limbs and to bark, as if he had the palsj'. And a man dreaming that he cries desperately for help, is often heard to make a feeble attempt to cry. PoWer. 16, &c, — I humbly think that my power to ride or to walk, and the king's power to call or to dissolve a parliament, are different kinds, or rather different meanings of the word power. In the former meaning, every- thing depending upon my will is in my power, and consequently my will itself ; for, if I had not power to will, I could have no power to do what depends upon my will. In the second meaning, power signifies a right by the law or by the constitution, according to that maxim of law, Nihil pos- sum quod jui e non jossum. In another law sense, we say — It is part of the king's prerogative that he can do no wrong. The meaning of this is not that he has no legal right to do wrong, for this may be said of the meanest of his subjects ; but it means that he cannot be accused or tried for any wrong before any criminal judica- ture. It is his prerogative, that he cannot be called to account for any wrong. 7 1 , &c. — The doctrine delivered from page 71 to 76, I suspect very much not to be just. If it be true, it is surely important, and would make many difficulties instantly to vanish, which the bulk of philosophers have laboured in vain to resolve, and the wiser part have reckoned to be insolvable. It is so new and so contrary to all that philosophers have taught and believed since the days of Aristotle, that it ought to be proposed andsupported with great modesty; but, indeed, I cannot yet assent to it. I have, for instance, the power of moving my hand ; all the activity I am conscious of exerting, is volition and effort to move the hand ; the motion must begin some- where. Suppose it begins at the nerves, and that its being continued till the hand be moved, is all mechanism. The first motion, however, cannot be mechanism. It follows immediately upon my volition and effort. Nor do I know how my volition and effort to move my hand, produces a certain motion in the nerves. I am conscious that in this there is something which I do not comprehend, though I believe He that made me comprehends it perfectly. If I be struck with a palsy, that volition and effort which before moved my hand, is now unable to do it. Is this owing to an inability to produce the first motion ? or is it owing to some de- rangement of the machine of the body ? I know not. Nay, I am uncertain whether I be truly and properly the agent in the first motion ; for I can suppose, that, whenever I will to move my hand, the Deity, or some other agent, produces the first motion in my body — which was the opinion of Male- branche. This hypothesis agrees with all that I am conscious of in the matter. I am like a child turning the handle of a hand organ — the turning of the handle answers to my volition and eff'ort. The music immediately follows ; but how it follows, the child knows not. Were two or three ingenious children to speculate upon the subject, who had never seen nor heard of such a machine before, perhaps one who had seen strange eff'ects of mechanism, might conjecture that the handle, by means of machinery, produced the music : another, like Malebranche, might conjecture that a musician, concealed in the machine, always played when the handle was turned. We know as little how our intellectual operations are performed as how we move our own body. I remember many things past ; but how I remember them I know not. Some have attempted to account for memory by a repository of ideas, or by traces left in the brain of the ideas we had before. Such accounts would appear ridiculous at first sight, if we knew how the operation of memory is performed. But, as we are totally ignorant how we remember, such weak hypotheses have been embraced by sensible men. In tiiese, and in innumerable cases that might be mentioned, it seems to me to be one thing to know that such a thing is, and another to know how it is. Perhaps you may have been led into the mistake, if it be a mistake, by what you say about definition in the note, p. 76. An operation, or any other thing that is per- fectly simple, cannot be defined — this is true. Nor can it be explained by words to a man who had not the conception of it be- fore ; for words can give us no new simple conceptions, but such only as we had before, and had annexed to such words. Thus, if a man born blind asks me what a scarlet colour is, the question, I think, is not impertinent, or nugatory, or absurd; but I can only answer him, that, though I know perfectly what a scarlet colour is, it is im- possible to give him a distinct conception of it unless he saw. But, if he asks me how LETTERS TO DIl JAMES GREGORY. 81 my volition and effort moves my band, I not onely cannot satisfy him, but am con- scious that I am ignorant myself. We both know that there is a constant conjunction between the vohtion and tlie motion, when I am in liealth, but how tliey are connected I know not, but should think myself much wiser than I am, if I did know. For any- thing I know, some other being may move my hand as often as I will to move it. The volition, I am conscious, is my act ; but I am not conscious that the motion is so. I onely learn from experience that it always fol- lows the volition, when I am in sound health. Activity. — Sect. 1. P. 24, &c The distinction between the two kinds of active verbs here marked, ap- pears no less clearly when they are used in the passive voice. To he known, to be be- lieved. &C-, imply nothing done to the things known or believed. But to be tvounded, to be healed, implies something done to the wounded or healed. A scholastick phil(iSO- pher would say that to be ivounied, belongs to the category of passion ; but to be kiiou n. belongs to none of the categories — being only an extermd denomination. Indeed, however grammarians might confound those two kinds of active verbs, the scholastick philo- sophers very properly distinguished the acts expressed by them. They called the acts expressed by the first kind immanent acts, and those expressed by the second kind, transitive acts. Immanent acts of mind are such as produce no change in the object. Such are all acts of understanding, and even some that may be called voluntary — such as attention, deliberation, purpose. Activity — Sect. 2. P. 43. — If my memory does not deceive me, Charlevoix, in his history of Canada, says, that, in the Huron language, or in some language of that country, there is but one word for both the .sexes of thehuman species, wliich word has two genders, not a mascu- line and feminine— for there is no such dis- tinction of genders in the language— but a a noble and an ignoble gender : the ignoble gender signifies not a woman, thougli wo improperly translate it so. It signifies a coward, or a good-for-nothing creature of either sex. A woman of distingui.shcd talents that create respect, is always of tlie noble gender. I know not whether it lie owing to something of this kind in the (ifielic langua^jc, that a Iligiilander, who Las got onely a little broken Kngli-'h, modestly takes the feminine gender to himself, and, in place of saying / did so, says, her own self did 40. ..... . As to the mathematical reasoning on motive. Section 2, to prove that the relation of motive and agent is very different from that of a physical cause to its efl'ect, I think it just and conclusive ; and that it isa good argument ad homhiem, against the scheme of Necessity held by Hume, Priestley, and other modern advocates for Necessity, who plainly make these two relations the same. Mr Hume holds it for a maxim no less ap- plicable to intelligent beings and their ac- tions, than to. physical causes and their effects, that the cause is to be measured by the efl'ect. And from this maxim he infers, or makes an Epicurean to infer, that we have reason to ascribe to the Deity just as much of wisdom, power, and goodness, as appears in the constitution of things, and no more. The reasoning mthe papers on activity, to shew that the relation between an agent and hisaction is, in the structureof language, dis- tinguished from the relation between a cause and its effect, is, I think, perfectly just when cause is taken in a certain sense ; but I am not so clear that the word cause is never, except metaphorically or figuratively, taken in any other sense. You will see my senti- ments about that word in two chapters of my " Essay on the Liberty of Moral Agents," now in your hands. If I had seen your papers before I wrote those two chapters, perhaps I would have been more explicit. However, they will save you and me the trouble of repeating here what is there said. I think, after all, the difference between you and me is merely about the use of a word ; and that it amounts to this — whether the wordcause, and the corresponding words in other languages, has, or has not, from the beginning, been used to express, without a figure, a being that produces the effect by his will and power. I see not how manldnd could ever have acquired the conception of a cause, or of any relation, beyond a mere conjunction in time and place between it and its effect, if they were not conscious of active exertions in themselves, by which effects are pro- duced. This seems to me to be the origin of the idea or conception of production. In the grammar rule, causa, modus et instrurnentum, &c., the word cause is taken in a limited sense, which is explained by the words conjoyned wkh it. Nor do I si e that any part of the rule would be lost if the word causa had been altogether left out. Is not everything wliich you would call a cause a mean or an instrument ? ^fay not everything to whicli the rule applies bo called a mean or an instrument ? But surely many things are called causes that aro a 82 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. neither means nor instruments, and to which the rule does not apply. You know that Aristotle, who surely understood Greek, makes four kinds of causes — the efficient, the matter, the form, and the end- I think the grammar rule applies to none of these ; for they are not in Latin expressed by an oblative without a preposition. That nothing can happen without a cause, is a maxim found in Plato, in Cicero, and, I believe, never brought into doubt till the time of D. Hume. If this be not under- stood of an efficient cause, it is not true of any other kind of cause ; nor can any reason be given why it should have been universally received as an axiom. All other causes suppose an efficient cause ; but it supposes no other ; and, therefore, in every enumer- ation of causes, it is made the first ; and the word cause, without any addition, is put to signify an efficient cause ; as in that of Cicero, (which I quote only from memory,) " Itaque non est causa quod cuiqne ante- cedif, sed quod cuxque efficicnter ante- eedit." XVIII. ON THE TERMS, PHILOSOPHICAL NECESSITY, AND NECESSARIAN — ON DETERMINATION BY STRONGEST MOTIVE — REPROACH OP MALA FIDES — CONSCIOUSNESS OF LIBERTY — ARGUMENTUM PIGRUM, &C IN A PAPER ENTITLED^ Remarks* Page 2. — " Philosophical Necessity.^^ — This, I think, is an epithet given to the doctrine of Necessity by Dr Priestley only ; and I do not see that he deserves to be fol- lowed in it. The vulgar have, from the beginning of the world, had the conception of it as well as philosophers. Whether they ground it upon the influence of the stars, or the decrees of fate, or of the gods, or upon the influence of motives, it is necessity still. I have often found the illiterate vul- gar have recourse to it to exculpate their own faults, or those of their friends, when no other excuse could be found. It lurks in their minds as a last shift to alleviate the pangs of guilt, or to soften their indignation against those whom they love.-f But it is not admitted on other occasions. Dr Priestley by this epithet no doubt wished it to pass for a profound discovery of philosophy ; but * On the " Essay." Somepages correspond to the published work, others do not. The " Essay ' was, therefore, probably printed but in proof. — H. + Thus Agamemnon : — '£yu h' oix aiiii; ilf/.i. I know no claim it has to be called philoso- phical. In other places, you use another of Dr Priestley's words — the Necessarians. I see no reason for adding this wx)rd to our lan- guage, when Fatalists might do as well. Sometimes I think you call them the Philn- sophers indefinitely. I don't lilce this neither. Fatalism was never so general among philosophers, nor so peculiar to them, as to justify it. P. 27 — In my " Essay on Liberty" I have censured the defenders of Necessity for grounding one of their chief arguments upon this as a self-evident axiom. That the strong- est motive always determinrs the agent, while no one of them, as far as I know, has offered to explain what is meant by the strongest motive, or given any test by which we may know which of two contrary motives is the strongest ; without which the axiom is an identical proposition, or has no meaning at all. I have offered two tests of the strength of motives — according as they operate upon the will immediately, or upon the under- standing — and endeavoured to shew that the maxim is not true according to either. ■ • • • P. 72. — The want of sincerity or bona fides, in a large body of men, respected and respectable, is a very tender place, and can- not be touched with too much delicacy. Though you were sure of being able to de- monstrate it, I am afraid it may be taken as an insult, which even demonstration cannot justify. Your not making the conclusion general, for want of a sufficiently extensive information, will not satisfy, because it seems to extend the conclusion as far as your observation has extended, and because the reasons on which you ground your con- clusion seem to extend it to all fatalists who can draw a conclusion from premises. If David Hume, or any other person, has charged those who profess to believe men to be free agents with insincerity, I think he did wrong, and that I should do wrong in following the example. But, setting apart the consideration of hienseance, I doubt of the truth of your conclusion. If human reason were perfect, I think you would be better founded ; but we are such imperfect creatures, that I fear we are not exempted from the possibility of swallowing contradictions. Could you not prove with equal strength that all bad men are infidels ? Yet I believe this not to be true. In page 76, you speak of our having a consciousness of independent activity. I think this cannot be said with strict pro- priety. It is only the operations of our own mind that we are conscious of. Ac- tivity is not an operation of mind ; it is a LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 83 power to act. We are conscious of our volitions, but not of the cause of them. I thiuk, indeed, that we have an early and a natural conviction that we have power to will this or that ; that this conviction precedes the exercise of reasoning ; that it is implyed in all our deliberations, purposes, promises, and voluntary actions: and I have used this as an argument for liberty. But I think this conviction is not properly called consciousness. I truly think that a fatalist who acted agreeably to his belief would sit still, like a passenger in a ship, and suffer himself to be carried on by the tide of fate ; and that, when he delil3erates, resolves, promises, or chuses, he acts inconsistently with his be- lief. But such mconsistencies, I fear, are to be found in life ; and, if men be ever con- vinced of them, it must be by soothing words and soft arguments, which ludunt cir- cum prcBcordia ; for the force of prejudice, joyned with that of provocation, will shut the door against all conviction. I humbly think, therefore, that it will be prudent and becoming to express less con- fidence in your mathematical reasonings, though I reallybelieve them to be just upon the hj-pothesis you combat. Fatalists will think that, when you put the issue of the controversy solely upon the experiments, you treat them like children. No fatalist will contend with you upon that footing, nor take it well to be challenged to do so ; and I think you have a good plea with any man who disputes the strength of your ma- thematical reasoning, to prove that the relation between motives and actions is altogether of a different kind, and subject to different laws from that between physical causes and their effects. XIX. ON VULGAR NOTION OF NECESSARY CONNEC- TION — INADVERTENCY OF HUME — REId's REFUTATION OF IDEAS — REId's USE OF THE WORD CAUSE —INERTIA, PASSIVITY, STATE, OF MIND — AND SUNDRY OBSERVATIONS ON THE NECESSITARIAN CONTROVERSY — IN A I'APER ENTITLED Remarks on the Essay. Page 2.3 I am apt to think even the vulgar have the notion of necessary con- nection, and that they perceive it in arith- metical and mathematical axioms, though they do not speculate about it ; nor do they perceive it between physical causes and their effects. Docs not every man of com- mon sense perceive the ridiculousness of that complaint to the gods, which one of the heroes of the " Dunciad" makes — -" And am I now fourscore? As publikhcd. — H. Ah! why, ye gods, should twoand two make four ?" But is it not remarkable that Mr Hume, after taking so much pains to prove that we have no idea of necessary connection, should impute to the bulk of mankind the opinion of a necessary connection between physical causes and their effects ? Can they have this opinion without an idea of necessary connection ? 33 — The passage here quoted from Mr Hume is, indeed, so extraordinary, that I suspect an error in printing, and that the word without has been put in against his intention, though I find it in my copy of his essays, as well as in your quotation. For how could a man who denies that we have any idea of necessary connection, defy any one to define a cause without comprehending necessary connection ? He might, consist- ently with himself, have defied any one to define a cause, comprehending in the defi- nition necessary connection ; and at the same time to shew distinctly the origin of the idea expressed by the definition. How could he pledge hunself to give up the con- troversy on the condition of getting such a definition, when, as you observe, he had given two such definitions himself? If there be no error of the press, we must say, Aliquando bonus dormitat Humiiis." 34 and 35 — You observe justly and perti- nently, that "the intelligible and consistent use of a word shews that the speaker had some thought, notion, or idea, correspond- ing to it." Idea is here put for the mean- ing of a word, which can neither be true nor false, because it implies neither affirmation nor negation. But in the same paragraph it is supposed that this idea may be im- proper, groundless, and to be given up. This can onely be applied to idea, taken in another sense — to wit, when it implies some affirmation or negation. I know this ambiguity may be found in Locke and Hume ; but I think it ought to be avoided. 36. — " Or the philosophical doctrine of ideas." If, an hundred years after this, the philosophical doctrine of ideas bo as little regarded as the Vortices of Des Cartes are at this day, they may then be coupled in the manner you here do. But at present, though I am proud of your oj)inioii, that that doctrine must be given up, T think it is expressed in a way too assuming with regard to the i)ublick. 40 I know of no i)hiloHophcr who makes the word cnu.sc extend solely to the giving of existence. 44. Dr Reid agrees with the author of the Essay, that the word cause ought to bo • Sec note at page 79.— H. o2 84 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. used in the most common sense." But one sense may be the most common in one science, and another in others. He thinks that, in theology and in metaphysicks, the most common sense is that of agent or efficient cause ; and for this he thinks he has the authority of Des Cartes, Locke, Dr Clarke, Bishop Butler, and many others. In physicks, and in all its branches, medi- cine, chymistry, agriculture, the mechani- cal arts, &c., he thinks the most common meaning of cause is Hume's notion of it — to wit, something which goes before the effect, and is conjoyned with it in the course of nature. As this notion is vague and popular, philosophers, when they would speak more precisely of a cause in physicks, mean by it some law of nature, of which the phoeno- menon called the effect is a necessary consequence. Therefore, in writings of the former knid, he would think himself warranted to use the word cause, witliout addition in the first of these senses ; and, if he had occasion to use it in the last sense, he would call it physical cause. In writings of the last kind, he thinks it may, with pro- priety, be used without addition in the last sense ; and if, in such writings, it be used in the first sense, he would have it called the efficient cause. But the additions of efficient and physical, he does [not] conceive as denoting two species of the same genus, t This is in reference to what Dr Gregory says of the meaning attached by Keid himself to the word cause. The passage is as follows : — " As little could he (Hume) have in view the meaning expressed in the third query, in which meaning Ur Reid (I own I think with too little regard to the common use and application of the word cause) hath employed it in arguing this question ; (• Essays on the Active V ovists,' passim-,) as where lie says, after admitting that everything must have a cause, that, in the case of voluntary actions, it is not the motive, but the person, that is the cause of them This meaning of the term cause — to wit, a being having power (and optional or discretionary powei) to produce or not to produce a certain change — is not only evidently dif. ferent from Mr Hume's, but comple'ely repugnant to his whole system. We may therefore set it aside too." It is necessary to quote the queries to which refer- ence is made in the preceding passage. They are thcio : — " It might reasonably be asked — (1') Is the word cause employed in that general fourfold sense mentioned by Aristotle, and applied equally to the essence or form of a being, to the matter of it, to the efficient or agent, and to the motive, or purpose, or final cause? Or (2°) is it employed in its more common and limited acceptation, as generally used in physics, and, indeed, in popular discourse, as when we say, ' Heat is the cause of expansion,' excluding all the other meanings of it, and particularly that of the agent? Or (:? ) is it employed in that more limited sense in which it hath been defined and used by several philosophers, to denote exclusively the agent, in contradistinction to the physical cause ? Or (4^) is it used to express the vague notion insinuated by Aristotle's « e| oui comprehending all these alre.idy mentioned, and many more ? For example — what the parts are to the whole, what a right angle in a tri. angle is to the proportion between the squares of the sides of it, what the absence of a pilot is to a ship, wreck, what the seed is to a plant, what a father is to his son, what the removal of an opposing cause is to any event or effect, &c. Ike." — H. but as distinguishing two different meanings of the same ambiguous word. You have good reason to dispute the maxim about causes, as laid down by Mr Hume, in whatever sense he takes the word cause. It is a maxim in natural theology, universally admitted, that everything that begins to exist must have a cause, meaning an efficient cause ; and from this maxim we easily deduce the existance of a Being who neither had a cause nor a beginning of ex- istance, but exists necessarily. Physicks, in all its branches, is conversant about the phenomena of nature, and their physical causes ; and I think it may be admitted as a maxim that every phenomenon of nature has a physical cause. But the actions of men, or of other rational beings, are not phenomena of nature, nor do they come within the sphere of physicks. As little is a beginning of existance a phenomenon of nature. • ••••*• Page 154 — " Expressly excluding from the meaning of the phrase,"" 4 c, to the end of the paragraph. • My remark upon this para- graph I think more important than any other I have made on the Essay; and, there- fore, I beg your attention to it. Inertia of mind seems to be a very pro- per name for a quality which, upon every system of Necessity, must belong to the mind. It is likewise very proper to explain tlie meaning of that term when appUed to the mind. But when you " expressly exclude from the meaning of the phrase, the circumstance of mind remaining or persevering in any state into which it once gets," I wish you to consider very seriously whether this con- cession be not more generous than just ; and, if it be not just, whether by making it, you » The whole passage referred~to is as follows :— "I have occasion often to consider the supposed want of any such attribute of mind [viz.. Power] as this is the fundamental principle of thedoctrineof necessity. And, for the sake of brevity, and the opposition to what has been often termed Activity and Force of Mind, I call it the Inertia of Mind; limiting, how- ever, the signification of the phrase, to denote merely the incapacity of acting optionally or discretionally without motives, or in opposition to all motives, or in any other way but just according to the motives applied, and expressly excluding from the meaning of the phrase the circumstance of mind rem;iiningor persevering in any ktate into which it once get.s, as body does in a state, either of rest or of uniform progressive rectilinear motion, into which it is once put. Such permanency of state does not appear to be any part of the constitution of the human mind, with lespect to any of its operations. Sensation of t very kind— memory, imagination, judgment, emotion, or passion, volition, and involuntary effort — all appear to be transient conditions, or attributes of mind ; which, of their own nature, independently of any cause applied, pass away or come to an end. And this I conceive to be one of the most general circnra. stances of distinction between mere sia'eor condition, which is prcdicable ol mind as well as body, (as, for example, madness, idiotism, vivacity, dulncss, pecu. liar genius, wisdom, knowledge, virtue, vice,) and those things which are termed acts or operations of mind or thought." — H. LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 85 do not much weaken the force of a great part of your subsequent reasoning. The justice of the concession is not evi- dent to me. To be merely pissive, and to remain in the stale i»lo which it is put, seem to signify the same thing ; as, on the other hand, to be active, and to have poiver to change its own state, have the same meaning. If the mind be passive onely, all its changes are phenomena of nature, and therefore be- long to the science of physieks, and require a physical cause, no less than does the change of direction or of velocity in a moving body. Of all things that belong to the mind, its acts and operations are the onely things which have any analogy to motion in a body. The same analogy there is between the ceasing of any act or operation and the ceasing of motion. If, therefore, from mere inactivity, the body, once put in the state of motion, continues or perseveres in that state, why should not a mind, which is equally inactive, being once ]iut in the state of action or operation, continue in that state ? You say, " Such permanency of state does not appear to be the constitution of the mind in any of its operations." I grant this. But the question is not, " What really is its constitution ?" but " What would be its constitution if it were as inert and in- active as body is ?" To admit this want of permanency is to admit that the mind is active in some degree, which is contrary to the supposition. The reason why madness, idiotism, &c., are called states of mind, while its acts and operations are not,* is because mankindhave always conceived the mind to be passive in the former and active in the later. But on the system of Necessity, this distinction has no place. Both are equally states, onely the first are not so frequently changed as the last. If the concession be just and consistent with necessity, it must be granted, wliat- ever be its consequences ; but I apprehend the consequences will deeply affect your essay. For, first, it contradicts what you have said, page .33G, and, perhaps, in several other places, that, " according to Mr Hume's doctrine, a living person, in relation to motives and actions, is precisely in the situation of an inanimate body in relation to projection and gravity." If an inanimate body had not the quality of persevering in its state of motion, the effect of projection and gravity upon it would be very different from what it is with that quality. Secondly, by this concession, your reason- ing from the laws of motion and their cor- ollaries, is much weakened j for those laws • TTie term State has, more esi^ocially of late years, and principally liy Nccenilarian priilimrpphcrn, been •pplled 10 ali modifications of mind incliitl-rently. — ii. and corollaries are founded on the supposi- tion that bodies persevere in the state of motion as well as of rest ; and, therefore, are not properly applied to a being which has not that quality. Indeed, perseverance in its state is so essential to inertia, that it will be thought unjustifiable to apply that name to what you acknowledge does not persevere in its state. And you will, perhaps, be charged with giving an invi- dious epithet to the mind, which, by your own acknowledgment, is not due, and then reasoning from that epithet as if it were due. ■ • • • • 226. — In the style of physieks, to carry a letter in the direction A B, and to carry a letter from A to the point B, are different things. Any line parallel to A B, is said to be in the direction A B, though it can- not lead to the point B. The case, therefore, here put, is, that the porter is offered a guinea a-mile to carry a letter from A to the point B, and half-a- guinea a-mile to carry a letter, at the same time, from A to the point C. And both motives must necessarely operate according to their strength. I truely think it impos- sible to say how the porter would act upon these suppositions. He would be in an in- extricable puzzle between contrary actions and contrary wills. One should think that the two motives mentioned, would conjoyn their force in the diagonal. But, by going in the diagonal, he loses both the guineas and the half- guineas ; this is implied in the offer, and is a motive not to go in the diagonal, as strong as the two motives for going in it. By the force of the two motives, he must will to go in the diagonal ; by the force of the thii-d, he must will not to go in the diagonal. You pretend to demonstrate that he must go in the diagonal willingly. I think it may be demonstrated, with equal force, that he must will not to go in the diagonal. I perceive no error in either demonstration ; and, if both demonstrations be good, what must be the conclusion ? The conclusion must be, that the supposition on which both demonstrations are grounded nmst be false — I mean the supposition that motives are the physical causes of actions ; for it is possible, and often happens, that, from a false sup- position, two contradictory conclusions may be drawn ; but, from a true supposition, it it impossible. I think it were better to omit the case stated toward the end of this page,* because I think it hardly possible to conceive two motives, which, lieing conjoynod, shall have an analogy to a projectile and ceiitripctal force conjoyncil ; and your concession, that ♦ This has heen done— H. 86 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. the effect of a motive is not permanent, adds to the difficulty. A projectile force requires a cause to begin it, but it requires no continuance of the cause — it continues by the inertia of matter. A centripetal force is the effect of a cause acting constantly ; and the effect of that cause must bear some proportion to the time it acts. Diminish the time, in infinitum, and the effect of a centripetal force is diminished, in infinitum ; so that, in any one instant of time, it bears no proportion to a projectile force ; and, what makes the effect of a centripetal, in a given time, to be capable of comparison with a projectile, force, is, that the effects of the centripetal force, during every instant of the time, are accumulated by the inertia of mat- ter, and all, as it were, brought into one sum. Now, how can you conceive two motives, which have a difference and a re- lation to each other, corresponding to the difference and the relation of these two kinds of force ? Both kinds of force suppose the permanency of motion once acquired, and, I think, cannot be distinctly conceived, or their effects ascertained, without that sup- position. 337 — Upon the scheme of Necessity, considered in this section, it must be mam- tained, that there is some unknown cause or causes of human actions, besides motives, which sometimes oppose motives with greater force, sometimes produce actions without motives ; and, as there are no causes but physical causes, all actions must be neces- sary, whether produced by motives or by other physical causes. This scheme of Necessity appears, indeed, to me more tenable than that of Hume and Priestley ; and I wonder that Mr Hume, who thought that he had proved, beyond doubt, that we have no conception of any cause but a physi- cal cause, did not rest the doctrine of Neces- sity upon that principle solely. Unknown causes would have afforded him a retreat in all attacks upon his system. That motives are the sole causes of action, is onely an outwork in the system of Necessity, and may be given up, while it is maintained that every action must have a physical cause ; for physical causes of all human actions, whether they be known or unknown, are equally inconsist- ent with Uberty. 342. — A physical cause, from its nature, must be constant in its effects, when it exists, and is applied to its proper object. But of un- known causes, the existence and the applica- tion may depend upon a concurrence of acci- dents, which is not subject to calculation, or even to rational conjecture. So that, I apprehend, the existance of such causes can never be demonstrated to be contrary to matter of fact. Unknown causes, like oc- cult qualities, suit every occasion, and can never be contradicted by phsenomena ; for, as we cannot, a priori, determine what shall be the effects of causes absolutely unknown ; so it is impossible to prove, of any effect whatsoever, that it cannot be produced by some unknown physical cause or causes. The defects of this system of Necessity, I think, are these two : — first, it is a mere arbitrary hypothesis, brought to prop a weak side in the hypothesis of Necessity ; and, secondly, it is grounded on the supposition that every event must have a physical cause, a supposition which demonstrably termin- ates in an infinite series of physical causes, every one of which is the effect of a physical cause. If the doctrine opposed in this IGth sec- tion be as it is expressed, page 338 — that, though the connection of motive and action is but occasional, the volitions and actions of men are absolutely produced by motives as physical causes — this doctrine I take to be a contradiction in terms, and unworthy of confutation. It maintains that men are absolutely determined by motives, and yet onely occasionally determined by motives — which, if I understand it right, is a contra- diction. 351. The case supposed in this page seems perfectly similar to that of page 226 ; the same reasoning is applied to both Should not the conclusion be the same in both ? 431. — Is there not some inaccuracy in the reasoning in this and the next page ? I take X and Y to represent equal motives to action, and V a motive to inaction, which equally opposes both. If this be so, the motives to the opposite action stand thus : X — V -{- Z on one side, and Y — V on the other. Then there will be a preponderancy on the side of X as long as X and its equal Y is greater than V ; and if X be withdrawn on one side, and Y on the other, we shall have — V -J- Z opposed to — V, In this case, if Z be equal to V, the motives to act and not to act on the side of Z will be equal ; if Z be less than V, the strongest motive will be for inaction ; and if Z be greater than V, there will be a preponderating motive to act on the side of Z. As to the style in general, the only fault I find is, that it abounds too much in long and complex sentences, which have so many clauses, and so much meaning, that it is difficult to carry it all from the beginnhig to the end of the sentence. The reader's un- derstanding should have gentle exercise, but not hard labour, to comprehend the author's meaning. I dislike a style that is cut down into what the ancients called commas of a line or half a line. This, like water falling drop by drop, disposes one to sleep. But I think you rather go into the contrary ex- treme. Your friend. Lord Bacon, says, " A fluent and luxuriant speech becomes youlh well, hut not age." I believe he had LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 87 in his view a rhetorical speech, and not the lene el temperalum iticendi genus, which, iu Cicero's judgment, best suits philosopliy. XX. ON A NOVEL USE OF THE WORD MOTIVE — CAUSALITY OF MOTIVES, &C. 1793. Dear Sir — I received Mr Crombie's Essay* on Friday the 11th, at night, and have read it twice, though interrupted by the removal of my family to the college. If this be Mr Crombie's first essay in con- troversy, I think he shews no mean talent, and may in time become an able champion. He has done me particular honour in directing so great a part of the book against me ; yet, though I read the work without prejudice, my opinion is not changed iu any point of the controversy. He has strengthenedhis defensive armour by extending the meaning of the word mo- tive. I understood a motive, when applied to a human being, to be that for the sake of which-f- he acts, and, therefore, that what he never was conscious of, can no more be a motive to determine his will, than it can be an argument to convince his judgment. Now, I learn that any circumstance arising from habit, or some mechanical in- stinctive cause, may be a motive, though it never entered into the thought of the agent. From this reinforcement of motives, of which v.'e are unconscious, every volition may be supplied with a motive, and even a predominant one, when it is wanted. Yet this addition to his defensive force takes just as much from his offensive- The chief argument for Necessity used by D. Hume and Lord Kames is, that, from experiance, it appears that men are always determined by the strongest motive. This argument admits of much embellishment by a large and pleasant induction. * IJr Crcimbie, the well-knowr. author of the " Gymnasium," and other able works, published an " Essay on Philosophical Necessity," Londoti, I79i, in which l)r (ireijory's reasoning is assailed with much acrimony and considerable acuteness. It is to this trcati-c that Iteiii's remarks apply. There sub8(quently a|'pearcd, " Letters from Dt James CircRory of Edinburgh, in Defence of his Kesay on the Diffi-'rcncc 01 the .-elation between Motiveand Action, and that of Cause and Kfleclin Physic*; with Replies by the llev. Alexander Crombie, Ll,. IJ. ;" London, Ihl'J. It is much to be regretted, that Dr Gregory did not find leisure to complete his " Answer to Messrs Crombie, Prieslley, and Co.;" of which 512 pages have been printed, but are slill unpublished. t This is Aristolle's definition {to'itixa, ov) of end or final cauf; and, as a synonyme for end or final ca'ise, the term motive h.id been long exclusively ctijploye brute or blind I'atc; the l.-.tter rational Ueterniinism. '1 IioukIi their practiciii ri-«ults be the hanie, ihev ought to be carefidly dis- tinguished in theory. '-H. After these two authors had exhausted their eloquence upon it, Mr Crombie adds his, from page 27 to 39. Now, if motives we are unconscious of be the cause of many actions, it will be impossible to prove from experiance, that they are all caused by mo- tives. For no experiment can be made upon motives we are unconscious of. If, on the contrary, all our actions are found by experiance to proceed from motives known or felt, tliere is no work left for the unknown, nor any evidence of their exist- ance. I apprehend, therefore, Mr Crombie must either keep by the old meaning of motive, or give up this argument for Neces- sity taken from experiance. But he lays the main stress, as Dr Priestley likewise has done, upon another argument. It is, that a volition not determuied by mo- tives, is an uncaused effect, and therefore an absurdity, a contradiction, and the greatest of all absurdities. I think, indeed, it is in vain to reason upon the subject of Necessity pro or con, till this point be determined ; for, on the one side, to what purpose is[it] to disprove by argument a proposition that is absurd ? On the other side, demonstration itself cannot prove that to be true which is absurd. If this be really an absurdity. Liberty must be given up. And if the appearance of absurdity be owing to false colouring, I think every argument this author has used, when weighed in the balance of reason, will be found light. I would, therefore, think it a prudent saving of time and labour, that contro\ ertists on both sides should lay aside every other weapon, till the force of this be fairly tried. Mr Crombie triumphs in it almost m every page ; and I think Dr Priestley urged it as an apology for neglecting your essay, tliut you pretended to demonstrate an absurdity. It must, indeed, be granted, that even the Deity cannot give a power to man, which involves an absurdity. But if this absurdity vanish, when seen in a just light, then it will be time to examine the fact, whether such a power is given to man or not. Is a volition, undetermined by motives, an uncaused eftect, and therefore an ab- surdity and a contradiction ? I grant that an uncaused effect is a con- tradiction in terms ; for an eflect is some- thing effected, and what is effected implies an efficient, as an action implies an agent. To say an effect must have a cause, is really an identical proposition, which carries no information but of the meaning of a word. To say that an event — that is, a thing which began to exist — must have a cause, is not an identical proposition, and might have been as easily said. I know I no] reason why Mr Croiiibi(! shoidd stick by tliis impro- priety, after it was censured in Dr Priestley, 88 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. but that impropriety in the use of terms is an expedient either to cover an absurdity where it really is, or to make that appear absurd which is not so m reality. I grant, then, that an effect uncaused is a contradiction, and that an event uncaused is an absurdity. Tlie question that remains is whether a volition, undetermined by mo- tives, is an event uncaused. This I deny. The cause of the volition is the man that willed it. This Mr Crombie grants in several places of his Essay — that the man is the efficient cause of all his volitions. Is it not strange, then, that, almost in every page, he should affirm that a volition, undeter- mined by motives, is an effect uncaused ? Is an efficient cause no cause ? or are two causes necessary to every event ?* Motives, he thinks, are not the efficient but the physi- cal cause of volitions, as gravity is of the descent of a stone. Then, fair dealing Mould have made him qualify the absurdity, and, say that it is absurd that a volition should be without a physical cause ; but to have pleaded the absurdity thus qualified, would have been a manifest pefitio principii. I can see nothing in a physical cause but a constant conjunction with the effect. Mr Crombie calls it a necessary connection ; but this no man sees in physical causes ; and, if every event must have a physical cause, then every event must have been repeated in conjunction with its cause from eternity, for it could have no constant con- junction when first produced. The most shocking consequences of the system of necessity are avowed by this au- thor without shame. Moral evil is nothing but as it tends to produce natural evil. A man truely enlightened, ought to have no remorse for the blackest crimes. I think he might have added that the villain has reason to glory in his crimes, as he suffers for them without his fault, and for the com- mon good. Among the arts of this author, the following are often put in practice : — 1. To supply the defect of argument by abuse. 2. What he thinks a consequence of the system of Liberty he imputes to his adversaries as their opinion, though they deny it. 3. What is urged as a conse- quence of Necessity, he considers as imputing an opinion to those who hold Necessity, and thinks it answer that they hold no such opinion. 4. What is said to invalidate an argument for Necessity, he considers as an • This is no removal of the difficulty. Is the man determined to volition, and to a certain kind of voli- tion, or is he not ? If the former, necessitation is not avoided; if the latter, the admitted absurdity emerges. Tne schemes of Liberty and of Nece-sity are contradictory ol each other: they consequently ex- clude any intermediate theory ; and one or other must be true. Yet the possibility of neither can be conceived ; for each equally involves what is inioni- prehensible, if not what is absurd. But of this again, — H. argument against Necessity ; and thinks it sufficient to shew that it does not answer a purpose for which it never was intended, as if what is a sufficient answer to an argument for Necessity must be a conclusive argument against Necessity. I believe, however, he may claim the merit of adding the word Libertarian to the English language, as Priestley added that of Necessarian. — Yours, Tho. Reid.» XXI. [ The folloiving Letter to Dr Gregory is quoted by Mr Stewart in his '' Disserta- tion on the Progress of Metaphysical and Moral Science.^' The dale is not given ; and the original is not noiv extant among the letters of Reid in the hands of Dr Gregory's family. — H. ] The merit of what you are pleased to call my philosophy, lies, I think, chiefly, in hav- ing called in question the common theory of ideas, or images of things in the mind, being the only objects of thought ; a theory founded on natural prejudices, and so uni- versally received as to be interwoven with the structure of the language. Yet, were I to give you a detail of what led me to call in question this theory, after I had long held it as self-evident and unquestionable, you would think, as I do, that there was much of chance in the matter. The discovery was the birth of time, not of genius ; and Berkeley and Hume did more to bring it to light than the man that hit upon it. I think there is hardly anything that can be called mine in the philosophy of the mind, which does not follow with ease from the detection of this prejudice. I must, there- fore, beg of you most earnestly to make no contrast in my favour to the disparagement of my predecessors in the same pursuits. I can truly say of them, and shall always avow, what you are pleased to say of me, that, but for the assistance I have received from their writings, I never could have wrote or thought what I have done. • Besides the preceding papers on the question of Liherty and Necessity, there are extant, Remarks at considerable length by Reid, on three sets of Objec. tions made by a distinguished natural philosopher to Dr Gregory's Essav, in the years 1786, 1*89, and 1790. Ihese Kcra'arks, though of much interest, have been omitted : for they could not adequately be understood apart from tlie relative Objections ; and these it was deemed improper to publish posthu- mously, after their author had expressly refused to allow them to be printed during his life. — There are also omitted, as of minor importance, two other papers on the same question ; the one containing, " Remarks on the Objections to Dr Gregory's hssay," which were printed in the appendix to that Essay; the other," Remarks" on apamphlel entitled " Ulus. t rations of Liberty and Necessity, in Answer to Di Gregory," published in 1795.— H, LETTERS TO THE REV. A. ALISON & PROFESSOR ROBISON. 89 D.— LETTER TO THE KEY. ARCHIBALD ALISON. The following letter was addressed, by Dr Reid, to the Rev. Archibald Alison, (LL.B., Prebendary of Sarum, &c.,) on receiving a copy of his " Essays on the Nature and Principles of Taste" — a work of great ingenuity and elegance, and the first systematic attempt to explain the emotions of sublimity and beauty on the principles of association. It was originally published in 1790. It is, perhaps, needless to remind the reader that Mr Alison was brother-in-law of Dr Gregory — H. ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF TASTE. Dear Sir, — I received your very oblig- ing letter of Jan. 10, with two copies of your book, about the middle of last week. I ex- pected a meeting of Faculty, to which I might present the book, and return you the thanks of the society along with my own ; but we have had no meeting since I received it. In the meantime, I have read it with avidity and with much pleasure ; and cannot longer forbear to return you my cordial thanks for this mark of your regard, and for the hand- some compliment you make me in the book. I think your principles are just, and that you have sufficiently justified them by a great variety of illustrations, of which many appear new to me, and important in them- selves, as well as pertinent to the purpose for which they are adduced. That your doctrine concerning the sub- lime and beautiful in objects of sense coin- cides, in a great degree, with that of the Platonic school, and with Shaftesbury and Akenside among the moderns, I think may justly be said. They believed intellec- tual beauties to be the highest order, com- pared with which the terrestrial hardly de- serve the name. They taught beauty and good to be one and the same thing. But both Plato and those two, his admirers, handle the subject cf beauty rather with the enthusiasm of poets or lovers, than with the cool temper of philosophers. And it is difficult to determine what allowance is to he made, in what they have said, for the hyperbolical language of enthusiasm. The other two you mention, Dr Hutclic- son and ]Mr Spence, though both admirers of Plato, do not appear to me either to have perceived this doctrine in him, or to have discovered it themselves. The first places beauty in uniformity and variety, which, when they are perceived, immediately affect that internal sense which he calls the sense of beauty. The other makes colour, form, expression, and grace to be the four ingre- dients of beauty in the female part of our species, without being aware that the beauty of colour, form, and grace is nothing but expression, as well as what he calls by that name. On these grounds, I am proud to think that I first, in clear and explicit terms, and in the cool blood of a philosopher, main- tained that all the beauty and sublimity of objects of sense is derived from the expres- sion they exhibit of things intellectual, which alone have original beauty. But in this I may deceive myself, and cannot claim to be held an impartial judge. Though I don't expect to live to see the second part of your work, I have no hesi- tation in advising you to prosecute it ; being persuaded that criticism is reducible to prin- ciples of philosophy, which may be more fully unfolded than they have been, and which will always be found friendly to the best interests of mankind, as well as to manly and rational entertainment. Mrs Reid desires to present her best re- spects to Mrs Alison, to which I beg you to add mine, and to believe me to be your much obliged and faithful servant, Tho. Reie. Glasgow Collrqe, 3d Feb. 1790. E.— LETTER TO PROFESSOR ROBISON. There has been given above, (p. €>?,,) a letter by Dr Reid, in 170-1, recording a remarkable conversation between Sir Isaac Newton and Professor James Gregory, relative to Sir Issiac's descent from the family of Newton of Newton, in the county of East Lothian. Some years thereafter, Mr Barron, a relation of Sir Isaac, seems to have instituted in(|niripH in regard to the Scottish genealogy of the philosopher; in con- 90 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. sequence of which, the late Professor Robison of Edinburgh, aware, pi-obably, of the letter to Dr Gregory, was induced to apply to Dr Reid for a more particular accounV of the conversation in question. The following is Reid's answer, as published in Sir David Brewster's " Life of Sir Isaac Newton." — H. Dear Sir, — I am very glad to learn, by yours of April 4, that a Mr Barron, a near relation of Sir Isaac Newton, is anxious to inquire into the descent of that great man, as the family cannot trace it farther, with any certainty, than his grandfather. I there- fore, as you desire, send you a precise ac- count of all I know ; and am glad to have this opportunity, before I die, of putting this information in hands that will make the proper use of it, if it shall be found of any use. Several years before I left Aberdeen, (which I didm 1764,) Mr Douglas of Fecliel, the father of Sylvester Douglas, now a bar- rister at London, told me, that, having been lately at Edinburgh, he was often in com- pany of Mr Hepburn of Keith, a gentleman with whom I had some acquaintance, by his lodging a night at my house at NewMachar, when he was in the rebel army m 1745. That Mr Hepburn told him, that he had heard Mr James Gregory, Professor of Mathematics, Edinburgh, say, that, being one day in familiar conversation with Sir Isaac Newton at London, Sh- Isaac said — " Gregory, I believe you don't know that I am a Scotchman." — " Pray, how is that ?'' said Gregory. Sir Isaac said, he was in- formed that his grandfather (or great-grand- father) was a gentleman of East (or West) Lothian ; that he went to London with King James I. at his accession to the crown of England ; and that he attended the court, in expectation, as many others did, until he spent his fortune, by which means his family was reduced to low circumstances. At the time this was told me, Mr Gregory was dead, otherwise I should have had his own testimony ; for he was my mother's brother. I likewise thought at that time, that it had been certainly known that Sir Isaac had been descended from an old English family, as I think is said in his eloi/e before the Academy of Sciences at Paris; and therefore I never mentioned what I had heard for many years, believing that there must be some mistake in it. Some years after I came to Glasgow, I mentioned, (I believe for the first time,) what I had heard to have been said by Mr Hepburn, to Mr Cross, late sheriff of this county, whom you will remember. Mr Cross was moved by this account, and im- mediately said — " I know Mr Hepburn very well, and I know he was intimate with Mr Gregory. I shall write him this same night, to know whether he heard Mr Gregory say so or not." After some reflection, he added — " I know that Mr Keith, the ambassador, was also an intimate acquaintance of Mr Gregory, and, as he is at present in Edin- burgh, I shall likewise write to him this night." The next time I waited on Mr Cross, he told me that he had wrote both to Mr Hepburn and Mr Keith, and had an answer from both ; and that both of then: testified that they had several times heard Mr James Gregory say, that Sir Isaa-c New- ton told hira what is above expressed, but that neither they nor Mr Gregory, as far as they knew, ever made any farther inquiry into the matter. This appeared very strange both to Mr Cross and me ; and he said he would reproach them for their indifference, and would make inquiry as soon as he was able. He lived but a short time after this ; and, in the last conversation I had with him upon the subject, he said, that all he had yet learned was, that there was a Sir John Newton of Newton in one of the counties of Lothian, (but I have forgot which,) some of whose children were yet alive ; that they reported that their father, Sir John, had a letter from Sir Isaac Newton, desiring to know the state of his family ; what children he had, particularly what sons ; and in what way they were. The old knight never re- turned an answer to this letter, thinking, probably, that Sir Isaac was some upstart, who wanted to claim a relation to his wor- shipful house. This omission the children regretted, conceiving that Sir Isaac might have had a view of doing something for their benefit. Alter this, I mentioned occasionally in conversation what I knew, hoping that these facts might lead to some more certain dis- covery ; but I found more coldness about the matter than I thought it deserved. I wrote an account of it to Dr Gregory, your colleague, that he might impart it to any member of the Antiquarian Society who he judged might have had the curiosity to trace the matter farther. In the year 1787? my colleague, Mr Patrick Wilson, Professor of Astronomy, having been in London, told me, on his return, that he had met accidentally with a James Hutton, Esq. of Pimlico, Westmin- ster, a near relation of Sir Isaac Newton, to whom he mentioned what he had heard from me with respect to Sir Isaac's descent, and that I wished much to know something decisive on the subject. Mr Hutton said, if I pleased to write to him, he would give CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. 91 me all the information he could give. I wrote him, accordingly, and had a very polite answer, dated at Bath, 25th Decem- ber 1787, which is now before me. He says, " I shall be glad, when I return to London, if I can find, in some old notes of my mother, any thing that may fix the cer- tainty of Sir Isaac's descent. If he spoke so to Mr James Gregory, it is most cer- tain he spoke truth. But Sir Isaac's grandfather, not his great-grandfather, must be the person who came from Scot- land with King James I. If I find any thing to the purpose, I will take care it shall reach you." This is all I know of the matter ; and for the facts above mentioned, I pledge my veracity. I am much obliged to you, dear Sii for the kind expressions of your affection and esteem, which, I assure you, are mutual on my part ; and I sincerely sympathise with you on your afflicting" state of health, which makes you consider yourself as out of the world, and despair of seeing me any more. I have been long out of the world by deafness and extreme old age. I hope, however, if we should not meet again in this world, that we shall meet and renew our acquaintance in another. In the meantime, I am, with great esteem, dear Sir, yours affectionately, Tho. RErn. Glasgow College, 12th April 1792. F.— LETTER TO DAVID HUME. The following is in answer to the letter of Hume, given by Mr Stewart in his Ac- count of Reid, {supra, p. 7, sq.) It is recently published, from the Hume papers, by Mr Burton, in his very able life of the philosopher ; and, though out of chrono- logical order, (by the reprinting of a leaf,) it is here inserted. — H. IN REFERENCE TO UIS OWN INQUIRY, PRIOR TO ITS PUBLICATION. King's College, [_Aberdeen,^ ISth March 1763. Sir, — On Monday last, Mr John Far- quhar brought me your letter of February 25th, enclosed in one from Dr Blair. I thought myself very happy in having the means of obtaining at second hand, through the friendship of Dr Blair, your opinion of my performance : and you have been pleased to communicate it directly in so polite and friendly a manner, as merits great acknowledgments on my part. Your keeping a watchful eye over my style, with a view to be of use to me, is an instance of candour and gene- rosity to an antagonist, which would affect me very sensibly, although I had no per- sonal concern in it, and I shall always be proud to show so amiable an example. Your judgment of the style, indeed, gives me great consolation, as I was very diffi- dent of myself in regard to English, and have been indebted to Drs Campbell and Gerard for many corrections of that kind. In attempting to throw some new light • Kant m.'iki^s a similar acknowlcdgmnnt. "By Ilumo," ho says, " I waH firHt KtartliMl out of my doffmatic: slumber." Thus Humo (aw flsowhiTO Kl.-itcfl) ia author, in a sort, of all our HuliKriiucnt philoHOphy. Koroutof Ur'id ami Kant, mediately or imme'liately, all our Buhsc'iuent philosoi>liy if upon those abstruse subjects, I wish to preserve the due mean betwixt confidence and despair. But whether I have any success in this attempt or not, I shall always avow myself your disciple in me- taphysics. I have learned more from your writings in this kind, than from all others put together. Your system appears to me not only coherent in all its parts, but Ukewise justly deduced from princi- ples commonly received among philoso- phers ; principles which I never thought of calling in question, until the conclu- sions you draw from them in the Treatise of Human Nature made me suspect them. If these principles are solid, your system must stand ; and whether they are or not, can better be judged after you have brought to light the whole system that grows out of them, than when the greater part of it was wrapped up in clouds and darkness. I agree with you, therefore, that if this system shall ever be de- molished, you have a just claim to a great share of the praise, both because you have made it a distinct and determined mark to be aimed at, and have furnished pro- per artillery for the purpose.* ii» father being ttill alive.— II. sceptic — hath built a system of scepticism, which leaves no ground to believe any one thing rather than its contrary. His reason- ing appeared to me to be just ; there was, therefore, a necessity to call in question the principles upon which it was founded, or to admit the conclusion-* But can any ingenuous mind admit this sceptical system without reluctance ? I truly could not, my Lord ; for I am per- suaded, that absolute scepticism is not more destructive of the faith of a Christian than of the science of a philosopher, and of the prudence of a man of common understand- ing. I am persuaded, that the unjust live by faith-\' as well as the jusl ; that, if alf belief could be laid aside, piety, patriotism, friendship, parental affection, and private virtue, would appear as ridiculous as knight- errantry ; and that the pursuits of pleasure, of ambition, and of avarice, must be grounded upon belief, as well as those that are honourable or virtuous. The day-labourer toils at his work, in the belief that he shall receive his wages at night ; and, if he had not this belief, ho would not toil. We may venture to say, that even the author of this sceptical system wrote it in the belief that it • " I'his doctrine of Ideas," (says Dr'Keid.in a sub. sequent work,) " I once believed so firmly, as to cm- brace tlie whole of Berkeley's system in eonscqueiice of it ; till, finding other consequences to follow from it, which g:ive nie more uneasiness than the want of a material world, it came into my mind, more than forty years ago, to put the question, What evidence have I f(jr this doctrine, that all the ohjeets of my knowledge are ideas in my own mind ?" — lissays on the Intcllictunl I'otpcrs, i:ss. II. cli. X p. KiJ. In like manner, Kant informs us, that it was by Hume's sceptical inferences, in regard to the causal nexus, that he also " was first rousi-d from his dog. matic slumber." See the " Prolegomena," p 13.— II. t .See Note A at the end of the volume, in illuslra. fion of tlie principle, that the root of Knowledge is Belief.— H. 96 OF THE HUMAN iMIND. should be read and regarded. I hope he wrote it in the behef also that it would be useful to mankind ; and, perhaps, it may prove so at last. For I conceive the scep- tical writers to be a set of men whose busi- ness it is to pick holes in the fabric of knowledge wherever it is weak and faulty ; and, when these places are properly repaired, the whole building becomes more firm and solid than it was formerly. For my own satisfaction, I entered into a serious examination of the principles upon which this sceptical system is built ; and was not a little surprised to find, that it leans with its whole weight upon a hypo- thesis, which is ancient indeed, and hath been very generally received by philoso- phers, but of which I could find no solid proof. The hypothesis I mean, is, That nothing is perceived but what is in the mind which perceives it : That we do not really perceive things that are external, but only certain images and pictures of them imprinted upon the mind, which are called impressions and ideas. If this be true, supposing cei-tain im- pressions and ideas to exist in my mind, • I cannot, from their existence, infer the exist- ence of anything else : my impressions and ideas are the only existences of which I can have any knowledge or conception ; and they are such fleeting and transitory beings, that they can have no existence at all, any longer tlian I am conscious of them. So that, upon this hypothesis, the whole uni- verse about me, bodies and spirits, sun, moon, stars, and earth, friends and rela tions, all things without exception, which I imagined to have a permanent existence, whether I thought of them or not, vanish at once ; " And, like the baseless fabric of a vision. Leave not a track behind." I thought it unreasonable, my Lord, upon the authority of philosophers, to admit a hypothesis which, in my opinion, overturns all philosophy, all religion and virtue, and all common sense-j- — and, finding that all the systems concerning the human understand- ing which I was acquainted with, were built upon this hypothesis, I resolved to inquire into this subject anew, without regard to any hypothesis. What I now humbly present to your Lordship, is the fruit of this inquiry, so far only as it regards the five senses : in which I claim no other merit than that of having » In first edition, " to exist presently in my mind." 1 may here, once for all, notice that pre. saitly, (in its original and proper sense, and as it is frequently employed by Reid,) for now or at present, has WHXcd oVisdlete in English. For above a century ani a half, it is only lo be found in good English writers in the secondary meaning of in a little while —without tielay. — H. + See Note A at the end of the volume, in defence and illustration of the term Common Sense. — H. given great attention to the operations of my own mind, and of having expressed, with all the perspicuity I was able, what I conceive every man, who gives the same attention, will feel and perceive. The productions of imagination require a genius which soars above the common rank ; but the treasures of knowledge are commonly buried deep, and may be reached by those drudges who can dig with labour and patience, though they have not wings to fly. The experi- ments that were to be made in this investi- gation suited me, as they required no other expense but that of time and attention, which I could bestow. The leisure of an academical life, disengaged from the pur- suits of interest and ambition ; the duty of my profession, whif^h obliged me to give prelections on these subjects to the youth ; and an early inclination to speculations of this kind, have enabled me, as I flatter my- self, to give a more minute attention to the subject of this inquu-y, than has been given before. My thoughts upon this subject were, a good many years ago, put together in an- other form, for the use of my pupils, and afterwards were submitted to the judgment of a private philosophical society,* of which I have the honour to be a member. A great part of this Inquiry was honoured even by your Lordship's perusal. And the encouragement which you, my Lord, and others, whose friendship is my boast, and whose judgment I reverence, were pleased to give me, counterbalance my timi- dity and diffidence, and determined me to ofler it to the public. If it appears to your Lordship to justify the common sense and reason of mankind, against the sceptical subtilties which, in this age, have endeavoured to put them out of countenance — if it appears to throw any new light upon one of the noblest parts of the divine workmanship — your Lordship's respect for the arts and sciences, and your attention to everything which tends to the improvement of them, as well as to every- thing else that contributes to the felicity of your country, leave me no room to doubt of your favourable acceptance of this essay, as the fruit of my industry in a profession-h wherein I wasj accountable to your Lord- ship ; and as a testimony of the great esteem and respect wherewith I have the honour to be. My Lord, Your Lordship's most obliged And most devoted Servant, Tho. Reid.§ » See above, p 4i,b. — H. t Keid, here and elsewhere, uses profession for chair ox professorship. — H. t " Am" — first edition — H. ^ In first edition this dedication is dated— " King'* College, Nov. 9, 1763."— H. AN INQUIRY INTO THE HUMAN MIND. CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTION. Section I, THE IMPORTANCE OK THE SUBJECT, AND THE MEANS OF PROSECUTING IT. The fabric of the human mind is curious and wonderful, as well as that of the human body. The faculties of the one are with no less wisdom adapted to their several ends than the organs of the other. Nay, it is reasonable to think, that, as the mind is a nobler work and of a higher order than the body, even more of the wisdom arid skill o. tlie divine Architect hath been employed in its structure. It is,* therefore, a subject highly worthy of inquiry on its own account, but still more worthy on account of the extensive influence which the knowledge of it hath over every other branch of science. In the arts and sciences which have least connection with the mind, its faculties are the engines which we must employ ; and the better we understand their nature and use, their defects and disorders, the more skilfully we shall apply them, and with the greater success. Iiut in the noljlcst arts, the mind is also the subject* upon which we operate. The painter, the poet, the actor, the orator, the moralist, and the statesman, attempt to operate upon the mind in differ- ent ways, and for different ends ; and they succeed according as they touch properly the fitriuKS of the human frame. Nor can • In philosophical language, it were to bo wished that the word subject should be reserved lor the sub- ject of inhiai n — the tiiatrria in qua \ and the term vbjfct ixtiu>ivcly ajiplied to the subject of operation — the materia circn (/7ia?ii. It this be not dijnc, the Krand distinction of subjective and olijrctive, in phi- losophy, i>. confounded. But if the employment of Suiject tor Object is to be deprecated, the em|)loy. ment of (Jlijcct for purjiose or tinal cause, (iti tli • French and Ijinlish lannuatjcs,) is to be absolutely roridcmned, as a recent and irrational contusion ot notions winch -.hould be careful ly dintinguiihed. — H. their several arts ever stand on a solid found- ation, or rise to the dignity of science, until they are built on the principles of the human constitution. Wise men now agree, or ought to arrree, m this, that there is but one way to the knowledge of nature's works — the way of observation and experiment. By our con- stitution, we have a strong propensity to trace particular facts and observations to general rules, and to apply such general rules to account for other effects, or to direct us in the production of them. This proce- dure of the understanding is familiar to every human creature in the common affairs of li-'e, and it is the only one by which any real discovery in philosophy can be made. The man who first discovered that cold freezes water, and that heat turns it into vapour, proceeded on the same general prin. ciples, and in the same method by which Newton discovered the law of gravitation and the properties of light. His regulce o/iUosophundi are maxims of common sense, and are practised every day in common life ; and he who philosophizes by other rules, either concerning the material sys- tem or concerning the mind, mistakes his aim. Conjectures and theories* are the crea- tures of men, and will always be found very unlike the creatures of God. If we would know the works of God, we must consult themselves with attention and humility, witl'.out daring to add anything of ours to what they declare. A just interpretation of nature is the only sound and orthodox philosophy : whatever we add of our own, is apocryphal, and of no authority. All our curious theories of the formation of the earth, of the generation of animals, of the origin of natural and moral evil, so far as tliey go beyond a just induction from • Reid uses the terms, Theory, Hypothesis, and CV;ryVe/KM', as ((invert dile, and always in an unfavour. able acceptation Herein there is a double inaccu- racy. But of this again.— H. II 98 OF THE HUiMAN MIND. facts, are vanity and folly, no less than the Vortices of Des Cartes,* or the Archaeus of Paracelsus. Perhaps the philosophy of the mind hath been no less adulterated by theories, than that of the material system. The theory of Ideas is indeed very ancient, and hath been very universally received ; but, as neither of tliese titles can give it authenticity, they ought not to screen it from a free and candid examination ; especially in this age, when it hath produced a system of scepticism that seems to triumph over all science, and even over the dictates of com- mon sense. All that we know of the body, is owing to anatomical dissection and observation, and it must be by an anatomy of the mind that we can discover its powers and prin- ciples. Section II. THE IMPEDIMENTS TO OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE MIND. But it must be acknowledged, that this kind of anatomy is much more difficult than the other ; and, therefore, it needs not seem strange that mankind have made less progress in it. To attend accurately to the operations of our minds, and make them an object of thought, is no easy mat- ter even to the contemplative, and to the bulk of mankind is next to impossible. An anatomist who hath happy opportu- nities, may have access to examine with his own eyes, and with equal accuracy, bodies of all different ages, sex^s, and conditions ; so that what is defective, ob- scure, or preternatural in one, may be discerned clearly and in its most perfect state in another. But the anatomist of the mind cannot have the same advantage. It is his own mind only that he can examine with any degree of accuracy and distinct- ness. This is the only subject he can look into. He may, from outward signs, collect the operations of other minds ; but these signs are for the most part ambiguous, and must be interpreted by what he perceives within himself. So that, if a philosopher could delineate to us, distinctly and methodically, all the operations of the thinking principle within him, which no man was ever able to do, this would be only the anatomy of one par- ticular subject ; which would be both defi- cient and erroneous, if applied to human nature in general. For a little reflection » No one deemed more lightly of liis hypotheses than Des Cartes himself He called them " philosoph. ical romances ;" and thus anticipated Father Daniel, who again anticipated Voltaire, in the saying — Ihe Philotophy uf Des Cartes is the Homancc of Nature. may satisfy us, that the difference of minds is greater than that of any other beings which we consider as of the same species. Of the various powers and faculties we possess, there are some which nature seems both to have planted and reared, so as to have left nothing to human industry. Such arc the powers which we have in common with the brutes, and which are necessary to the preservation of the individual, or the continuance of the kind. There are other powers, of which nature hath only planted the seeds in our minds, but hath left the rearing of them to human culture. It is by the proper culture of these that we are cap- able of all those improvements in intellec- tuals, in taste, and in morals, which exalt and dignify human nature ; while, on the other hand, the neglect or perversion of them makes its degeneracy and corruption. The two-legged animal that eats of na- ture's dainties, what his taste or appetite craves, and satisfies his thirst at the crystal fountain, who pi-opagates his kind as occa- sion and lust prompt, repels injuries, and takes alternate labour and. repose, is, like a tree in the forest, purely of nature's growth. But this same savage hath within him the seeds of the logician, the man of taste and breeding, the orator, the statesman, the man of virtue, and the saint ; which seeds, though planted in his mind by nature, yet, through want of culture and exercise, must lie for ever buried, and be hardly perceivable by himself or by others. The lowest degree of social life will bring to light some ot those principles which lay hid in the savage state ; and, according to his training, and company, and manner of life, some of them, either by their native vigour, or by the force of culture, will thrive and grow up to great perfection, others will be strangely perverted from their natural form, and others checked, or perhaps quite eradicated. This makes human nature so various and multiform in the individuals that partake of it, that, in point of morals and intellectual endowments, it fills up all that gap which we conceive to be between brutes and devils below, and the celestial orders above ; and such a prodigious diversity of minds must make it extremely difficult to discover the common principles of the species. The language of philosophers, with re- gard to the original faculties of the mind, is so adapted to the prevailing system, tlsat it cannot fit any other ; like a coat that fits the man for whom it was made, and shews him to advantage, which yet will sit very awkward upon one of a different make, although perhaps as handsome and as well proportioned. It is hardly possible to make any innovation in our philosophy concern- ing the mind and its operations, without INTRODLXTION'. using new words and phrases, or giving a different meaning to those that are received — a liberty which, even when necessary, creates prejudice and misconstruction, and whicli must wait the sanction of time to authorize it ; for innovations in hmguage, like those in rehgion and government, are always suspected and disliked by tlie many, till use hath made them famihar, and pre- scription hath given them a title. If the original perceptions and notions of the mind were to make their appearance single and unmixed, as we first received them from the hand of nature, one accus- tomed to reflection would have less difficulty in tracing them ; but before we are capa- ble of reflection, they are so mixed, com- pounded, and decompounded, by habits, associations, and abstractions, tiiat it is hard to know what they weie originally. The mind may, in this respect, be compared to an apothecary or a chemist, whose mate- rials indeed are furnished by nature ; but, for the purposes of his art, he mixes, com- pounds, dissolves, evaporates, and sublimes tliem, till they put on a quite different appearance ; so that it is very difficult to know what they were at first, and much more to bring them back to their original and natural form. And this work of the mind is not carried on by delil:)erate acts of mature reason, which we might recollect, but l)y means of instincts, habits, associa- tions, and other principles, which operate before we come to the use of reason ; s(j that it is extremely difficult for the mind to return upon its own footsteps, and trace back those operations which liave employed it since it first began to think and to net. Could we obtain a distinct and full his- tory of all that hath past in the mind of a child, from the beginning of life and sensa- tion, till it grows up to the use of reason — how its infant faculties began to work, and liow they brought forth and ripened all the various notions, opinions, and sentiments which we find in ourselves when we come to be cajiable of reflection — tliis would be a treasure of natural liistory, which would probably give more light into the human faculties, than all the systems of philoso- phers about them since the beginning of the world. But it is in vain to wish lor what nature has not put within the reach of our power. Reflection, the only instru- ment by whicli we can discern tlie powers of the mind, comes too late to observe the progress of nature, in raising them from their infancy to perfection. It must therffore require great caution, and great aiiplication of mind, for a mati tliat is grown up in all the prejudices of education, fashion, and ]iliiloso[)liy, to unravel his notions and opiuions, till lie find out the simple and original principles of his constitution, of which no account can be given but the will of our jNlaker. This may be truly called an auii/t/.sis of the human faculties ; and, till this is performed, it is in vain we expect any just .■'ps/em of the mmd — that is, an enumeration of the original powers and laws of our constitution, and an explication from tliem of the various phcenomena of human nature. Success in an inquiry of this kind, it is not in human power to command ; but, per- haps, it is possible, l)y caution and humility, to avoid error and delusion. The labyrinth may be too intricate, and the thread too fine, to be traced through all its windings ; but, if we stop whore wo can trace it no farther, and secure the ground we have gained, there is no harm done ; a quicker eye may in time trace it farther. It is genius, and not the want of it, that adulterates philosophy, and fills it with error and false theory. A ci-eative imagi- nation disdains the mean offices of digging for a foundation, of removing rubbish, and carrying materials ; leaving tljese servile employments to the drudges in science, it plans a design, and raises a fabric. Inven- tion supplies materials where they are wanting, and fancy adds colouring and every befitting ornament. The work pleases tlie eye, and wants nothing hut solidity and a good foundation. It seems even to vie with the works of nature, till some succeeding architect blows it into rubbish, and builds as goodly a fabric of his own in its place. Happily for the pre- sent age, 4he castle-builders employ them- selves more in romance than in philosophy. That is undoubtedly their province, and in those regions the offspring of fancy is legitimate, but in philosophy it is all spu- rious. * Section III. THE PRESENT STATE OF THIS PART OF PHILO- SOPHY — OF DES CARTES, WALKBRANCHB, AND LOrKE. That our jthilosophy concerning the mind and its faculties is but in a very low state, may be reasonably conjectured even by tliose who never have narrowly examined it. Are there any principles, with regard to the mind, settled with that perspicuity aiid evidence which a! tends the principles of mechanics, astronomy, and o])tics ? These are really sciences built upon laws of nature which universally obtain. What is • The fiame doctrine of the iiicomi)atit)ility of crea- •ive iinaKiialini) and philoiophiciil talent, is held I'v Hume and Kant I'hcre is required, hnvvcvcr, for the metaplly^l(•laIl, not leiiii iinaginalion than lor tlie poet, thoiiph of a did'cTent kind ; il may, in fact, lie doubted whether Homer or Aiistotle pnssoued ihi< faculty in (jroater vigour. — H. n 2 100 OF THE HUMAN MIND. discovered in them is no longer matter of dispute : future ages may add to it ; but, till the course of nature be changed, what is already established can never be overturned. But when we turn our attention inward, and consider the phtenomena of human thoughts, opinions, aud perceptions, and endeavour to trace them to the general laws and the first principles of our constitution, we are imme- diately involved in darkness and perplexity ; and, if common sense, or the principles of education, happen not to be stubborn, it is odds but we end in absolute scepticism. Des Cartes, finding nothing established in this part of philosophy, in ortler to lay the foundation of it deep, resolved not to believe his own existence till he should be able to give a good reason for it. He was, per- haps, the first that took up such a resolu- tion ; but, if he could indeed have effected his purpose, and really become diffident of his existence, his case would have been deplorable, and without any remedy from reason or philosophy. A man that dis- beUeves his own existence, is surely as unfit to be reasoned with as a man that believes he is made of glass. There may be dis- orders in the human frame that may pro- duce such extravagancies, but they will never be cured by reasoning. Des Cartes, in- deed, would make us believe that he got out of this delirium by this logical argument, Cofjilo, ergo sum ; but it is evident he was in his senses all the time, and never seri- ously doubted of his existence ; for he takes it for granted in this argument, and proves nothing at all. I am thinking, says he — therefore, I am. And is it not as good rea- soning to say, I am sleeping — therefore, I am ? or, I am doing nothing — therefore, I am ? If a body moves, it must exist, no doubt ; but, if it is at rest, it must exist likewise.* Perhaps Des Cartes meant not to assume ais owu existence in this enthymeme, but the existence of thought ; aud to infer from ,hat the existence of a mind, or subject of 'bought. But why did he not prove the existence of his thought ? Consciousness, it may be said, vouches that. But who is voucher for consciousness ? Can any man prove that his consciousness may not deceive him ? No man can ; nor can we give a better reason for trusting to it, than that every man, while his mind is sound, is determinetl, by the constitution of his na- ture, to give implicit belief to it, and to laugh at or pity the man who doubts its testimony. And is not every man, in his wits, as much determined to take his exist- ence upon trust as his consciousness ? * The nature of the Cartesian Doubt and its solu- tion is here misapprehended — how, will be shewn in a note upon the eighth chapter of the second " liss.iy jn ihe In'.ellcctual Powers." — H. The other proposition assumed hi this argument, Tliat thought cannot be without a mind or subject, is liable to the same objection : not that it wants evidence, but that its evidence is no clearer, nor more immediate, than that of the proposition to be proved by it. And, taking all these pro positions together — I think ; I am con- scious ; Everything that thinks, exists ; I exist — would not every sober man form the same opinion of the man who seriously doubted any one of tliein ? And if he was his friend, would he not hope for his cure from physic and good regimen, rather than from metaphysic and logic ? But supposing it proved, that my thought and my consciousness must have a subject, and consequently that I exist, how do I know that all that train and succession of thoughts which I remember belong to one subject, and tliat the I ' of this moment is the very individual I of yesterday and of times past ? Des Cartes did not think proper to start this doubt ; but Locke has done it ; and, in order to resolve it, gravely determines that personal identity consists in consciousness — that is, if you are conscious that you did such a thing a twelvemonth ago, this con- sciousness makes you to be the very person that did it. Now, consciousness of what is past can signify nothing else but the re- membrance that I did it ; so that Locke's principle must be, That identity consists in remembrance ; and, consequently, a man must lose his personal identity with regard to everytliing he forgets. Nor are tliese the only instances whereby our philosophy concerning the mind appears to be very fruitful in creating doubts, but very unhappy in resolving them. Des Cartes, Malebranche, and Locke, have all employed their genius and skill to prove the existence of a material world : and with very bad success. Poor untaught mortals believe undoubtedly that there is a sun, moon, and stars ; an earth, which we inhabit ; country, friends, and relations, which we enjoy ; land, houses, and move- ables, which we possess. But philosophers, pitying the credulity of the vulgar, resolve to have no faith but what is founded upon reason. -f- They ajjply to j)hilosophy to fur- * In English, we cannot say the I, and the Nct-I so happily as the Fr^ nch le Mot, and le Non.Mot, or even the Germans rtas 7f A, and das Nicht.Ich. 'the ambiguity arising from the identity of sound between the I audthe eye, would of itself preclude the ordinary employment ol the former / he Ego and the Non- Ego are the best terms we can u-e ; and, as the ex. pressions are scientific, it ispirhapsno loss that their technical p'-ecision is guarded by their non-vernacul- arity — H. + Reason is here employed, by Reid, not as a synonyine for Common Sense, {\,ov;, locus princi. pioruni,) and as he himself more correctly employs it in his later works, but as equivalent to Reason- ing, ( Siavoix, discursu* mentalis.) See Note A. — H. INTRODUCTION. 101 nish them with reasons for the belief of those things which all mankind have be- lieved, without being able to give any rea- son for it. And surely one would expect, that, in matters of such importance, tlie proof would not be difficult : but it is the most difficult thhig in the world. For these three great men, with the best good will, have not been able, from all the treasures of philosophy, to draw one argument that is fit to convince a man that can reason, of the existence of anj' one thmg without him. Admired Philosophy ! daughter of light ! parent of wisdom and knowledge ! if thou art she, surely thou hast not yet arisen upon tlie human mind, nor blessed us with more of thy rays than are sufficient to shed a darkness visible upon the human facul- ties, and to disturb that repose and security which happier mortals enjoy, who never approached thine altar, nor felt thine in- fluence ! But if, indeed, thou hast not power to dispel those clouds and phantoms which thou hast discovered or created, with- draw this penurious and malignant ray ; I despise Philosophy, and renounce its guid- ance — let my soul dwell with Common Sense.* Section IV. APOLOGY FOR THOSE PHILOSOPHERS. But, insteadof despising the dawn of light, we ought rather to hope for its increase : instead of blaming the philosophers I have mentioned for the defects and blemishes of their system, we ought rather to honour their memories, as the first discoverers of a region in philosophy formerly unknown ; and, however lame and imperfect the sys- tem may be, they have opened the way to future discoveries, and are justly entitled to a great share in tlie merit of them. They have removed an infinite deal of dust and rubbish, collected in the ages of scholastic sophistry, which had obstructed the way. They have put us in the right road — that of experience and accurate reflection. They have taught us to avoid the snares of am- biguous and ill-defined words, and have spoken and thought upon this subject wiih a distinctness and perspicuity formerly un- known. They have made many openings that may lead to the discovery of trutlis which tlioy did not reach, or to the detec- tion of errors in which they were involun- tarily entangled. It may be observed, that the defects and blemishes in the received philosopliy con- cerning the mind, which have most exposed • Mr Stewart very justly ccn«iire« tlie vagueness and ainiaBuity of thij (lauagp. Klem. vol, ii., rh. i , \ \ p. 02, flvo wlitioiii,,— H. it to the contempt and ridicule of sensible men, have chiefly been owing to this — that the votaries of this Philosophy, from a na- tural prejudice in her favour, have endea- voured to extend her jurisdiction beyond its just limits, and to call to her bar the dictates of Common Sense. But these decline this jurisdiction ; they disdain the trial of rea- soning, and disown its authority ; they neither claim its aid, nor dread its attacks. In this unequal contest betwixt Common Sense and Philosophy, the latter will always come oft" both with dishonour and loss ; not can she ever thrive till this rivalship is dropt, these encroachments given up, and a cordial friendship restored : for, iu reality, Common Sense holds nothing of Philoso- phy, nor needs her aid. But, on the other hand, Philosophy (if I may be permitted to change the metaphor) has no other root but the principles of Common Sense ; it grows out of them, and draws its nourishment from them. Severed from this root, its honours wither, its sap is dried up, it dies and rots. The philosophers of the last age, whom I have mentioned, did not attend to the pre- serving this union and subordination so carefully as the honour and interest of phi- losophy required : but those of the present have waged open war with Common Sense, and hope to make a complete conquest of it by the subtilties of Philosophy — an attempt no less audacious and vain than that of the giants to dethrone almighty Jove. Section V. OF BISHOP BERKELEY — THE " TREATISE OK HUMAN nature" — AND OF SCEPTICISM. The present age,I apprehend, has not pro- duced two more acute or more practised in this part of philosophy, than the Bishop of (Jloyne, and the author of the " Treatise of Human Nature." The first was no friend to scepticism, but had that warm concern for religious and moral principles which be- came his order : yet the result of his inquiry was a serious conviction that there is no such thing as a material world — nothing in nature but spirits and ideas ; and that the belief of material substances, and of abstract ideas, are the chief causes of all our errors in philosophy, and of all infidelity and heresy in religion. Mis arguments are founded upon the principles which were formerly laid down by J)i's Cartes, Malel)ranche, and Locke, and which have been very generally received. And the opinion of the ablest judges seems to be, that they neither have been, nor can bo confuted ; and that he hath proved by unanswerable arguments wliat no mnii ill bis senses crin bpli- tical character. In like manner, the great Pyrrho him- self forgot his principles on some occasions ; and is said once to have been in such a passion with his cook, who probably had not roasted his dinner to his mind, that with the spit in his hand, and the meat upon it, he pursued him even into the market- place.* It isabold philosophy that rejects, without ceremony, principles which irresistibly go- vern the belief and the conduct of all man- kind in the common concerns of life ; and to which the philosopher himself must yield, after he imagines he hath confuted them. Such principles are older, and of more au- thority, than Philosophy : she rests upon them as her basis, not they upon her. If she could overturn them, she must be buried in their ruins ; but all the engines of philo- sophical subtilty are too weak for this pur- pose ; and the attempt is no less ridiculous than if a mechanic should contrive an axift in ppritrochio to remove the earth out of its place ; or if a mathematician should pre- tend to demonstrate that things equal to the same thing are not equal to one an- other. Zeno+ endeavoured to demonstrate the impossibility of motion ;:{: Hobbes, that there was no difference between right and wrons ; and this author, that no credit is to be given to our senses, to our memory, or even to demonstration. Such philosophy is^ justly ridiculous, even to those who cannot detect the fallacy of it. It can have no other tend- ency, than to shew the acuteness of the sophist, at the expense of disgracing reason and human nature, and making mankind Yahoos. Section VI. OF THE " TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE." There are other prejudices against this system of human nature, which, even upon a general view, may make one diffident of it. Des Cartes, Hobbes, and this author, have each of them given us a system of human nature ; an undertaking too vast for any one man, how great soever his genius and abilities may be. There must surely be reason to apprehend, that many parts of human nature never came under their observation ; and that others have been stretched and distorted, to fill up blanks, and complete the system. Christopher » I aertius L. ix. Spg 68— H. + Zpno of Elea There arc fifteen Zenos known in the histnry df Philosophy ; of these, Laertius sig. nalizes eight.— H. % I he fallacy of Zcno's exposition of the contra. diet on» involved in our notion of motion, has not yet been detected. — H. INTRODUCTION. 103 Columbus, or Sebastian Cabot, might almost as reasonably have undertaken to give us a complete map of America. There is a certain character and style in Nature's works, which is never attained in the most perfect imitation of them. This seems to be wanting in the systems of human nature I have mentioned, and par- ticularly in the last. One may see a pup- pet make variety of motions and gesticula- tions, which strike much at first view ; but when it is accurately observed, and taken to pieces, our admiration ceases : we com- prehend the whole art of the maker. How unlike is it to that which it represents ! What a ])oor piece of work compared with the body of a man, whose structure the more we know, the more wonders we dis- cover in it, and the more sensible we are of our ignorance ! Is the mechanism of the mind so easily comprehended, when that of the body is so difficult ? Yet, by this sys- tem, three laws of association, joined to a few original feelings, explain the whole mechanism (>f sense, imagination, memory, belief, and of all the actions and passions of the mind. Is this the man that Nature made ? I suspect it is not so easy to look behind the scenes in Nature's work. This is a puppet, surely, contrived by too bold an apprentice of Nature, to mimic her work. It shews tolerably by candle light ; but, brought into clear day, and taken to pieces, it will appear to be a man made with mor- tar and a trowel. The more we know of other parts of nature, the more we like and approve them. The little I know of the planetary system ; of the earth which we inhabit ; of minerals, vegetables, and ani- mals ; of my own body ; and of the laws which obtain in these parts of nature — opens to my mind grand and beautiful scenes, and contributes equally to my happiness and power. But, when I look within, and con- sider the mind itself, which makes nu; capable of all these jirospccts and enjoy- ments— if it is, indeed, what the " Treatise of Human Nature" makes it — I find IJiave been only in an enchanted castle, imposed upon by spectres and apparitions. 1 blush inwardly to think how 1 liavebeen deluded; 1 am a>hamed of my frame, and can hardly forbear expostulating with my destiny. Is this thy pastime, O Nature', to put such tricks upon a silly creature, and then to take off the mask, and shew him how lie hath been befooled ? If this is the philosophy of human nature, my soul enter thou not into her secrets ! It is surely the forbidden tree of knowledge ; I no sooner taste; of it, than I perceive myself naked, and stri])! of all things — yea, even of my very self. I see myself, and the whole frame of nature, shrink into fleeting ideas, which, like Ejii- curus's atoms, dance about in hnmediate objec nfMemnryand Imagination, see Kote B at the end of the volume — H. f It will be oiseiveil, that Keid understands by Ida, Imnife, I'hnnlnsm, Specie ,SfC, always a icr- tium quid num rically different hoth from the Object exist in tratiri from the Subject knowing. He had formed no conreption of a doctrine in which a representative o'ljtct is allowed, but only as a modification of the mind itself. On the evil consequences iit this error, both on his own philosophy and on his criticism of other opinions, see Note C at the tnd of the volume. no more any existence, is the immediate object of my memory ; and when I imagine it present, the sensation itself, and not any idea of it,is the object of my imagination. But, though the object of my sensation, memory, and imagination, be in this case the same, yet these acts or operations of the mind are as different, and as easily distinguishable, as smell, taste, and sound. I am conscious of a difference in kind between sensation and memory, and between both and imag- ination. I find this also, that the sensation compels my belief of the present existence of the smell, and memory my belief of its past existence. There is a smell, is the immediate testimony of sense ; there was a smell, is the immediate testimony of mem- ory. If you ask me, why I believe that the smell exists, I can give no other reason, nor shall ever be able to give any other, than that 1 smell it. If you ask, why I believe that it existed yesterday, I can give no other reason but that I remember it. Sensation and memory, therefore, are simple, original, and perfectly distinct opera- tions of the mind, and both of them are original principles of belief. Imagination is distinct from both, but is no principle of belief. Sensation implies the present exist- ence of its object, memory its past existence, but imagination views its object naked, and v.'ithout any belief of its existence or non- existence, and is therefore what the schools call Simple Apprehension.* Section I V. JUDGMENT AND BELIEF IN SOME CASES PRE- CEDE SIMPLE APPREHENSION. But here, again, the ideal system comes in our way : it teaches us that the first operation of the mind about its ideas, is simple apprehension— that is, the bare conception of a thing without any belief about it : and that, after we have got simple apprehensions, by comparing them together, we perceive agreements or dis- agreements between them ; and that this perception of the agreement or disagreement of ideas, is all that we call belief, jurigment, or knowledge. Now, this appears to me to be all fiction, without any foundation in nature ; for it is acknowledged by all, that sensation must go before memory and im- agination ; and hence it necessarily follows, that apprehen.sion, acompanied with belief and knowledge, must go before simple ap- prehension, at least in the matters we are now speaking of. So that here, instead of ■ Simple Appi-ekersion, in the IdnRiiage of the Schools, has no rcierence to any exclusion of belief. It was merely given to the conceptio.i ot simple, in contrast to the cognition of complex, terms. — H. OF SMELLING. 107 saying that the belief or knowledge is got by putting together and comparing the simpleapprehensions, we ought ratherto say that the simple apprehension is performed bv resolvinsr and analvsins: a natural and original judgment. And it is with the operations of the mind, in this case, as with natural bodies, which are, indeed, compounded of simple principles or ele- ments. Nature does not exhibit these ele- ments separate, to be compounded by us ; she exhibits them mixed and compounded in concrete bodies, and it is only by art and chemical analysis that they can be separated. Stdion V. TWO THEORIES OF THE NATURE OF BELIEF REFUTED CONCLUSIONS FROM WHAT HATH BEEN SAID. But what is this belief or knowledf;e which accompanies sensation and memory ? Every man knows what it is, but no man can define it. Does any man pretend to define sensation, or to define con- sciousness ? It is happy, indeed, that no man does. And if no philosopher had endeavoured to define and explain belief, some paradoxes in philosophy, more in- credible than ever were brought forth by the most abject superstition or the most frantic enthusiasm, had never seen the light. Of this kind surely is that modern discovery of the ideal philosophy, that sensation, me- mory, belief, and imagination, when they have the same object, are only difierent degrees of strength and vivacity in the idea.* Suppose the idea to be that of a future state after death : one man believes it firmly — this means no more than that he hath a strong and lively idea of it ; another neither Lelievcs nor disbelieves — that is, he has a weak and faint idea. Suppose, now, a third [jerson believes firmly that there is no such tiling, I am at a loss to know whether his idea be faint or lively : if it is faint, then there may be a firm belief where the idea is faint ; if the idea is lively, then the belief of a future state and the belief of no future state must be one and the same. The same arguments that are used to prove tliat belief in)i)lies only a stronger idea of the object tlian simple a]i))rehension, miglit as well be used to prove that love implies only a stronger idea of the object than indifi'er- ence. And then what shall we say of hatred, whicli mustnjion this liyjiothesis be a degree of love, or a degree of iiidiflerenco ? If it should Ik' said, that in love there is fiomctliiiig more than an idea — to wit, an affection of the mind — may it not be said • Mr refers to niimc. — H. with equal reason, that in belief there is something more than an idea — to wit, an assent or persuasion of the mind ? But perhaps it may be thought as ridicu- lous to argue against this strange opinion, as to maintain it. Indeed, if a man should maintain that a circle, a square, and a triangle differ only in magnitude, and not in figure, I believe he would find nobody disposed either to believe him or to argue against him ; and yet I do not think it less shocking to common sense, to maintain that sensation, memory, and imagination differ only in degree, and not in kind. I know it is said, that, in a delirium, or in dreaming, men are apt to mistake one for the other. But does it follow from this, that men who are neither dreaming nor in a delirium cannot distinguish them ? But how does a man know that he is net in a delirium ? I cannot tell : neither can I tell how a man knows that he exists. But, if any man seri- ously doubts whether he is in a delirium, I think it highly probable tliat he is, and that it is time to seek for a cure, which I am persuaded he will not find in the whole system of logic. I mentioned before Locke's notion of belief or knowledge ; he holds that it con- sists in a perception of the agreement or disagreement of ideas ; and this he values himself upon as a very important discovery. We shall have occasion afterwards to examine more particularly this grand prin- ciple of Locke's philosophy, and to shew that it is one of the main pillai's of modern scepticism, although he had no intention to make that use of it. At i)resent let us only consider how it agrees with the instances of belief now under consideration ; and whether it gives any light to them. I be- lieve that the sensation I have exists ; and that the sensation I remember does not now exist, but did exist yesterday. Here, according to Locke's system, I compare the idea of a sensation with the ideas of past and present existence : at one time I per- ceive that this idea agrees with that of j)re- sent existence, but disagrees with that of past existence ; but, at another time, it agrees with the idea of past existence, and disagrees w^ith that of present existence. Truly these ideas seem to be very cajjri- cious in their agreements and disagree- ments. Besides, I cannot, for my heart, conceive what is meant by either. I say a sensation exists, and 1 think I understand clearly what I mean. But you want to make tlie thing clearer, and for that end tell me, that there is an agreement between the idea of that sensation and tlie idea of existence. To sjieak freely, this cdiivoys to me no li^ht, but darkness ; J can con- ceive no otherwise of it, than as an odd and obscure circumlocution. I conclude, tlien, 108 OF THE HUMAN MIiND, that the belief which accompanies sensation and memory, is a simple act of the mind, which cannot be defined. It is, in this respect, like seeing and hearing, wliich can never be so defined as to be understood by those who have not these faculties ; and to such as have them, no definition can make these operations more clear than they are already. In like manner, every man that has any belief — and he must be a curiosity that has none — knows perfectly wliat belief is, but can never define or explain it. I conclude, also, that sensation, memory, and imagination, even where they have the same object, are operations of a quite dif- ferent nature, and perfectly distinguishable by those who are sound and sober. A man that is in danger of confounding them, is indeed to be pitied ; but whatever relief he may find from another art, he can find none from logic or metaphysic. I conclude fur- ther, that it is no less a part of the human constitution, to believe the present existence of our sensations, and to believe the past existence of what we remember, than it is to believe that twice two make four. The evidence of sense, the evidence of memory, and the evidence of the necessary relations of things, are all distinct and original kinds of evidence, equally grounded on our consti- tution : none of them depends upon, or can be resolved into another. To reason against any of these kinds of evidence, is absurd ; nay, to reason for them is absurd. They are first principles ; and such fall not with- in the province of reason,* but of common sense. Section VI, APOLOGY FOR METAPHYSICAL ABSURDITIES — SENSATION WITHOUT A SENTIENT, A CON- SEQUENCE OF THE THEORY OF IDEAS — CONSEQUENCES OF THIS STRANGE OPINION. Having considered the relation which the sensation of smelluig bears to the remem- brance and imagination of it, I proceed to consider what relation it bears to a mind, or sentient principle. It is certain, no man can conceive or believe smelling to exist of itself, without a mind, or something that has the power of smelling, of whicli it is called a sensation, an operation, or feeling. Yet, if any man should demand a proof, that sensation cannot be without a mind or sentient being, I confess that I can give none ; and that to pretend to prove it, seems to me almost as absurd as to deny it. This might have been said without any apology before the '• Treatise of Human Nature" appeared in the world. For till • See Note f at t). KiO, b — H. that time, no man, as far as I know, ever thought either of calling in question that principle, or of giving a reason for his belief of it. Whether thinking beings were of an ethereal or igneous nature, whether material or immaterial, was variously dis- puted ; but that tlmiking is an operation of some kind of being or other, was always taken for granted, as a principle that could not possibly admit of doubt. However, since the author above men- tioned, who is undoubtedly one of the most acute metaphysicians that this or any age hath produced, hath treated it as a vulgar prejudice, and maintained that the mind is only a succession of ideas and impres- sions without any subject ; his opinion, however contrary to the common appre- hensions of mankind, deserves respect. I beg therefore, once for all, that no offence may be taken at charging this or other metaphysical notions with absurdity, or with being contrary to the common sense of mankind. No disparagement is meant to the understandings of the authors or maintamers of such opinions. Indeed, they commonly proceed, not from defect of under- standing, but from an excess of refinement the reasoning that leads to them often gives new light to the subject, and shews real genius and deep penetration in the author; and the premises do more than atone for the conclusion. If there are certain principles, as I think there are, which the constitution of our nature leads us to believe, and which we are under a necessity to take for granted in the common concerns of life, without being able to give a reason for them — these are what we call the principles of common sense ; and what is manifestly contrary to them, is what we call absurd. Indeed, if it is true, and to be received as a principle of philosophy, that sensation and thought may be without a thinking being, it must be acknowledged to be the most wonderful discovery that this or any other age hath produced. The received doctrine of ideas is the principle from which it is deduced, and of which indeed it seems to be a just and natural consequence. And it is probable, that it would not have been so late a discovery, but that it is so shock- ing and repugnant to the common appre- hensions of mankind, that it required an uncommon degree of philosophical intre- pidity to usher it into the world. It is a fundamental principle of the ideal system, that every object of thought must be an impression or an idea — that is, a faint copy of some preceding impression- This is a principle so commonly received, that the author above mentioned, although his whole system is built upon it, never offers the least proof of it. It is upon this principle, OF SMELLING. 109 as a fixed point, that he erects his meta- physical engines, to overturn heaven and earth, body and spirit. And, indeed, in my apprehension, it is altogether sufficient for the purpose. For, if impressions and ideas are the only objects of thought, then heaven and earth, and body and spirit, and everything you please, must signify only impressions and ideas, or they must be words without any meaning. It seems, therefore, that this notion, however strange, is closely connected with the received doc- trine of ideas, and we must either admit the conclusion, or call in question the premises. Ideas seem to have something in their nature unfriendly to other existences. They were first introduced into philosoph}', in the humble character of images or repre- sentatives of things ; and in this chai-acter they seemed not only to be iuofiensive, but to serve admirably well for explaining the operations of the human understanding. But, since men began to reason clearly and distinctly about them, they have by degrees supplanted their constituents, and under- mined the existence of everything but themselves. First, they discarded all se- condary qualities of bodies ; and it was found out by their means, that fire is not hot, nor snow cold, nor honey sweet ; and, in a word, that heat and cold, sound, colour, taste, and smell, are nothing but ideas or impressions. Bishop Berkeley advanced them a step higher, and found out, by just reasoning from the same principles, that extension, solidity, space, figure, and body, are ideas, and that there is nothing in nature but ideas and spirits. But the triumph of ideas was completed by the " Treatise of Human Nature," which discards spirits also, and leaves ideas and mipressions as the sole existences in the universe. What if, at last, having nothing else to contend with, they should fall foul of one another, and leave no existence in nature at all ? This would sure'y bring philosophy into danger ; for what should we have left to talk or to dispute about ? However, hitherto these philosophers acknowledge the existence of impressions and ideas ; they acknowledge certain laws ot attraction, or rules of precedence, accord- ing to which, ideas and imjiressions range themselves in various forms, and succeed one another : but that they shoidd belong to a mind, as its jirojier goods and chattels, this they have found to be a vulgar error. These ideas are as free and independent as the birds of the air, or as K])icurus's atoms when they jiursiied their journey in the vast inane. Shall we conci'ive tliem like the films of things in the epicurean system ? I'rincijiio lioc dico, rerum simulacr.i v.ncari, Mulla inodit multis, in cunctan uiMliquc parlcis 'I'diuia, qua- f .cile inler kf jungiinlur in auil8, OI)»ia cum vcniiint - -Lulu. Or do they rather resemble Aristotle's in- telligible species, after they are shot forth from the object, and before they have yet struck upon the passive intellect ? But why should we seek to compare them with any- thing, since thei*e is nothing in nature but themselves ? They make the whole furni- ture of the universe ; starting into existence, or out of it, without any cause ; combining into parcels, which the vulgar call minds ; and succeeding one another by fixed laws, without time, place, or author of those laws. Vet, after all, these self-existent and m- dependent ideas look pitifully naked and destitute, when left thus alone in the uni- verse, and seem, upon the whole, to be in a worse condition than they were before. Des Cartes, Malebranche, and Locke, as they made much use of ideas, treated them hand- somely, and provided them in decent accom- modation ; lodging them either in the pineal gland, or in the pure intellect, or even in the divine mind. They moreover clothed them with a commission, and made them representatives of things, which gave them some dignity and character. But the "Trea- tise of Human Nature," though no less indebted to them, seems to have made but a bad return, by bestowing ujion them this independent existence ; since thereby they are turned out of house and home, and set adrift in the world, without friend or con- nection, without a rag to cover their naked- ness ; and who knows but the whole system of ideas may perish by the indiscreet zeal of their friends to exalt them ? However this may be, it is certainly a most amazing discovery that thought and ideas may be \vithout any thinking being — a discovery big with consequences which cannot easily be traced by tliose deluded mortals who think and reason in the com- mon track. We were always apt to ima- gine, that thought supposed a thinker, and love a lover, and treason a traitor : but this, it seems, was all a mistake ; and it is found out, that tlii-re may be treason with- out a traitor, and love without a lover, laws without a legislator, and punishment with- out a sufferer, succession witliout time, and motion without anything moved, or space in which it may move : or if, in these cases, ideas arc the lover, the suti'erer, the traitor, it were to be wished that the author of this discovery had farther condescended to ac- (piaint us whether ideas caii converse to- gether, and be under obligations of duty or gratitude to each other ; whether they can make promises and enti;r into leagues and covenants, and fulfil or break them, and be punished for the breach. If one set of iiloas makes a covenant, another breaks it, and a tliird is punished for it, there is rea- son to think that justice is no natural virtue in this system. 110 OF THE HUMAN MIND. It seemed very natural to tbinlc, that the " Treatise of Human Nature" required an author, and a very ingenious one too ; but now we learn that it is only a set of ideas which came together and arranged them- selves by certain associations and attractions. After all, this curious system appears not to be titled to the present state of human nature. How far it may suit some choice spirits, who are refined from the dregs of common sense, I cannot say. It is acknow- ledged, I thinlv, that even these can enter into this system only in their most specula- tive hours, when they soar so high in pur- suit of those self-existent ideas as to lose sight of all other things. But when they condescend to mingle again with the human race, and to converse with a friend, a com- panion, or a fellow-citizen, the ideal system vanishes ; common sense, like an irresist- ible torrent, carries them along ; and, in spite of all their reasoning and philosophy, they believe their own existence, and the existence of other things. Indeed, it is happy they do so ; for, if they should carry their closet belief into the world, the rest of mankind would con- sider them as diseased, and send them to an infirmai-y. Therefore, as Plato required certain ])revious qualifications of those who entered his school, I think it would be pru- dent for the doctors of this ideal philosophy to do the same, and to refuse admittance to every man who is so weak as to imagine that he ought to have the same belief in solitude and in company, or that his prin- ciples ought to have any influence upon his practice ; for this philosophy is like a hob- by-horse, which a man in bad health may ride in his closet, without hurting his repu- tation ; but, if he should take him abroad with him to church, or to the exchange, or to the play-house, his heir would imme- diately call a jury, and seize his estate. Section VII. THE CONCEPTION AND BELIEF OP A SENTIENT BEING OR MIND IS SUGGESTED BY OUR CONSTITUTION — THE NOTION OF RELA- TIONS NOT ALWAYS GOT BY COMPARING THE RELATED IDEAS. Leaving this philosophy, therefore, to those who have occasion for it, and can use it discreetly as a chamber exercise, we may still inquire how the rest of mankind, and even the adepts themselves, except in some solitary moments, have got so strong and irresistible a belief, that thought must have a subject, and be the act of some thinking being ; how every man believes himself to be something distinct from his ideas and impressions — something which continues the same identical self when all his ideas and im]>ressions are changed. It is impossible to trace the origin of this opinion in history ; for all languages have it interwoven in their original con- struction. All nations have always believed it. The constitution of all laws and governments, as well as the common trans- actions of life, suppose it. It is no less impossible for any man to recollect when he himself came by this notion ; for, as far back as we can remem- ber, we were already in possession of it, and as fully persuaded of our own existence, and the existence of other things, as that one and one make two. It seems, there- fore, that this opinion preceded ail reason- ing, and experience, and instruction ; and this is the more probable, because we could not get it by any of these means. It ap- pears, then, to be an undeniable fact, that, from thought or sensation, all mankind, constantly and invariably, from the first dawning of reflection, do infer a power or faculty of thinking, and a permanent being or mind to which that faculty belongs ; and that we as invariably ascribe all the various kinds of sensation and thought we are con- scious of, to one individual mind or self. But by what rules of logic we make these inferences, it is impossible to shew ; nay, it is impossible to shew how our sensations and thoughts can give us the very notion and conception either of a mind or of a faculty. The faculty of smelling is some- thing very different from the actual sensa- tion of smelling ; for the faculty may remain when we have no sensation. And the mind is no less difterent from the faculty ; for it continues the same indivi- dual being when that faculty is lost. Yet this sensation suggests to us both a faculty and a mind ; and not only suggests the notion of them, but creates a belief of their existence; although it is impossible to dis- cover, by reason, any tie or connection between one and the other. What shall we say, then ? Either those inferences which we draw from our sensa- tions — namely, the existence of a mind, and of powers or fac Ities belonging to it — are prejudices of ])liilosophy or education, mere fictions of the mind, which a wise man should throw off as he does the belief of fairies ; or they are judgments of nature — judgments not got by comparing ideas, and perceiving agreements and disagreements, but immediately inspired by our constitu- tion. If this last is the case, as I apprehend it is, it will be impossible to shake off those opinions, and we must yield to them at last, though we struggle hard to get rid of them. And if we could, by a determined obstinacy, shake off the principles of our OF SMELLING. Ill nature, this is not to act the philosopher, but the fool or the madman. It is incum- bent upon those who think that these are not natural principles, to shew, in the first place, how we can otherwise get tlie notion of a mind and its faculties ; and then to shew how we come to deceive ourselves into the opinion that sensation cannot be without a sentient beinij. It is the received doctrine of philosophers, that our notions of relations can only be got by comparing the related ideas : but, in the present case, there seems to be an instance to the contrary. It is not by having first the notions of mind and sensa- tion, and then comparing them together, that we perceive the one to have the rela- tion of a subject or substratum, and the other that of an act or operation : on the contrary, one of the related things — to wit, sensation — suggests to us both the correlate and the relation. I beg leave to make use of the word sii(i- gestion, because I know not one more pro- per, to express a power of the mind, which seems entirely to have escaped the notice of philosophers, and to which we owe many of our simple notions which are neither impressions nor ideas, as well as many original principles of belief. I shall endeavour to illustrate, by an example, what I understand by this word. We all know, that a certain kind of sound suggests immediately to the mind, a coacli passing in the street ; and not only pro- duces the imagination, but the belief, that a coach is passing. Yet there is here no comparing of ideas, no perception of agree- ments or disagreements, to produce this belief: nor is there the least similitude be- tween the sound we hear and the coach we imagine and believe to be passing.* * " The word suggest'' (*ay.s Mr Stewart, in p fc. eiice to ilie prpccdiiig lasagc) "is much used by Berkeley, in ihis appiopriate and technical sense, not only in his ' theory of Vision," Imt in his ' Triii- cipUs of Human Knowledge,' and in his ' Minute Philosopher.' It expresses, indeed, the cardinal princi|)le on which his ' 1 heory of Vision' hinges, and is now so incorjiorated with some of our hcst metaphysical speculations, that one catniot easily conceive how the use of it was so long dispenswl with Locke uses tiie word excite for the same punwse; but it seims to imply an hypothc-is con- ccrninK the mechanism of the mind, and by no means expre-ses the tact ill question, with the same force and precision. "It is remarkable, th.-it Dr Reid should have fhouaht it iiicumbent on lii'n to .-ipologiso for introducing into plnlosophy a word so fanuliar to every person conversant with Berkeley's works. ' I beg leave lo make use of the word suggestion, because,' &c "So far Dr I{eid'su«eo( the word coincides ex. actly with thai of Berkeley ; i ut Die former will bo found to annex to it a ine^ining more extensive than the lader, liy e i ploying it to roiiipreheiiil, not only tViiim inlimi ions winch are the n-ult of experience ari'l habit ; hut aiio'her cla-h of inlimiitinns. (r|iiilc overlooked by Berkeley,) those which reiilt from the original frame of the human wumi."— D'lUita. It is true that this suggestion is not natural and original ; it is the result of ex- perience and habit. But I think it appears, from what hath been said, that there are natural suggestions : particularly, that sens- ation suggests the notion of present exist- ence, and the belief that what we perceive or feel does now exist ; that memory sug- gests the notion of past existence, and the belief that what we remember did exist in time past ; and that our sensations and thoughts do also suggest the notion of a mind, and the belief of its existence, and of its relation to our thoughts. By a like natural principle it is, that a beginning of existence, or any change in nature, sug- gests to us the notion of a cause, and com- pels our belief of its existence. And, in like maimer, as shall be shewn when we come to the sense of touch, certain sensa- tions of touch, by the constitution of our nature, suggest to us extension, solidity, and motion, which are nowise like fo sensations, although they have been hither- to confounded with them.* tiun on the Ilistori/ of Metn/ /ii/sical and Ethical Science. V. 107. Second ediaon Mr Stewart ii.ight have adduced, perhaps, a higher and, ccriainly , a more proximae authority, in fa- vour, not merely of the term in general, hut of Kcul's restriited employment of it, as an inlimaiion ot what he and otbeis have designated the Common Sen^e of mankind. The following ,-entence of Ter- tullian contains a singular anticip II ion, I'oth of the philosophy and of the pliilosophiral pbraseoh'gy ol our author. Speaking of the universal belief of the soul's immort;ility : — " Natiira pleraque sjigger. nnlur, quasi de publico srnsu quo animam Ueus di. tare digimtus est." — De Amma, c. H. Some strictures en Riid's employment of the term sugifestinn may he seen m the " Versuche" of Tetens, I., p. 5119, sqq — 11. • This last sta'enient is not historically correct. But, waving this, there may be ai'iluced, in illustr.a. tioii of ihe two last paragiaplis, the tollowmg remarkable passat;e from St Augustine: — " au. RfCte fortassc exis'imas. Sed respdiide obsecro, utruin omne quod per visrum coguoscimus, videa- mus. Fv. Tta credo, ad. C rcdis etiam omne quod videndo cognoseiinus, per visum nos coginsiere? IV. Kt 111 c credo. At:. Cur ergo p i rumque liimum solum videndo, igiiem subterlalerccngno>cimus quern non videnius? KV Vernni dicis. Kt jam non puto nos videre quicquid |ier visum co'^nnscimus : possu. musenim, ut docuisli, aliu ; videmloaliud cogiioscore qudd visus non attigerit. au Quiil, illud quod per visum seiitimiis,pnssumusneiion videre? i;v. NuHo modo. At) Atiud est ergo neiitiee, ahiid rogims eye, ■ v. Oimiino al'ud, iiam soiitimiis fiaintin (/Dein vide- niu/i, et ex Oil igiiem (juem nan videniu.i, xidie.^.se cog- noscinius. a< . Heue iiitelligis Sed vi les lerteciim hoc accidii, ciri us iio.struMi, id cs' oculos, nihil pati ex igne, sed ex fumo quem solum vidint. H'eiiim videre senlirc, et seiilire pati esse, lam supra eon. sensimus. kv. leneo, *[ as-eniior. Aii. Cum ergo per passionem corporis 11(11 latetal quid ,ii imam, noii cimtinuosensus vocatur unus dequmque memoratis, Si U cum ipsa passio non latet : naiiiquc ille ignis non visus, nee audiius, nee oll.ictus, nee gustatus, ncc laclus a nobis, noil tameii latet animiin fumo vi>o L't cum hoc non latere non vc.eelur .\eiins, quia ex igiie corpus nihil est pa^suin, voiauir lamen cngnilii) tier sen urn, quia ex passinne enrporii (|u.inivis aliu, id est ex alterius rei viswue, eonjietiitum e>t atque C'liiipertum. i v. Intelligo, et uptime video is inl conginere ac lavire ilh deliiulioiii luu". ipiaiii ut nii-am nulil (leleiidendain dedisli: nam iia iiieiiiinl e-se abs te sensum deliniium, cum animam non lali't quod patliur corpus. Itiniue. iltwi (juod/wnut vidoiur. 112 OV THE HUMAN MIND. Section VII f. TKEKE IS A QUALITY OR VIRTUE IN BODIES, WHICH WE CALL THEIR SMELL — HOW THIS IS CONNECTED IN THE IMAGINATION AVITH THE SENSATION, We have considered smell as signifying a sensation, feeling, or impression upon the mind ; and in this sense, it can only be in a mind, or sentient being : but it is evident that mankind give the name of smc/l much more frequently to something which they conceive to be external, and to be a quality of body : they understand something by it which does not at all infer a mind; and have not the least difficulty in conceiving the air perfumed with aromatic odours in the deserts of Arabia, or in some uninhab- ited island, where the human foot never trod. Every sensible day-labourer hath as clear a notion of this, and as full a convic- tion of the possibility of it, as he hath of his own existence ; and can no more doubt of the one than of the other. Suppose that such a man meets with a modern philosopher, and wants to be in- formed what smell in plants is. The phi- losopher tells him, that there is no smell in plants, nor in anything but in the mind ; that it is impossible there can be smell but in a mind ; and that all this hath been demonstrated by modern philosohy. The plain man will, no doubt, be apt to think him merry : but, if he finds that he is serious, his next conclusion will be that he is mad ; or that philosophy, like magic, puts men into a new world, and gives them different faculties from common men. And thus philosophy and common sense are set at variance. But who is to blame for it ? In my opinion the philosopher is to blame. For if he means by smell, what the rest of mankind most commonly mean, he is cer- tainly mad. But if he puts a different meaning upon the word, without observing it himself, or giving warning to others, he abuses language and disgraces philo- sophy, without doing any service to truth : as if a man should exchange the meaning of the words daughter and cow, and then endeavour to prove to his plain neighbour, that his cow is his daughter, and his daughter his cow. I believe there is not much more wisdom in many of those paradoxes of the ideal philosopliy, which to plain sensible men appear to be palpable absurdities, but with the adepts pass for profound discoveries. I tensum vocatnus ; passi stint enim eum oculi videndo gui stint corporis partes et corpora ; igiiein aittem ex quo nihil corpus est passtim, quamvis cognitiis fuerit, sensiimnon vocamiis. — Uj. Quantitate ANiMiE, c. xxiv. 4 45— H. resolve, for my own part, always to pay a great regard to the dictates of common sense, and not to depart from them without absolute necessity : and, therefore, I am apt to think that there is really something in the rose or lily, which is by the vulgar called smell, and which continues to exist when it is not smelled : and shall proceed to inquire what this is ; how we come by the notion of it ; and what relation this quality or virtue of smell hath to the sens- ation which we have been obliged to call by the same name, for want of another. Let us therefore suppose, as before, a person beginning to exercise the sense of smelling ; a little experience will discover to him, that the nose is the organ of this sense, and that the air, or something in the air, is a medium of it. And finding, by farther experience, that, when a rose is near, he has a certain sensation, when it is removed, the sensation is gone, he finds a connection in nature betwixt the rose and and this sensation. The rose is considered as a cause, occasion, or antecedent of the sensation ; the sensation as an effect or consequence of the presence of the rose ; they are associated in the mind, and con- stantly found conjoined in the imagination. But here it deserves our notice, that, although the sensation may seem more closely related to the mind its subject, or to the nose its organ, yet neither of these connections operate so powerfully upon the imagination as its connection with the rose its concomitant. The reason of this seems to be, that its connection with the mind is more general, and noway distinguisheth it from other smells, or even fi"om tastes, sounds, and other kinds of sensations. The relation it hath to the organ is likewise general, and doth not distinguish it from other smells ; but the connection it hath with the rose is special and constant ; by which means they become almost insepar- able in the imagination, in like manner as thunder and lightning, freezing and cold. Section IX. THAT THERE IS A PRINCIPLE IN HUMAN NATURE, FROM WHICH THE NOTION OF THIS, AS WELL AS ALL OTHER NATURAL VIRTUES OR CAUSES, IS DERIVED. In order to illustrate further how we come to conceive a quality or virtue in the rose which we call smell, and what this smell is, it is proper to observe, that the mind begins very early to thirst after prin- ciples which may direct it in the exertian of its powers. The smell of a rose is a certain affection or feeling of the mind ; and, as it is not constant, but comes and OF SMELLING. 113 goes, we want to know when and where we may expect it ; and are uneasy till we find something which, being present, brings this feeling along with it, and, being i-emoved, removes it. This, when found, we call the cause of it ; not in a strict and philosophical sense, as if the feeling were really effected or produced by that cause, but in a popular sense ; for the mind is satisfied if there is a constant conjunction between them ; and such causes are in reality nothing else but laws of nature. Havmg found the smell thus constantly conjoined with the rose, the mind is at rest, without inquiring whether this conjunction is owing to a real efficiency or not ; that being a philosophical inquiry, which does not concern human life. But every discovery of such a constant conjunc- tion is of real importance in life, and makes a strong impression upon the mind. So ardently do we desire to find everything that happens within our observation thus connected with something else as its cause or occasion, that we are apt to fancy connec- tions upon the slightest grounds ; and this weakness is most remarkable in the ignor- ant, who know least of the real connections established in nature. A man meets with an unlucky accident on a certain day of the year, and, knowing no other cause of his misfortune, he is apt to conceive something unlucky in that day of the calendar ; and, if he finds the same connection hold a second time, is strongly confirmed in his supersti- tion. I remember, many years ago, a white ox was brought into this country, of so enormous a size that people came many miles to see him. There happened, some months after, an uncommon fatality among women in child-bearing. Two such uncom- mon events, following one another, gave a suspicion of their connection, and occasioned a common opinion among the country- people that the white ox was the cause of this fatality. However silly and ridiculous this opinion •'as, it sprung from the same root in human nature on which all natural philosophy grows — namely, an eager desire to find out connections in things, and a natural, ori- ginal, and unaccountable propensity to be- lieve that the connections which we have observed in time past will continue in time to come. Omens, portents, good and bad luck, palmistry, astrology, all the numer- ous arts of divination and of interpreting dreams, falhe hypotheses and systems, and true principles in the philosophy of nature, are all built upon the same foundation in the human constitution, and are distin- guished only according as we conclude rashly from trio few instances, or cautiously from a sufiii'ient induction. As it is experience only that discovers these connections between natural causes and their effects ; without inquiring further, we attribute to the cause some vague and indistinct notion of power or virtue to pro- duce the effect. And, in many cases, the purposes of life do not make it necessary to give distinct names to the cause and the effect. Whence it happens, that, being closely connected in the imagination, al- though very unlike to each other, one name serves for both ; and, in common discourse, is most frequently applied to that which, of the two, is most the object of our attention. This occasions an ambiguity in many words, which, having the same causes in all lan- guages, is common to all, and is apt to be overlooked even by philosophers. Some instances will serve both to illustrate and confirm what we have said. Magnetism signifies both the tendency of the iron towards the magnet, and the power of the magnet to produce that tendency ; and, if it was asked, whether it is a quality of the iron or of the magnet, one would per- haps be puzzled at first ; but a little atten- tion would discover, that we conceive a power or virtue in the magnet as the cause, and a motion in the iron as the effect ; and, although these ai'e things quite unlike, they are so united in the imagination, that we give the common name of magnelism to both. The same thing may be said of ynt- vi/aiion, which sometimes signifies the tend- ency of bodies towards the earth, sometimes the attractive power of the earth, which we conceive as the cause of that tendency. We may observe the same ambiguity in some of Sir Isaac Newton's definitions ; and that even in words of his own making. In three of his definitions, he explains very distinctly what he understands by the absolute quan- tity, what by the acceleratvve quantity, and what by the motive quantity, of a centri- petal force. In the first of these three definitions, centripetal force is put for the cause, which we conceive to be some power or virtue in the centre or central body ; in the two last, the same word is put for the effect of this cause, in producing velocity, or in producing motion towards that centre. Heat signifies a sensation, and c(d(l a contrary one ; but heal likewise signifies a quality or state of bodies, which hath no contrary, but different degrees. Wlien a man feels the same water hot to one hand and cold to the other, tliis gives him occa- sion to distinguish between the fcling and the heat of the body ; and, although he knows that the sensations are contrary, he does not imagine that tiie body can have contrary qualities at the same time And wlicn he finds a different tMste in the paine body in sickness and in health, he is easily convinced, that tiie (jnality in the body called lasle is the same as before, although I 114 OF THE HUMAN MIND. the sensations he has from it are perhaps opposite. The vulgar are commonly charged by philosophers, with the absurdity of imagin- ing the smell in the rose to be something like to the sensation of smelling ; but I think unjustly ; for they neither give the same epithets to both, nor do they reason in the same manner from them. What is smell in the rose ? It is a quality or vir- tue of the rose, or of something proceeding from it, which we perceive by the sense of smelling ; and this is all we know of the matter. But what is smelling ? It is an act of the mind, but is never imagined to be a quality of the mind. Again, the sens- ation of smelling is conceived to infer neces- sarily a mind or sentient being ; but smell in the rose infers no such thing. We say, this body smells sweet, that stinks ; but we do not say, this mind smells sweet and that stinks. Therefore, smell in the rose, and the sensation which it causes, are not con- ceived, even by the vulgar, to be things of the same kind, although they have the same name. From what hath been said, we may learn that the smell of a rose signifies two things : First, a sensation, which can have no existence but when it is perceived, and can only be in a sentient being or mind ; Secondly, it signifies some power, quality, or virtue, in the rose, or in effluvia proceed- ing from it, which hath a permanent exist- ence, independent of the mind, and which, by the constitution of nature, produces the sensation in us. By the original con- stitution of our nature, we are both led to believe that there is a permanent cause of the sensation, and prompted to seek after it ; and experience determines us to place it in the rose. The names of all smells, tastes, sounds, as well as heat and cold, have a like ambiguity in all languages ; but it deserves our attention, that these names are but rarely, in common language, used to signify the sensations ; for the most part, they signify the external qualities which are indicated by the sensations — the cause of which phenomenon It take to be this. Our sensations have very different degrees of strength. Some of them are so quick and lively as to give us a great deal either of pleasure or of uneasiness. When this is the case, we are compelled to attend to the sensation itself, and to make it an object of thought and discourse ; we give it a name, which signifies nothing but the sensation ; and in this case we readily acknowledge, that the thing meant by that name is in the mind only, and not in any- thing external. Such are the various kinds of pain, sickness, and the sensations of hunger and other appetites. But, where the sensation is not so interesting as to re- quire to be made an object of thought, our constitution leads us to consider it as a sign of something external, which hath a constant conjunction with it; and, having found what it indicates, we give a name to that : the sensation, having no proper name, falls in as an accessory to the thing signified by it, and is confounded under the same name. So that the name may, in- deed, be applied to the sensation, but most properly and commonly is applied to the thing indicated by that sensation. The sensations of smell, taste, sound, and colour, are of infinitely more importance as signs or indications, than they are upon their own account ; like the words of a language, wherein we do not attend to the sound but to the sense. Section X. WHETHER IN SENSATION THE MIND IS ACTIVE OR PASSIVE ? There is one inquiry remains. Whether, in smelling, and in other sensations, the mind is active or passive ? This possibly may seem to be a question about words, or, at least, of very small importance ; how- ever, if it leads us to attend more accu- rately to the operations of our minds than we are accustomed to do, it is, upon that very account, not altogether unprofitable. I think the opinion of modern philosophers is, that in sensation the mind is altogether passive.* And this undoubtedly is so far true, that we cannot raise any sensation in our minds by willing it ; and, on the other hand, it seems hardly possible to avoid liaving the sensation when the object is presented. Yet it seems likewise to be true, that, in proportion as the attention is more or less turned to a sensation or diverted from it, that sensation is more or less perceived and remembered. Every one knows that very intense pain may be diverted by a surprise, or by anything that entirely occupies the mind. When we are engaged in earnest conversation, the clock may strike by us without being heard ; at least, we remember not, the next moment, that we did hear it. The noise and tumult of a great trading city is not heard by them who have lived in it all their days ; but it stuns those strangers who have lived in the peaceful retirement of the country. Whether, therefore, there can be any sensation where the mind is purely passive, I will not say ; but I think we are conscious of having given some attention to every sensation which we remember, though ever so recent. • 71i\s U far too absolutely stated.— H. OF TASTING. 115 No doubt, where the impulse is strong and uncommon, it is as difficult to withhold attention as it is to forbear crying out in racking pain, or starting in a sudden fright. But how far both might be attained by strong resolution and practice, is not easy to determine. So that, although the Peri- patetics had no good reason to suppose an active and a passive intellect, since atten- tion may be well enough accounted an act of the will, yet I think they came nearer 10 the truth, in holding the mind to be in sensation partly passive and partly active, than the moderns, in affirming it tot be purely passive. Sensation, imagination, memory, and judgment, have, by the vulgar in all ages, been considered as acts of the mind. The manner in which they are ex- pressed in all languages, shews this. When the mind is much employed in them, we say it is very active ; whereas, if they were impressions only, as the ideal philosophy would lead us to conceive, we ought, in such a case, rather to say, that the mind is very passive ; for, I suppose, no man would attribute great activity to the paper I write upon, because it receives variety of cha- racters. The relation which the sensation of smell bears to the memory and imagination of it, and to a mind or subject, is common to all our sensations, and, indeed, to all the oper- ations of the mind : the relation it bears to the will is common to it with all the powers ofhinderstanding ; and the relation it bears to that quality or virtue of bodies which it in- dicates, is common to it with the sensa- tions of taste, hearing, colour, heat, and cold — so that what hath been said of this sense, may easily be applied to several of our senses, and to other operations of the mind ; and this, I hope, will apologize for our insisting so long upon it. CHAPTER III. OF TASTING. A GREAT part of what hath been said of tlie sense of smelling, is so easily applied to tlioso of tasting and hearing, that we shall leave the application entirely to the reader's judgment, and save ourselves the trouble of a tedious repetition. It is probable that everything that affects the taste is, in some degree, soluble in the suliva. It is not conceivable how anything should enter readily, and of its own accord, as it were, into the pores of the tongue, [laJate, and friucm, unless it had some clioniical affinity to that lif|uor with which tlicso pores are always rcjilete. It is, there fore, an admirable contrivance of nature, that the organs of taste should always be moist with a liquor which is so universal a menstruum, and which deserves to be ex- amined more than it hath been hitherto, both in that capacity, and as a medical unguent. Nature teaches dogs, and other animals, to use it in this last way ; and its subserviency both to taste and digestion shews its efficacy in the former. It is with manifest design and propriety, that the organ of this sense guards the entrance of the alimentary canal, as that of smell the entrance of the canal for respira- tion. And from these organs being placed in such manner that everything that enters into the stomach must undergo the scrutiny of both senses, it is plain that they were intended by nature to distinguish wholesome food from that which is noxious. The brutes have no other means of choosing their food ; nor would mankind, in the savage state. And it is very probable that the smell and taste, noway vitiated by luxury or bad habits, would rarely, if ever, lead us to a wrong choice of food among the produc- tions of nature ; although the artificial compositions of a refined and luxurious cookery, or of chemistry and pharmacy, may often impose upon both, and produce things agreeable to the taste and smell, which are noxious to health. And it is probable that both smell and taste are vitiated, and rendered less fit to perform their natural offices, by the unnatural kmd of life men commonly lead in society. These senses are likewise of great use to distinguish bodies that cannot be distin- guished by our other senses, and to discern the changes which the same body under- goes, which, in many cases, are sooner per- ceived by taste and smell than by any other means. How many things are there in the market, the eating-house, and the tavern, as well as in the apothecary and chemist's sliops, which are known to be what they are given out to be, and are percei^•ed to be good or bad in their kind, only by taste or smell ? And how far our judgment of things, by means of our senses, might bo improved by accurate attention to the small difl'crences of taste and smell, and other sensible qualities, is not easy to determine. Sir Isaac Newton, by a noble effort of his great genius, attempted, from the colour of opaque bodies, to discover tlie magnitude of the minute ]icllucid parts of which they are compounded : and who knows what new lights natural philosophy may yet re- ceive from other secondary qualities duly examined ? Some tastes and smells stinudato the iKTvos and raise the spirits : but such an artificial elevation of the spirits is, by the laws of nature, followed ))y a depression, which can only be relieved by time, or by thd repeated use of the like s/imu/tj.i. By I '2 116 OF THE HUMAN MIND. the use of such things we create an appe- tite for them, which very much resembles, and hath all the force of a natural oue. It is in this manner that men acquire an ap- petite for snuff, tobacco, strong liquors, laudanuan, and the like. Nature, indeed, seems studiously to have set bounds to the pleasures and pains we have by these two senses, and to have con- fined them within very narrow limits, that we might not place any part of our happi- ness in them ; there being hardly any smell or taste so disagreeable that use will not make it tolerable, and at last perhaps agreeable, nor any so agreeable as not to lose its relish by constant use. Neither is there any pleasure or pain of these senses which is not introduced or followed by some degree of its contrary, which nearly balances it ; so that we may here apply the beautiful allegory of the divine So- crates — that, although pleasure and pain are contrary in their nature, and their faces look different ways, yet Jupiter hath tied them so together that he that lays hold of the one draws the other along with it. As there is a great variety of smells, seemingly simple and uncompounded, not only altogether unlike, but some of them contrary to others, and as the same thing may be said of tastes, it would seem that oue taste is not less different from another than it is from a smell : and therefore it may be a question, how all smells come to be considered as one penus, and all tastes as another ? What is the generical distinction ? Is it only that the nose is the organ of the one and the palate of the other ? or, abstracting from the organ, is there not in the sensations themselves something common to smells, and some- thing else common to tastes, whereby the one is distinguished from the other ? It seems most probable that the latter is the case ; and that, under the appearance of the greatest simplicity, there is still in these sensations something of composition. If one considers the matter abstractly, it would seem that a number of sensations, or, indeed, of any other individual things, which are perfectly simple and uncom- pounded, are incapable of being reduced into genera and species ; because individuals which belong to a species must have some- thing peculiar to each, by which they are distinguished, and something common to the whole species. And the same may be said of species which belong to one genus. And, whether this does not imply some kind of composition, we shall leave to metaphy- sicians to determine. The sensations both of smell and taste do undoubtedly admit of an immense variety of modifications, which no language can express. If a man was to examine five hundred different wines, he would hardly find two of them that had precisely the same taste. The same thing holds in cheese, and in many other things. Yet, of five hundred different tastes in cheese or wme, we can hardly describe twenty, so as to give a distinct notion of them to one who had not tasted them. Dr Nehemiah Grew, a most judicious and laborious naturalist, in a discourse read before the Royal Society, anno 1675, hath endeavoured to shew that there are at least sixteen different simple tastes, which he enumerates.* How many compounded ones may be made out of all the various combinations of two, three, four, or more of these simple ones, they who are ac- quainted with the theory of combinations will easily perceive. All these have va- rious degrees of intenseness and weakness. Many of them have other varieties ; in some the taste is more quickly perceived upon the application of the sapid body, in others more slowly — in some the sensation is more permanent, in others more transient — in some it seems to undulate or return after certain intervals, in othei's it is constant ; the various parts of the organ — as the lips, the tip of the tongue, the root of the tongue, the fauces, the uvula, and the throat — are some of them chiefly affected by one sapid body, and others by another. All these, and other varieties of tastes, that accurate writer illustrates by a number of examples. Nor is it to be doubted, but smells, if exa- mined with the same accuracy, would appear to have as great variety. CHAPTER IV. OF HEAUIXG. Section I. VARIETY OF SOUNDS — THEIR PLACE AND DISTANCE LEARNED BY CUSTOM, WITHOUT REASONING. Sounds have probably no less variety of modifications, than either tastes or odours. For, first, sounds differ in tone. The ear is capable of perceiving four or five hun- dred variations of tone in souud, and pro- bably as many different degrees of strength ; by combining these, we have above twenty thousand simple sounds that differ either in tone or strength, supposing every tone to be perfect. But it is to be observed, that to make a perfect tone, a great many • Plato and Galen reckon seven, Aristotle and Theophrastus eight species of simple tastes Among the moderns, (as 1 recollect,) these are estimated at ten, by Boerhaave and Linnaeus ; by Haller, at twelve.—H. OF HEARING. 117 undulations of elastic air are required, which must all be of equal duration and extent, and follow one another with perfect regularity ; and each undulation must be made up of the advance and recoil of in- immerable particles of elastic air, whose motions are all uniform in direction, force, and time. Hence we may easily conceive a prodigious variety in the same tone, aris- ing from irregularities of it, occasioned by the constitution, figure, situation, or man- ner of striking the sonorous body ; from the constitution of the elastic meduim, or its being disturbed by other motions ; and from the constitution of the ear itself, upon which the impression is made. A flute, a violin, a hautboy, and a French horn, may all sound the same tone, and be easily distinguishable. Nay, if twenty human voices sound the same note, and with equal strength, there will still be some difference. The same voice, while it re- tains its proper distinctions, may yet be varied many ways, by sickness or health, youth or age, leanness or fatness, good or bad humour. The same words spoken by foreigners and natives — nay, by persons of different provinces of the same nation — may be distinguished. Such an immense variety of sensations of smell, taste, and sound, surely was not given us in vain. They are signs by which we know and distinguish things without us ; and it was fit that the variety of the signs should, in some degree, correspond with the variety of the things signified by them. It seems to be by custom that we learn to distinguish both the place of things, and their nature, by means of their sound. That such a noise is in the street, such another in the room above me ; that this is a knock at my door, that a person walk- ing up stairs — is probably learnt by expe- rience. I remember, that once lying a- bed, and having been jnit into a fright, I heard my own heart beat ; but I took it to be one knocking at the door, aud arose and opened the door oftener than once, before I discovered that the sound was in my own breast. It is probable, that, pre- vious to all experience, we should as little know whether a sound came from the right or left, from above or below, from a great or a small distance, as we should know whether it was the sound of a drum, or a bell, or a cart. Nature is frugal in her operations, and will not be at the ex- pense of a particular instinct, to give us that knowledge which experience will soon produce, by means of a general principle of human nature. For a little experience, by the constitu- tion of human nature, ties together, not only in our imagination, but in our belief. those thhigs which were in their nature un- connected. When I hear a certain sound, I conclude immediately, without reasoning, that a coach passes by. There are no pre- mises from which this conclusion is iuferred by any rules of logic. It is the effect of a principle of our nature, common to us with the brutes. Although it is by hearing that we are capable of the perceptions of harmony and melody, and of all the charms of nmsie, yet it would seem that these require a higher faculty, which we call a musical e a f. This seems to be in very different degrees, in those who have the bare faculty of hear- ing equally perfect ; and, therefore, ought not to be classed with the external senses, but in a higher order. Section II. OF NATURAL LANGUAGE. One of the noblest purposes of sound un- doubtedly is language, without which man- kind would hardly be able to attain any degree of improvement above the brutes. Language is commonly considered as purely an invention of men, who by nature are no less mute than the brutes ; but, having a superior degree of invention and reason, have been able to contrive artificial signs of their thouglits and purposes, and to es- tablish them by common consent. But the origin of language deserves to be more care- fully inquired into, not only as this inquiry may be of importance for the improvement of language, but as it is related to the pre- sent subject, and tends to lay open some of the first principles of human nature. I shall, therefore, offer some thoughts upon this subject. By language I understand all those signs which mankind use in order to communi- cate to others their thoughts and intentions, their purposes and desires. And such signs may be conceived to be of two kinds : First, such as have no meaning but what is affixed to them by compact or agreement among those who use them — these are ar- tificial signs ; Secondly, such as, previous to all compact or agreement, have a mean- ing which every man understands by the principles of his nature. Language, so far as it consists of artificial signs, may be called artificial ,• so far as it consists of natural signs, I call it natural. Having premised these definitions, I think it is demonstrable, that, if mankind had not a natural language, they could never have invented an artificial one by their reason and ingenuity. For all arti- ficial language su|)poKeB some com|)act or agreement to affix a certain meaning to 118 OF THE HUMAN MIND. certain signs ; therefore, there must be compacts or agreements before the use of artificial signs ; but there can be no com- pact or agreement witliout signs, nor with- out language ; and, therefore, tliere must be a natural language before any artificial language can be invented : which was to be demonstrated. Had language in general been a human invention, as much as writing or printing, we should find whole nations as mute as the brutes. Indeed, even the brutes have some natural signs by which they express their own thoughts, affections, and desires, and understand those of others. A chick, as soon as hatched, understands the differ- ent sounds whereby its dam calls it to food, or gives the alarm of danger. A dog or a horse understands, by nature, when the human voice caresses, and when it threatens him. But brutes, as far as we know, have no notion of contracts or covenants, or of moral obligation to perform them. If na- ture had given them these notions, she would probably have given them natural signs to express them. And where nature has denied these notions, it is as impossible to acquire them by art, as it is for a blind man to acquire the notion of colours. Some brutes are sensible of honour or disgrace ; they have resentment and gratitude ; but none of them, as far as we know, can make a promise or plight their faith, having no such notions from their constitution. And if mankind had not these notions by nature, and natural signs to express them by, with all their wit and ingenuity they could never have invented language. The elements of this natural language of mankind, or the signs that are naturally expressive of our thoughts, may, I think, be reduced to these three kinds : modula- tions of the voice, gestures, and features. By means of these, two savages who have no common artificial language, can converse together ; can communicate their thoughts in some tolerable manner ; can ask and refuse, afiirm and deny, threaten and sup- plicate ; can traffic, enter into covenants, and plight their faith. This might be con- firmed 1)y historical facts of undoubted credit, if it were necessary. Mankind having thus a common language by nature, though a scanty one, adapted only to the necessities of nature, there is no great ingenuity required in improving it by the addition of artificial signs, to supply the deficiency of the natural. These artificial signs must multiply with the arts of life, and the improvements of knowledge. The articulations of the voice seem to be, of all signs, the most proper for artificial language ; and as mankind have universally used them for that purpose, we may reason- ably judge that nature intended them for it. But nature probably does not intend that we should lay aside the use of the natural signs ; it is enough that we supply their defects by artificial ones. A man that rides always in a chariot, by degrees loses the use of his legs ; and one who uses artificial signs only, loses both the knowledge and use of the natural. Dumb people retain much more of the natural language than others, because necessity obliges them to use it. And for the same reason, savages have much more of it than civilized nations. It is by natural signs chiefly that we give force and energy to language ; and the less language has of them, it is the less ex- pressive and persuasive. Thus, writing Ls less expressive than reading, and reading less expressive than speaking without book ; speaking without the proper and natural modulations, force, and variations of the voice, is a frigid and dead language, com- pared with that which is attended with them ; it is still more expressive when we add the language of the eyes and features ; and is then only in its perfect and natural state, and attended with its proper energy, when to all these we superadd the force of action. Where speech is natural, it will be an exercise, not of the voice and lungs only, but of all the muscles of the body ; like that of dumb people and savages, whose language, as it has more of nature, is more expressive, and is more easily learned. Is it not pity that the refinements of a civilized life, instead of supplying the de- fects of natural language, should root it out and plant in its stead dull and lifeless articulations of unmeaning sounds, or the scrawling of insignificant characters ? The perfection of language is commonly thought to be, to express human thoughts and sen- timents distinctly by these dull signs ; but if this is the perfection of artificial language, it is surely the corruption of the natural. Artificial signs signify, but they do not express ; they speak to the understanding, as algebraical characters may do, but the passions, the affections, and the will, hear them not : these continue dormant and inactive, till we speak to them in the lan- guage of nature, to which they are all atten- tion and obedience. It were easy to shew, that the fine arts of the musician, the painter, the actor, and the orator, so far as they are expressive — although the knowledge of them requires in us a delicate taste, a nice judgment, and much study and practice — yet they are nothing else but the language of nature, which we brought into the world with us, but have unlearned by disuse, and so find the greatest difficulty in recovering it. Abolish the use of articulate sounds and writing among mankind for a century. OF TOUCH. 119 and every man would be a painter, an actor, and an orator. We mean not to afBrra that such an expedient is practica- ble ; or, if it were, that the advantage would counterbalance the loss ; but that, as men are led by nature and necessity to converse together, they will use every mean in their power to make themselves under- stood ; and where they cannot do this by artificial signs, they will do it, as far as possible, by natural ones : and he that understands perfectly the use of natural signs, must be the best judge in all the ex- pressive arts. CHAPTER V. OF TOUCH. Section I. OF HEAT AND COLD. The senses which we have hitherto con- sidered, are very simple and uniform, each of them exhibiting only one kind of sensa- tion, and thereby indicating only one quality of bodies. By the ear we perceive sounds, and nothing else ; by the palate, tastes ; and by tlie nose, odours. These qualities are all likewise of one order, being all secondary qualities ; whereas, by touch we perceive not one quality only, but many, and those of very different kinds.* The chief of them are heat and cold, hardness and softness, roughness and smoothness, figure, solidity, motion, and extension. "We shall consider these in order. As to heat and cold, it will easily be allowed that they are secondary qualities, of the same order with smell, taste, and sound. And, therefore, what hath been already said of smell, is easily applicable to them ; that is, tliat the words heat and cold have each of them two significations ; thoy sometimes signify certain sensations of the mind, which can have no existence when when they are not felt, nor can exist any- where but in a mind or sentient being ; but more frequently they signify a quality in bodies, which, by the laws of nature, occa- sions the sensations of heat and cold in us — a quality which, though connected by cus- tom so closely with the sensation, that we cannot, without difficulty, separate them, yet hath not the least resemblance to it. • It has been very cnmmonly held by philosophers, both in ancient and moilern times, that the division of the senses into live, is altugethor inadequate ; and P';chologi8tB, thouRh not at one in regard to the dis. Iribution, arc now generally ngrecd, that under Touch — or FcelinK, in the.strictcst signification (■! the term — are coinprikeil perrei)tioin which are, at least, aK well entitled to be 0|. posed inspeeies, a« those of 'J'aste and Smell — il. and may continue to exist when there is no sensation at all. The sensations of heat and cold are per- fectly loiown ; for they neither are, nor can be, anj-thing else than what we feel them to be ; but the qualities in bodies which we call heat and cold, are unknown. They are only conceived by us, as unknown causes or occasions of the sensations to which we give the same names. But, though common sense says nothing of the nature of these qualities, it plainly dictates the existence of them ; and to deny that there can be heat and cold when they are not felt, is an ab- surdity too gross to merit confutation. For what could be more absurd, than to say, that the thermometer cannot rise or fall, unless some person be present, or that the coast of Guinea would be as cold as Nova Zembla, if it had no inhabitants ? It is the business of philosophers to in- vestigate, by proper experiments and in- duction, what heat and cold are in bodies. And whether they make heat a particular element diffused through nature, and ac- cumulated in the heated body, or whether they make it a certain vibration of the parts of the heated body ; whether they de- termine that heat and cold are contrary qualities, as the sensations undoubtedly are contrary, or that heat only is a quality, and cold its privation : these questions are within the province of philosophy ; for com- mon sense says nothing on the one side or the other. But, whatever be the nature of that quality in bodies which we call hrat, we certainly know this, that it cannot in the least resemble the sensation of heat. It is no less absurd to suppose a likeness be- tween the sensation and the quality, than it would be to suppose that the pain of the gout resembles a square or a triangle. The simplest man that hath common sense, does not imagine the sensation of heat, or anything that resembles that sensation, to be in the fire. He only imagines that there is something in the fire which makes him r.nJ other sentient beings feel heat. Yet, as the name of heat, in common lan- guage, more frequently and more properly signifies this unknown something in the fire, than the sensation occasioned by it, he justly laughs at the pliilosopher who denies that there is any heat in the fire, and thinks that he speaks contrary to com- mon sense. Srrlion II. OK HAKDNKSS AM! SOFTNKSS. Let UH next cotisider hardncsa and soft- ness ; by wliicli words we always under- 120 OF THE HUMAN MIND. stand real properties or qualities of bodies of which we have a distinct conception. When the parts of a body adhere so firmly that it cannot easily be made to change its fit^ure, we call it lidid ; v\'lien its parts are e^ily displaced, we call it soft. This is the notion which all mankind have of hardness and softness ; they are neither sensations, nor like any sensation; they were real qualities before they were perceived by touch, and continue to be so when they are not perceived ; for if any man will affirm that diamonds were not hard till they were handled, who would reason with hun ? There is, no doubt, a sensation by which we perceive a body to be hard or soft. This sensation of hardness may easily be had, by pressing one's hand against the table, and attending to the feeling that ensues, setting aside, as much as possible, all thought of the table and its qualities, or of any external thing. But it is one thing to have the sens- ation, and another to attend to it, and make it a distinct object of reflection. The first is very easy ; the last, in most cases, ex- tremely difficult. We are so accustomed to use the sensa- tion as a sign, and to pass immediately to the hardness signified, that, as far as appears, it wasnever made an object of thought, either by the vulgar or by philosophers ; nor has it a name in any language. There is no sensation more distinct, or more frequent ; yet it is never attended to, but passes through the mind instantaneously, and serves only to introduce that quality in bodies, which, by a law of our constitution, it suggests. There are, indeed, some cases, wherein it is no difficult matter to attend to the sens- ation occasioned by the hardness of a body; for instance, when it is so violent as to occa- sion considerable pain : then nature calls upon us to attend to it, and tlien we acknow- ledge that it is a mere sensation, and can only be in a sentient being. If a man runs his head with violence against a pillar, I appeal to him whether the pain he feels re- sembles the hardness of the stone, or if he can conceive anything like what he feels to be in an inanimate piece of matter. The attention of the mind is here entirely turned towards the painful feeling ; and, to speak in the common language of mankind, he feels nothing in the stone, but feels a violent pain in his head. It is quite other- wise when he leans his head gently against the pillar ; for then he will tell you that he feels nothing in his head, but feels hardness in the stone. Hath he not a sensation in this case as well as in the other ? Un- doubtedly he hath ; but it is a sensation which nature intended only as a sign of something in the stone ; and, accordingly, he instantly fixes his attention upon the thing signified ; and cannot, without great difficulty, attend so much to the sensation as to be persuaded that there is any such thing distinct from the hardness it signifies. But, however difficult it may be to attend to this fugitive sensation, to stop its rapid progress, and to disjoin it from the external quality of hardness, in whose shadow it is apt inmiediately to hide itself ; this is what a philosopher by pains and practice must attain, otherwise it will be impossible for him to reason justly upon this subject, or even to understand what is here advanced. For the last appeal, in subjects of this na- ture, nnist be to what a man feels and per- ceives in his own mind. It is indeed strange that a sensation which we have every time we feel a body hard, and which, consequently, we«an com- mand as often and continue as long as we please, a sensation as distinct and determi- nate as any other, should yet be so much unknown as never to have been made an object of thought and reflection, nor to have been honoured with a name in any language ; that philosophers, as well as the vulgar, should have entirely overlooked it, or confounded it with that quality of bo- dies which we call hardness, to which it hath not the least similitude. May we not hence conclude, that the knowledge of the human faculties is but in its infancy ? — that we have not yet learned to attend to those operations of the mind, of which we are conscious every hour of our lives ? — that there are habits of inattention ac- quired very early, which are as hard to be overcome as other habits ? For I think it is probable, that the novelty of this sensa- tion will procure some attention to it in children at first ; but, being in nowise inte- rest mg in itself, as soon as it becomes familiar, it is overlooked, and the attention turned solely to that which it signifies. Thus, when one is learning a language, he attends to the sounds ; but when he is mas- ter of it, he attends only to the sense of what he would express. If this is the case, we must become as little children again, if we will be philosophers ; we must over- come this habit of inattention which has been gathering strength ever since we began to think — a habit, the usefulness of which, in common life, atones for the dif- ficulty it creates to the philosopher in dis- covering the first principles of the human mind. Tlie firm cohesion of the parts of a body, is no more like that sensation by which I perceive it to be hard, than the vibration of a sonorous body is like the sound I hear : nor can I possibly perceive, by my reason, any connection between the one and the other. No man can give a reason, why the vibration of a body might not have given the sensation of smelling, and the ef3uvia OF TOUCH. 121 of bodies affected our hearing, if it had so pleased our Maker. In like manner, no man can ^ive a reason whv the sensations of smell, or taste, or sound, might not have indicated hardness, as well as that sensa- tion which, by our constitution, does indi- cate it. Indeed, no man can conceive any sensation to resemble any known quality of bodies. Nor can any man shew, by any good argument, that all our sensations might not have been as they are, though no body, nor quality of body, had ever existed. Here, then, is a phoenomenon of human nature, which comes to be resolved. Hard- ness of bodies is a thing that we conceive as distinctly, and believe as firmly, as any- thing in nature. We have no way of com- ing at this conception and belief, but by means of a certain sensation of touch, to which hardness hath not the least simili- tude ; nor can we, by any rules of rea- soning, infer the one from the other. The question is. How we come by this conception and belief ? First, as to the conception : Shall we call it an idea of sensation, or of retlectiou ? The last will not be affirmed ; and as little can the first, unless we will call that an idea of sensation which hath no resem- blance to any sensation. So that the origin of this idea of hardness, one of the most common and most distinct we have, is not to be found in all our systems of the mind : not even in those which have so copiously endeavoured to deduce all our notions from sensation and reflection. But, secondly, supposing we have got the conception of hardness, how come we by the belief of it ? Is it self-evident, from comparing the ideas, that such a sensation could not be felt, unless such a quality of bodies existed ? No. Can it be proved by probable or certain arguments ? No ; it cannot. Have we got this belief, then, by tradition, liy education, or by experience ? No ; it is not got in any of these ways. Shall we then throw off this belief as hav- ing no foundation in reason ? Alas ! it is not in our power ; it triumphs over reason, and laughs at all the arguments of a philoso- pher. Even the author of the " Treatise of Human Nature," though he saw no rea- son for this belief, but many against it, could hardly conquer it in his speculative and solitary moments ; at other times, he fairly yielded to it, and confesses that he found himself under a necessity to do so. What shall we say, then, of this concep- tion, and this belief, which are so unac- countable and untractable ? I see nothing left, but to conclude, that, by an original principle of our constitution, a certain sens- ation of touch both suggests to the mind the conception of hardness, and creates the b«Jiof of it : or, in other words, that this sens- ation is a natural sign of hardness. And this I shall endeavour more fully to explain. Section HI. OP NATURAL SIGNS. As in artificial signs there is often neither similitude between the sign and thi'ig signified, nor any connection that arises necessarily from the nature of the things, so it is also in natural signs. The word gold has no similitude to the substance signified by it ; nor is it in its own nature more fit to signify this than any other sub- stance ; yet, by habit and custom, it sug- gests this and no other. In like manner, a sensation of touch sugi^ests hardness, although it hath neither similitude to hard- ness, nor, as far as we can perceive, any necessary connection with it. The differ- ence betwixt these two signs lies only in this — that, in the first, the suggestion is the effect of habit and custom ; in the second, it is not the effect of habit, but of the ori- ginal constitution of our minds. It appears evident from what hath been said on the subject of language, that there are natural signs as well as artificial ; and particularly, that the thoughts, purposes, and dispositions of the mind, have their natural signs in the features of the face, the modulation of the voice, and the motion and attitude of the body : that, without a natural knowledge of the connection between these signs and the things signified by them, language could never have been invented and established among men : and, that the fine arts are all founded upon this connec- tion, which we may call tite nalitral language cf mankind. It is now proper to observe, that there are difterent orders of natural signs, and to point out the different classes into which tliey may be distinguished, that we may more distinctly conceive the rela- tion between our sensations and the things they suggest, and what we mean by calling sensations signs of external things. The first class of natural signs compre- hends those whose connection with the thing signified is established by nature, but discovered only by experience. The whole of genuine philosophy consists in discover- ing such connections, and reducing tiiem to general rules. The great Lord Verulam had a perfect comprehension of this, when he called it un inlir/iretation of natitrr. No man ever more distinctly understood or happily expressed the nature and founda- tion of the piiilosophic art. What is all we know of mechanics, astronomy, and ojitics, but connections established by nature, and discovered by experience or observation, and consequences deduced from them P 122 OF THE HUMAN MIND. All the knowledge we have in agriculture, gardening, chemistry, and medicine, is built upon the same foundation. And if ever our philosophy concerning the human mind is carried so far as to deserve the name of science, which ought never to be despah-ed of, it must be by observing facts, reducing them to general rules, and drawing just con- clusions from them. What we commonly call natural causes might, with more pro- priety, be called natural si,(/ns, and what we call effects, the things signified. The causes have no proper efficiency or casuality, as far as we Icnow ; and all we can certainly affirm is, that nature hath established a constant conjunction between them and the things called their effects ; and hath given to man- kind a disposition to observe those con- nections, to confide in their continuance, and to make use of them for the improvement of our knowledge, and increase of our power. A second class is that wherein the con- nection between the sign and thing signi- fied, is not only established by nature, but discovered to us by a natural principle, without reasoning or experience. Of this kind are the natural signs of human thoughts, purposes, and desires, which have been already mentioned as the natural language of mankind. An infant may be put into a fright by an angry coimtenance, and soothed again by smiles and blandish- ments. A child that has a good musical ear, may be put to sleep or to dance, may be made men-y or sorrowful, by the modula,- tion of musical sounds. The principles of all the fine arts, and of what we call a fine taste, may be resolved into connections of this kind. A fine taste may be improved by reasoning and experience ; but if the first principles of it were not planted in our minds by nature, it could never be ac- quired. Nay, we have already made it appear, that a great part of this knowledge %vhich we have by nature, is lost by tlie disuse of natural signs, and the substitution of artificial in their place. A third class of natural signs compre- hends those which, though we never before had any notion or conception of the thing signified, do suggest it, or conjure it up, as it were, by a natural kind of magic, and at once give us a conception and create a belief of it. I shewed formerly, that our sensations suggest to us a sentient being or mind to which they belong — a being which hath a permanent existence, although the sensations are transient and of short dura- tion — a being which is still the same, wiiile its sensations and other operations are varied ten thousand ways — a being which hath the same relation to all that infinite variety of thoughts, purposes, actions, affections, enjoyments, and sufferings, which we are conscious of, or can remember. The conception of a mind is neither an idea of sensation nor of reflection ; for it is neither like any of our sensations, nor like any- thing we are conscious of. The first con- ception of it, as well as the belief of it, and of the common relation it bears to all that we are conscious of, or remember, is suggested to every thinlung being, we do not know how. The notion of hardness in bodies, as well as the belief of it, are got in a similar manner ; being, by an original principle of our nature, annexed to that sensation which we have when we feel a hard body. And so naturally and necessarily does the sensation convey the notion and belief of liardness, that hitherto they have been confounded by the most acute inquirers into the principles of human nature, al- though they appear, upon accurate reflec- tion, not only to be difierent things, but as unlike as pain is to the point of a sword. It may be observed, that, as the first class of natural signs I have mentioned is the foundation of true philosophy, and the second the foundation of the fine arts, or of taste — so the last is the foundation of common sense — a part of human nature which hath never been explained.* I take it for granted, that the notion of hardness, and the belief of it, is first got by means of that particular sensation which, as far back as we can remember, does invariably suggest it ; and that, if we had never had such a feeling, we should never have had any notion of hardness. 1 think it is evident, that we cannot, by reasoning from our sensations, collect the existence of bodies at all, far less any of their qualities. This hath been proved by unanswerable arguments by the Bishop of Cloyne, and by the author of the " Treatise of Human Nature." It appears as evi- dent that this connection between our sens- ations and the conception and behef of external existences cannot be produced by habit, experience, education, or any prin- ciple of human nature that hath been admitted by philosophers. At the same time, it is a fact that such sensations are invariably connected with the conception and belief of external existences. Hence, by all rules of just reasoning, we must con- clude, that this connection is the effect of our constitution, and ought to be considered as an original principle of human nature, till we find some more general principle into which it may be resolved. + » See Stewart's " Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind." Vol. II., chap, i., \ 3, last note.— H. t This whole doctrine of natural signs, on which his philosophy is in a great measure established, was bor- rowed l)y Reid, in principle, and even in expression, from Berkelev. Compare " Minute Philosopher, ' Dial IV., y 7, 1 1, 12 ; " New Theory of Vision." §§ 144, 147; "Theory of Vision Vindicated," 8§ 38 — 43-H. OF TOUCH. 123 Section IF. or HARDNESS, AND OTHKa PRIMARY QUALITIES. Further, I observe that hardness is a quaUty, of which we have as clear and distinct a conception as of anything what- soever. The cohesion of the parts of a body with more or less force, is perfectly understood, though its cause is not ; we know what it is, as well as how it affects the touch. It is, therefore, a quality of a quite different order from those secondary qualities we have already taken notice of, whereof we know no more naturally than that they are adapted to raise certain sens- ations in us. If hardness were a quality of the same kind, it would be a proper in- quiry for philosophers, what hardness in bodies is ? and we should have had various hypotheses about it, as well as about co- lour and heat. But it is evident that any such hypothesis would be ridiculous. If any man should say, that hardness in bo- dies is a certain vibration of their parts, or that it is certain effluvia emitted by them which affect our touch in the manner we feel — such hypotheses would shock com- mon sense ; because we all know that, if the parts of a body adhere strongly, it is hard, although it should neither emit efflu- via nor vibrate. Yet, at the same time, no man can say, but that effluvia, or the vibration of the parts of a body, might have affected our touch, in the same man- ner that hardness now does, if it had so pleased the Author of our nature ; and, if either of these hypotheses is applied to ex- plam a secondary quality — such as smell, or taste, or sound, or colour, or heat — there appears no manifest absurdity in the sup- position. The distinction betwixt primary and se- condary qualities hath had several revolu- tions. Democritus and Epicurus, and their followers, maintained it. Aristotle and the Peripatetics abolished it. Des Cartes, Malebranche, and Locke, revived it, and were thought to have put it in a very clear light. But Bishop Berkeley again dis- carded this distinction, by such proofs as must be convincing to those that hold the received doctrine of ideas.* Yet, after all, there appears to be a real found- ation for it in the principles of our na- ture. What hath been said of hardness, is so easily ajjplicable, not only to its opposite, Boftne.ss, but likewise to roughness and • On thiB distinction of Pr/mary and Secondary Oualitimi, «ee " Eisayson the liitcllectual I'owers," K»«ay H., chnp 17, and Note I), at the end of the vohime. — H. smoothness, to figure and motion, that we may be excused from making the applica- tion, which would only be a repetition of what hath been said. All these, by means of certain corresponding sensations of touch, are presented to the mind as real external qualities ; the conception and the belief of them are invariably connected with the corresponding sensations, by an original principle of human nature. Their sensa- tions have no name in any language ; they have not only been overlooked by the vul- gar, but by philosophers ; or, if they have been at all taken notice of, they have been confounded with the external qualities which they suggest. Section V. OF EXTENSION. It is further to be observed, that hard- ness and softness, roughness and smooth- ness, figure and motion, do all suppose ex- tension, and cannot be conceived without it ; yet, I think it must, on the other hand, be allowed that, if we had never felt any tiling hard or soft, rough or smooth, figured or moved, we should never have had a con- ception of extension ;" so that, as there is good ground to believe that the notion of extension could not be prior to that of other primary qualities, so it is certain that it could not be posterior to the notion of any of them, being necessarily implied in them all.f Extension, therefore, seems to be a qua- lity suggested to us, by the very same sens- ations which suggest the other qualities above mentioned. When I grasp a ball in my hand, I perceive it at once hard, figured, and extended. The feeling is very simple, and hath not the least resemblance to any quality of body. Yet it suggests to us three primary qualities perfectly dis- tinct from one another, as well as from the sensation which indicates them. When I move my hand along the table, the feel- ing is so simple that I find it difficult to distinguish it into things of dift'erent na- tures ; yet, it inmiediatey suggests hardness, smoothness, extension, and motion — things * According to lU'id, Extei sion 'Space) is a no. tion It poiteri'iri, ttie result of experience. Acconl- ing to Kant, it is a priori ; cxpcrionic imly afTording the occasions required by the mind to exert the acts, of which theiiituition ol space is a condition. Toect 1 , Art. 1. The reader may likewise consult the same author's " Synopsis Metaphysicae," Part, II., cap. 1,^3 But here I may observe, in the first place, that the statement made in the preceding quotation, (and still iiiOre articulately in the " Synopsis,") that Duration or Time is the inseparable concomitant both of sense and reflection, had been also made by Aristotle and many other philosophers; and it is indeed curious how I'lng philosophers were on the vtrge of enuiu ciating the great doctrine first proclaimed by Kant — that 'lime is a fuiulamen'al condiiioii, form, or category ol thought. In the second place, I may no. lice that Hutcheson is not entitled to the praise accorded him by Stewart and KoyerCollardforhisori. ginality in " Ihefiiie and important observation that Extension, Figure, Motion, and Rest, are rather ideas accompanying the perceptions ot touch and vision, than perciptions ol these senses, properly so called." In this, he seems only lohave, with others, repeated Aristotle, who, in his treatise on the Soul. (-Book II., Ch. 6, Text (U, and Book III. Ch. I, Text 13."),) calls Motion and Rest, iianiiitude, {Ex- tension,) Figure, and Number, (Hutcheson's very list,) the common concomitants {ocxeJ^evdiyra. xai Konic) of sight and touch, and expressly denies Itiera to be impressions of sense — the sense having no passive affection from these qualities. To these five common ccmcomitants, some of the schoolmen added also, (but out of Aristotle,) Place, Distance, Poiitiun, and Co7itinuitj/. — H. OF TOUCH. 125 other, and never have been able to discern that they were not only distinct things, but uhogether unlike. However, if we will reason distinctly upon this subject, we ought to give names to those feelings of touch ; we must accustom ourselves to attend to them, and to reflect upon them, that we may be able to disjoin them from, and to compare them with, the qualities signified or suggested by them. The habit of doing this is not to be at- tained without pains and practice ; and till a man hath acquired this habit, it will be impossible for him to think distinctly, or to judge right, upon this subject. Let a man press his hand against the table — /le feels it hard. But what is the mean- ing of this? — The meaning undoubtedly is, that he hath a certain feeling of touch, from which he concludes, without any rea- soning, or comparing ideas, that there is something external really existing, whose parts stick so firmly together, that they can- not be displaced without considerable force. There is here a feeling, and a conclu- sion drawn from it, or some way suggested by it. In order to compare these, we must view them separately, and then con- sider by what tie they are connected, and wlierein they resemble one another. The hardness of the table is the conclusion, the feeling is the medium by which we are led ti) that conclusion. Let a man attend dis- tinctly to this medium, and to the conclu- sion, and he will perceive them to be as unhke as any two things in nature. The one is a sensation of- the mind, which can Iiave no existence but in a sentient being ; nor can it exist one moment longer than it is felt ; tiie other is in the table, and we conclude, without any difficulty, that it was in the table before it was felt, and continues after the feeling is over. The one implies no kind of extension, nor parts, nor cohe- sion ; the other implies all these. Both, indeed, admit of degrees, and the feeling, beyond a certain degree, is a species of pain ; but adamantine hardness does not imply the least pain. And as tlie feeling hath no similitude to hardness, so neither can our reason per- ceive the least tie or connection between them ; nor will the logician ever be able to shew a reason why we should conclude hardness from this feeling, rather than soft- ness, or any other quality whatsoever. But, in reality, all mankind are led by their con- stitution to conclude hardness from this feeling. The sensation of heat, and the sensation we have by pressing a hard body, arc equally feelings ; nor can wc, by reasoning, draw any conclusion from tlic one but wjiat may be drawn from tlie other : but, by nur con- btitution, we conclude from tlie first an ob- scure or occult quality, of which we have only this relative conception, that it is something adapted to raise in us the sensa- tion of heat ; from the second, we conclude a quality of which we have a clear and dis- tinct conception — to wit, the hardness-of the body. Section VI. OF EXTENSION. To put this matter in another light, it may be proper to try, whether from sensa- tion alone we can collect any notion of ex- tension, figure, motion, and space.* I take it for granted, that a blind man hath the same notions of extension, figure, and mo- tion, as a man that sees ; that Dr Saunder- son had the same notion of a cone, a cylin- der, and a sphere, and of the motions and distances of the heavenly bodies, as Sir Isaac Newton. -f- As sight, therefore, is not necessary for our acquiring those notions, we shall leave it out altogether in our inquiry into the first origin of them ; and shall suppose a blind man, by some strange distemper, to have lost all the experience, and habits, and notions he had got by touch ; not to have the least conception of the existence, figure, dimensions, or extension, either of his own body, or of any other ; but to have all his knowledge of external things to ac- quire anew, by meajis of sensation, and the power of reason, which we suppose to re- main entire. We shall, first, suppose his body fixed immovably in one place, and that he can only have the feelings of touch, by the application of other bodies to it. Suppose him first to be pricked with a pin — this will, no doubt, give a smart sensation : he feels pain ; but what can he irifer from it ? Nothing, surely, with regard to the existence or figure of a pin. He can infer nothing from this species of pain, which he may not as well infer from the gout or sciatica. Conmion sense may lead him to thiidi that this pain has a cause ; but whether this cause is boily or spirit, extended or unex- teuded, figured or not figured, he cannot possibly, from any principles he is supposed to have, form the least conjecture. Hav- ing had fonnerly no notion of body or of extension, the prick of a {)in can give him none. Suppose, next, a body not ]ioin tcd, but » Why are /i'jrVcntionliiul S/xj r ili.stiiif;iiii.he(l u» co-orilinatc, and tlms oddly siiudiMrd ?— H. f I he (iliRcrvatKiMs of I'lamir, on a. person horn blind, woidd pnivc, however, that ji|'/(/, not I itch, is 111!' sense liv which we iiriniijially oiiiniii niir knnw- ledtju of I'igure, and our ititpii iciil knowlrdnf of Space. Saiindcr»oii,at any raio, was not born blind, — H. 126 OF THE HUMAN MIND. blunt, is applied to his body with a force gradually iucreased until it bruises him. What has he got by this, but another sens- ation or train of sensations, from which he is able to conclude as little as from the former ? A scirrhous tumour in any in- ward part of the body, by pressing upon the adjacent parts, may give the same kind of sensation as the pressure of an external body, without conveying any notion but tliat of pain, which, surely, hath no resem- blance to extension. Suppose, thirdly, that the body applied to him touches a larger or a lesser part of his body. Can this give him any notion of its extension or dimensions ? To me it seems impossible that it should, unless he had some previous notion of the dimen- sions and figure of his own body, to serve him as a measure.* When ray two hands touch the extremities of a body, if I know them to be a foot asunder, I easily col- lect that the body is a foot long ; and, if I know them to be five feet asunder, that it is five feet long ; but, if I know not what the distance of my hands is, I cannot know the length of the object they grasp ; and, if I have no previous notion of hands at all, or of distance between them, I can never get that notion by their being touched. Suppose, again, that a body is drawn along his hands or face, while they are at rest. Can this give him any notion of space or motion ? It no doubt gives a new feeling ; but how it should convey a notion of space or motion to one who had none before, I cannot conceive. The blood moves along the arteries and veins, and this motion, when violent, is felt : but I imagine no man, by this feeling, could get the conception of space or motion, if he had it not before. Such a motion may give a certain succes- sion of feelings, as the colic may do ; but no feelings, nor any combination of feelings, can ever resemble space or motion. Let us next suppose, that he makes some instinctive effort to move his head or his hand ; but that no motion follows, either on account of external resistance, or of palsy. Can this effort convey the notion of space and motion to one who never had it before ? Surely it cannot. Last of all, let us suppose that he moves a limb by instinct, without having had any previous notion of space or motion. He has here a new sensation, which accom- panies the flexure of joints, and the swelling of muscles. But how this sensation can convey into his mind the idea of space and motion, is still altogether mysterious and unintelligible. The motions of the heart ♦ Nay, the recent observations of Weber estaiilish the curious fact, that the same extent will not appear the tame to the touch at different parts of the body. and lungs are all performed by the con- traction of muscles, yet give no conception of space or motion. An embryo in the womb has many such motions, and probably the feelings that accompany them, without any idea of space or motion. Upon the whole, it appears that our phiiosophers have imposed upon themselves and upon us, in pretending to deduce from sensation the first origin of our notions of external existences, of space, motion, and extension,* and all the primary qualities of body — that is, the qualities whereof we have the most clear and distinct conception. These qualities do not at all tally with any system of the human faculties that hath been advanced. They have no resemblance to any sensation, or to any operation of our minds ; and, therefore, they cannot be ideas either of sensation or of reflection. The very conception of them is irreconcil- able to the principles of all our philosophic systems of the understanding. The belief of them is no less so. Section VII. OF THE EXISTENCE OF A MATERIAL WORLD. It is beyond our power to say when, or in what order, we came by our notions of these qualities. When we trace the opera- tions of our minds as far back as memory and reflection can carry us, we find them already in possession of our imagination and belief, and quite familiar to the mind : but how they came first into its acquaintance, or what has given them so strong a hold of our belief, and what regard they deserve, are, no doubt, very important questions in the philosophy of human nature. Shall we, with the Bishop of Cloyne, serve them with a quo warranto, and have them tried at the bar of philosophy, upon the statute of the ideal system ? Indeed, in this trial they seem to have come off very pitifully ; for, although they had very able counsel, learned in the law — viz., Des Cartes, Malebranche, and Locke, who said everything they could for their clients — the * That the notion of Space is a necessary condition of 1 bought, and that, as such, it is impossible tn de- rive it from experience, has been cogently demon- strated by Kant. But that we may not, through sense, have empirically an immediate perception of something extcnied, I have yet seen no vahd reason to doubt. VYtc'a priori Conception does not exclude the.« posto'iori Perception ; and this latter cannot be rejected without belying the evidence olconscioiisnrss, which assures us that we are immediately cognizant, not only of a Self but of a Not-Se'f, not only of ?»ind but o{ matter : and matter cannot lie inmediately known — that is, k-nown as-exi^tiig— except-as '^ome- thing extended. In this, however, I venture a step beyond Reidand Stewart, no loss than beyond Kant ; though I am convinced that the piiilosophy of the two former tended to-'his conclusion, which is, in fact, that ol the common gense ol mankind. — H. OF TOUCH. 127 Bishop of Cloyne, believing them to be aiders and abetters of heresj' and schism, prosecuted them with great vigour, full}' answered all that had been pleaded in their defence, and silenced their ablest advocates, who seem, for half a century past, to decline the argument, and to trust to the favour of the jury rather than to the strength of their pleadings. Thus, the wisdom oi philosophy is set in opposition to the common sense of mankind. The first pretends to demonstrate, a piioi i, that there can be no such thing as a mate- rial world ; that sun, moon, stars, and earth, vegetable and animal bodies, are, and can be nothing else, but sensations m the mind, or images of those sensations in the memory and imagination ; that, like pain and joy, they can have no existence when they are not thought of. The last can conceive no otherwise of this opinion, than as a kind of metaphysical lunacy, and concludes that too much learning is apt to make men mad ; and that the man \vho seriously entertains this belief, though in other respects he may be a very good man, as a man may be who be- lieves that he is made of glass ; yet, surely he hath a soft place in his understanding, and hath been hurt by much thinking. This opposition betwixt philosophy and common sense, is apt to have a very un- happy influence upon the philosopher him- self. He sees human nature in an odd, unamiable, and mortifying light. He con- siders himself, and the rest of his species, as born under a necessity of believing ten thousand absurdities and contradictions, and endowed with such a pittance of reason as is just sufficient to make this unhapjjy discovery : and this is all the fruit of his profound speculations. Such notions of human nature tend to slacken every nerve of the soul, to put every noble purpose and sen- timent out of countenance, and spread a me- lancholy gloom over the whole face of things. If this is wisdom, let me be deluded witli the vulgar. I find something within me that recoils against it, and insjiires more reverent sentiments of the human kind, and of the universal administration. Common Sense and Reason* have both one autlior; that Almighty Author in all wliose other works we observe a consistency, uniformity, and beauty which charm and delight tlie understanding : there must, therefore, be some order and consistency in the human faculties, as well as in other parts of his workmanship. A man that thinks rever- ently of his own kind, and esteems true wisdom and pliilosoi)liy, will not be fond, nay, will be vury suspicious, of such stranL;. hardness, are perceived by means of sens- ations of touch ; whence they rashly con- cluded, that these sensations must be images and resemblances of figure, extension, and hardness- The received hypothesis of ideas natur- ally led them to this conclusion : and indeed cannot consist with any other ; for, accord- ing to that hypothesis, external things must be perceived by means of images of them in the mind ; and what can those images of external things in the mind be, but the sensations by which we perceive them ? This, however, was to draw a conclusion from a hypothesis against fact. We need not have recourse to any hypothesis to know what our sensations are, or what they are like. By a proper degree of re- flection and attention we may understand them perfectly, and be as certain that they are not like any quality of body, as we can be, that the toothache is not like a triangle. How a sensation should instantly make us conceive and believe the existence of an external thing altogether unhke to it, I do not pretend to know ; and when I say that the one suggests the other, I mean not to explain the manner of their connection, but to express a fact, which every one may be conscious of — namely, that, by a law of our nature, such a conception and belief constantly and immediately follow the sens- ation. Bishop Berkeley gave new light to this subject, by shewing, that the qualities of an inanimate thing, such as matter is con- ceived to be, cannot resemble any sensa- tion ; that it is impossible to conceive any- thing like the sensations of our minds, but the sensations of other minds. Every one that attends properly to his sensations must assent to this ; yet it bad escaped all the philosophers that came before Berkeley ; it had escaped even the ingenious Locke, who had so much practised reflection on the operations of his own mind. So difli- cult it is to attend properly even to our own feelings. They are so accustomed to pass through the mind unobserved, and instantly to make way for that whicli na- ture intended them to signify, that it is extremely difiicult to stop, and survey them ; and when we think we have ac- quired this power, perhaps the mind still fluctuates between the sensation and its associated quality, so that they mix to- gether, and present something to the ima- gination that is compounded of both. 'J'hus, in a globe or cylinder, whose opposite sides are quite unlike in colour, if you turn it slowly, the colours are perfectly distinguish- able, and their dissimilitude is manifest ; but if it is turned fast, tliey lose tlieir dis- tinction, and seem to be of one and tlie sanio colour. K 2 132 OF THE HUMAN MIND. No succession can be more quick than that of tangible quaUties to the sensations with which nature has associated them : but when one has once acquired tlie art of making them separate and distinct ob- jects of thought, he will then clearly per- ceive that the maxim of Bishop Berkeley, above-mentioned, is self-evident ; and that the features of the face are not more un- like to a passion of the mind which they indicate, than the sensations of touch are to the primary qualities of body. But let us observe what use the Bishop makes of this important discovery. Why, he concludes, that we can have no con- ception of an inanimate substance, such as matter is conceived to be, or of any of its qualities ; and that there is the strongest ground to believe that there is no existence in nature but minds, sensations, and ideas : if there is any other kind of existences, it must be what we neither have nor can have any conception of. But how does this follow ? Why, thus : We can have no conception of anything but what resem- bles some sensation or idea in our minds ; but the sensations and ideas in our minds can resemble nothing but the sensations and ideas in other minds ; therefore, the conclusion is evident. This argument, we see, leans upon two propositions. The last of them the ingenious author hath, indeed, made evident to all that understand his reasoning, and can attend to their own sensations : but the first proposition he never attempts to prove ; it is taken from the doctrine of ideas, which hath been so universally received by philosophers, that it was thought to need no proof. We may here again observe, that this acute writer argues from a hypothesis against fact, and against the common sense of man- kind. That we can have no conception of anything, unless there is some impression, sensation, or idea, in our minds which re- sembles it, is indeed an opmion which hath been very generally received among philo- sophers ; but it is neither self-evident, nor hath it been clearly proved ; and therefore it hath been more reasonalile to call in question tliis doctrine of philosophers, than to discard the material world, and by that means expose philosophy to the ridicule of all men who will not offer up common sense as a sacrifice to metaphysics. We ought, however, to do this justice both to the Bishop of Cloyne and to the author of the " Treatise of Human Nature," to acknowledge, that their conclusions are justly draAvn from the doctrine of ideas, which has been so universally received. On the other hand, from the character of Bishop Berkeley, and of his predecessors, Des Cartes, Locke, and Malebranche, we may venture to say, that, if they had seen all the consequences of this doctrine, as clearly as the author before mentioned did, they would have suspected it vehemently, and examined it more carefully than they appear to have done. The theory of ideas, like the Trojan horse, had a specious appearance both of innocence and beauty ; but if those philo- sophers had known that it carried in its belly death and destruction to all science and common sense, they would not have broken down their walls to give it admit- tance. That we have clear and distinct con- ceptions of extension, figure, motion, and other attributes of body, which are neither sensations, nor like any sensation, is a fact of which we may be as certain as that we have sensations. And that all mankind have a fixed belief of an external material world — a belief which is neither got by rea- soning nor education, and a belief which we cannot shake off, even when we seem to have strong arguments against it and no shadow of argument for it — is likewise a fact, for which we have all the evidence that the nature of the thing admits. These facts are phsenomena of human nature, from which we may justly argue against any hypothesis, however generally received. But to argue from a hypothesis against facts, is contrary to the rules of true philo- sophy. CHAPTER VI. OF SEEING. Section I. THE EXCELLENCE AND DIGNITY OF THIS FACULTY. The advances made in the knowledge of optics in the last age and in the present, and chiefly the discoveries of Sir Isaac Newton, do honour, not to philosophy only, but to human nature. Such discoveries ought for ever to put to shame the ignoble attempts of our modern sceptics to depre- ciate the human understanding, and to dis- pirit men in the search of truth, by repre- senting the human faculties as fit for no- thing but to lead us into absurdities and contradictions. Of the faculties called the Jive senses, sight is without doubt the noblest. The rays of light, which minister to this sense, and of which, without it, we could never have had the least conception, are the most wonderful and astonishing part of the inanimate creation. We must be satis- fied of this, if we consider their extreme minuteness ; their inconceivable velocity ; OF SliElNG. 133 the regular variety of colours which they exhibit ; the invariable laws according to which they are acted upon by other bodies, in their reflections, inflections, and refractions, without the least change of their original properties ; and the facihty with which they pervade bodies of great density and of the closest texture, without resistance, without crowding or disturbing one another, without giving the least sensi- ble impulse to the lightest bodies. The structure of the eye, and of all its ap- purtenances, the admirable contrivances of nature for performing all its various exter- nal and internal motions, and the variety in the eyes of diff"erent animals, suited to their several natures and ways of life, clearly demonstrate this organ to be a mas- terpiece of Nature's work. And he must be very ignorant of what hath been dis- covered about it, or have a very strange cast of understanding, who can seriously doubt whether or not the rays of light and the eye were made for one another, with consummate wisdom, and perfect skill in optics. If we shall suppose an order of beings, endued with every Imman faculty but tliat of sight, how incredible would it appear to such beings, accustomed only to the slow informations of touch, that, by the addition of an organ, consisting of a ball and socket of an inch diameter, they might be enabled, in an instant of time, without changing their place, to percei\ e the disposition of a whole army or the order of a battle, the figure of a magnificent palace or all the variety of a landscape ! If a man were by feeling to find out the figure of tlie peak of Teneriff'e, or even of St Peter's Church at Rome, it would be the work of a lifetime.* It would appear stUl more incredible to such beings as we liave supposed, if they were informed of the discoveries which may be made by this little organ in things far beyond the reach of any other sense : that by means of it we can find our way in the patliloss ocean ; that we can traverse the globe of the earth, deter- mine its figure and dimensions, and deli- neate every region of it ; — yea, that we can measure the planetary orbs, and make discoveries in tlie sphere of the fixed stars. Would it not appear still more astonish- ing to such beings, if they should be farther informed, that, by means of this same organ, we can perceive the tempers and disposi- tions, the passions and affections, of our fellow-creatures, even when they want most to conceal them ? — that, when the tongue * The Ihing would he imp'xisible. f/tt any ono try by touch to a^ct■rlaltl the figure of a rnom, with which hir ia prcviouhly unacquainted, and not alto, gcthcr of the usual shape, and he wijl find that touch will nffiird him but ulcnder aid — H. is taught most artfully to he and dissemble, the hypocrisy should appear in the counte- nance to a discerning eye ? — and that, by this organ, we can often perceive what is straight and what is crooked in the mind as well as in the body ? How many myste- rious things must a blind man believe, if he will give credit to the relations of those that see ? Surely he needs as strong a faith as is required of a good Christian. It is not therefore without reason that the faculty of seeing is looked upon, not only as more noble than the other senses, but as having something in it of a nature superior to sensation. The evidence of reason is called seeing, not feeling, smelling, or tasting. Yea, we are wont to express the manner of the Divine knowledge by see- ing, as that kind of knowledge which is most perfect in us. Section II. SIGHT DISCOVERS ALMOST NOTHING WHICH THE BLIND MAY NOT COMPREHEND — THB REASON OF THIS. Notwithstanding what hath been said of the dignity and superior nature of this faculty, it is worthy of our observation, that there is very little of the knowledge ac- quired by sight, that may not be communi- cated to a man born blmd. One who never saw the Ught, may be learned and knowing in every science, even in optics ; and may make discoveries in every branch of philo- sophy. He may understand as much as another man, not only of the order, dis- tances, and motions of the heavenly bodies ; but of the nature of light, and of the laws of the reflection and refraction of its rays. He may understand distinctly how those laws produce the phsenomena of the rain- bow, the prism, the camera obscura. and the magic lanthorn, and all the powers of the microscope and telescope. This is a fact sufliciently attested by experience. In order to perceive the reason of it, we must distinguish the appearance that objects make to the eye, from the things suggested by that appearance : and again, in the visi- ble appearance of objects, we must dis- tinguish the appearance of colour from the appearance of extension, figure, and motion. First, then, as to the visible appearance of the figure, and motion, and extension of bodies, 1 conceive that a man born blind may have a distinct notion, if not of the very things, at least of something extremely like to them. IMay not a blind man be made to conceive that a body mov- ing directly from the eye, or directly to- wards it, may ajipcar to be at rest ? and that the same motion may nppfiir quicker 134 OF THE HUMAN MIND. or slower, according as it is nearer to the eye or farther off, more direct or more ob- lique ? May he not be made to conceive, that a plain surface, in a certain position, may appear as a straight line, and vary its visible figure, as its position, or the posi- tion of the eye, is varied ? — that a circle seen obliquely will appear an ellipse ; and a square, a rhombus, or an oblong rec- tangle ? Dr Saunderson understood the projection of the sphere, and the common rules of perspective ; and if he did, he must have understood all that I have men- tioned. If there were any doubt of Dr Saunderson's understanding these things, I could mention my having heard him say in conversation, that he found great difficulty in understanding Dr Halley's demonstra- tion of that proposition, that the angles made by the circles of the sphere, are equal to the angles made by their representatives in the stereographic projection ; but, said he, when I laid aside that demonstration, and considered the proposition in my own way, I saw clearly that it must be true. Another gentleman, of undoubted credit and judgment in these matters, who had part in this conversation, remembers it distinctly. As to the appearance of colour, a blind man must be more at a loss ; because he hath no perception that resembles it. Yet he may, by a kind of analogy, in part sup- ply this defect. To those who see, a scar- let colour signifies an unknown quality in bodies, that makes to the eye an ap- pearance which they are well acquainted with and have often observed— to a blind man, it signifies an unknown quality, that makes to the eye an appearance which he is unacquainted with. But he can conceive the eye to be variously aff'ected by differ- ent colours, as the nose is by diff'erent smells, or the ear by different sounds. Thus he can conceive scarlet to differ from blue, as the sound of a trumpet does from that of a drum ; or as the smell of an orange differs from that of an apple. It is impossible to know whether a scarlet colour has the same appearance to me which it hath to another man ; and, if the appearances of it to different persons dif- fered as much as colour does from sound, they might never be able to discover this difference. Hence, it appears obvious, that a blind man might talk long about colours distinctly and pertinently ; and, if you were to examine him in the dark about the nature, composition, and beauty of them, he might be able to answer, so as not to betray his defect. We have seen how far a blind man may go in the knowledge of the appearances which things make to the eye. As to the things which are suggestfd by them or inferred from them, although he could never discover them of liimself, yet he may understand them perfectly by the inform- ation of others. And everything of this kind that enters hito our minds by the eye, may enter into his by the ear. Thus, for instance, he could never, if left to the di- rection of his own faculties, have dreamed of any such thing as light ; but he can be informed of everything we know about it. He can conceive, as distinctly as we, the minuteness and velocity of its rays, their various degrees of refrangibility and reflexibility, and all the magical powers and virtues of that wonderful element. He could never of himself have found out, that there are such bodies as the sun, moon, and stars ; but he may be informed of all the noble discoveries of astrono- mers about their motions, and the laws of nature by which they are regulated. Thus, it appears, that there is very little knowledge got by the eye, which may not be communicated by language to those who have no eyes. If we should suppose that it were as uncommon for men to see as it is to be born blind, would not the few who had this rare gift appear as prophets and in- spired teachers to the many ? We conceive inspiration to give a man no new faculty, but to commimicate to him, in a new way, and by extraordinary means, what tlie fa- culties common to mankind can apprehend, and what he can communicate to others by ordinary means. On the supposition we have made, sight would appear to the blind very similar to this ; for the few who had this gift, could communicate the know- ledge acquired by it to those who had it not. They could not, indeed, convey to the blind any distinct notion of the manner in which they acquired this knowledge. A ball and socket would seem, to a blind man, in this case, as improper an instru- ment for acquiring such a variety and ex- tent of knowledge, as a dream or a vision. The manner in which a man who sees, discerns so many things by means of the eye, is as unintelligible to the blind, as the manner in which a man may be inspired with knowledge by the Almighty, is to us. Ought the blind man, therefore, with- out examination, to treat all pretences to the gift of seeing as imposture ? Might he not, if he were candid and tractable, find reasonable evidence of the reality of this gift in others, and draw great advantages from it to himself ? The distinction we have made between the visible appearances of the objects of sight, and things suggested by them, is ne- cessary to give us a just notion of the in- tention of nature in giving us eyes. If we attend duly to the operation of our mind OF SKEING. 135 In the use of this faculty, we shall perceive that the visible appearance of objects is hardly ever regarded by us. It is not at all made an object of thouj^ht or reflec- tion, but serves only as a sign to introduce to the mind something else, which may be distinctly conceived bythose who neversaw. Thus, the visible appearance of things in my room varies almost every hour, accord- ing as the day is clear or cloudy, as the sun is in the east, or south, or west, and as my eye is m one part of the room or in an- other; but I never think of these variations, otherwise than as signs of morning, noon, or night, of a clear or cloudy sky. A book or a chair has a different appearance to the eye, in every different distance and posi- tion ; yet we conceive it to be still the same ; and, overlooking the appearance, we immediately conceive the real figure, dis- tance, and position of the body, of which its visible or perspective appearance is a sign and indication. When I see a man at the distance of ten yards, and afterwards see him at the dis- tance of a hundred yards, his visible ap- pearance, in its length, breadth, and all its linear proportions, is ten times less in the last case than it is in the first ; yet I do not conceive him one inch dirainislied by this diminution of his visible figure. Nay, I do not in the least attend to this diminution, even when I draw from it the conclusion of his being at a greater distance. For such is the subtilty of the mind's operation in this case, that we draw the conclusion, with- out perceiving that ever the premises en- tered uito the mind. A thousand such in- stances might be produced, in order to shew that the visible appearances of objects are intended by nature only as signs or indica- tions ; and that the mind passes instantly to the things signified, without making the least reflection upon the sign, or even per- ceiving that there is any such thing. It is in a way somewhat similar, that the sounds of a language, after it is become familiar, are overlooked, and we attend only to the things signified by them. It is therefore a just and important ob- servation of the Bishop of Cloyne, That the visible appearance of objects is a kind of language used by nature, to inform us ^f their distance, magnitude, and figure. And this observation liatli been very happily applied by that ingenious writer, to the sohitionof somepluenomena in optics, which hafl before perplexed the greatest masters in that science. The same observation is further improved by tliejudicious Dr Smith, in his 0[)tics, for ex[)hiiniiig the ajiparent figure of the heavens, and the apparent distances and magnitudes of objects seen with glasses, or by tlie naked eye. Avoiding as niiicli as poKsible the repe- tition of what hath been said by these ex- cellent writers, we shall avail ourselves of the distinction between the signs that nature useth in this visual language, and the things signified by them ; and in what remains to be said of sight, shall first make some ob- servations upon the signs. Section III. OF THE VISIBLE APPEARANCES OF OBJECTS. In this section we must speak of things which are never made the object of re- flection, though almost every moment pre- sented to the mind. Nature intended them only for signs ; and in the whole course of life they are put to no other use. The mind has acquired a confirmed and invet- erate habit of inattention to them ; for they no sooner appear, than quick as light- ning the thing signified succeeds, and en- grosses all our regard. They have no name in language ; and, although we are conscious of them when they pass through the mind, yet their passage is so quick and so familiar, that it is absolutely un- heeded; nor do they leave any footsteps of themselves, either in the memory or imagination. That this is the case with regard to the sensations of touch, hath been shewn in the last chapter; and it holds no less with regard to the visible appear- ances of objects. I cannot therefore entertain the hope of being intelligible to those readers who have not, by pains and practice, acquired the habit of distinguishing the appearance of objects to the eye, from the judgment which we form by sight of their colour, distance, magnitude, and figure. The only profes- sion in life wherein it is necessary to make this distinction, is that of paintin;:. The painter hath occasion for an abstraction, with regard to visible objects, somewhat similar to that which we here require : and this indeed is the most difficult part of his art. For it is evident, that, if he could fix in his imagination the visible appearance of objects, without confounding it with the things signified liy that appearance, it would be as easy for liim to paint from the life, and to give every figure its proper shading and relief, and its persi)ective pro- portions, as it is to paint from a copy. Per- spective, shading, giving relief, and colour- ing, are nothini^ else but copying the ap- ])earance which things make to the eye. We may therefore liorrow some light on the subject of visilileapiiearaiu-ofromtliisart. Let one look upon any familiar object, such as a book, at different distances and in diff'erent positions : is he not able to affirm, n()on the testimony of his flitjht, that 136 OF THE HUMAN MINP it is the same book, the same object, whether seen at the distance of one foot or of ten, whether in one position or another ; that the colour is the same, the dimensions the same, and the figure the same, as far as the eye can judge ? This surely must be acknowledged. The same individual object is presented to the mind, only placed at different distances and in different posi- tions. Let me ask, in the next place, Whether this object has the same appear- ance to the eye in these different distances ? InfaUibly it hath not. For, First, However certain our judgment may be that the colour is the same, it is as certain that it hath not the same appear- ance at different distances. There is a certain degradation of the colour, and a certain confusion and indistinctness of the minute parts, which is the natural conse- quence of the removal of the object to a greater distance. Those that are not painters, or critics in painting, overlook this; and cannot easily be persuaded, that the colour of the same object hath a dif- ferent appearance at the distance of one foot and of ten, in the shade and in the light. But the masters in painting know how, by the degradation of the colour and the confusion of the minute parts, figures which are upon the same canvass, and at the same distance from the eye, may be made to represent objects which are at the most unequal distances. They know how to make the objects appear to be of the same colour, by making their pictures really of different colours, according to their distances or shades. Secondly, Every one who is acquainted with the rules of perspective, knows that the appearance of the figure of the book must vary in every different position : yet if you ask a man that has no notion of perspective, whether the figure of it does not appear to his eye to be the same in all its different positions ? he can with a good conscience affirm that it does. He hath learned to make allowance for the variety of visible figure arising from the difference of position, and to draw the proper con- clusions from it. But he draws these con- clusions so readily and habitually, as to lose sight of the premises : and therefore where he hath made the same conclusion, he con- ceives the visible appearance must have been the same. Thirdly, Let us consider the apparent magnitude or dimensions of the book. Whether I view it at the distance of one foot or of ten feet, it seems to be about seven inches long, five broad, and one thick. I can judge of these dimensions very nearly by the eye, and I judge them to be the same at both distances. But yet it is certain, that, at the distance of one foot, its visible length and breadth is about ten times as great as at the distance of ten feet ; and consequently its surface is about a hundred times as great. This great change of apparent magnitude is altogether overlooked, and every man is apt to im- agine, that it appears to the eye of the same size at both distances. Further, when I look at the book, it seems plainly to have three dimensions, of length, breadth, and thickness : but it is certain that the visible appearance hath no more than two, and can be exactly represented upon a canvass which hath only length and breadth. In the last place, does not every man, by sight, perceive the distance of the book from his eye ? Can he not affirm with certainty, that in one case it is not above one foot distant, that in another it is ten ? Nevertheless, it appears certain, that dis- tance from the eye is no immediate object of sight. There are certain things in the visible appearance, which are signs of dis- tance from the eye, and from which, as we shall afterwards shew, we learn by experi- ence to judge of that distance within cer- tain limits ; but it seems beyond doubt, that a man born blind, and suddenly made to see, could form no judgment at first of the distance of the objects which he saw. The young man couched by Cheselden thought, at first, that everything he saw touched his eye," and learned only by ex- perience to judge of the distance of visible objects. I have entered into this long detail, in order to shew that the visible appearance of an object is extremely different from the notion of it which experience teaches us to form by sight ; and to enable the reader to attend to the visible appearance of colour, figure, and extension, in visible things, which is no common object of thought, but must be carefully attended to by those who would enter into the philosophy of this sense, or would comprehend what shall be said upon it. To a man newly made to see, the visible appearance of objects would be the same as to us ; but he would see nothing at all of their real dimensions, as we do. He could form no conjecture, by means of his sight only, how many inches or feet they were in length, breadth, or thickness. He could perceive little or no- thing of their real figure ; nor could he dis- cern that this was a cube, that a sphere ; that this was a cone, and that a cylinder. -j- • Still they appeared external to the eye. — H. + This is a misinterpretation of Cheselden, on whose authority this statement is made ; though it must be confessed that the mode in which the case of the young man, couched by that distinguished sur. geon, is report" d, riops not merit all the eulngia that have been lavished on it. It is at once imper- fect and indistinct. Thus, on the point in questions Cheselden says; — " He (the patient) kne.v not t^e shape of anything, i or any one thing from another, OF SEEING. 137 His eye could not inform him that this object was near, and that more remote. The habit of a man or of a woman, which appeared to us of one uniform colour, vari- ously folded and shaded, would present to his eye neither fold or shade; but variety of colour. In a word, his eyes, though ever so perfect, would at first give him almost no information of things without him. They would indeed present the same api^earances to him as they do to us, and speak the same language ; but to him it is an unknown language ; and, therefore, he would attend only to the signs, without knowing the sig- nification of them, whereas to us it is a lan- guage perfectly familiar ; and, therefore, we take no notice of the signs, but attend only to the thing signified by them. Section J V. THAT COLOUR IS A QUALITY OF BODIES, NOT A SENSATION OF THE MIND. By colour, all men, who have not' been tutored by modern philosophy, understand, not a sensation of the mind, which can have no existence when it is not perceived, but a quality or modification of bodies, which continues to be the same whether it is seen or not. The searlet-i'ose which is before me, is still a scarlet-rose when I shut my however different in shape or magniturle; hu', upon being told what things were, whose form he before knew from feeling, he would carefully observe, that he might know them again ; but, laving too many objects to learn at once, he forgot many of them, and (as he said) at Brst he learned to know, and again forgot a thousand tl-.ings in a day. One i)articular only, though it may appear trifling, 1 will relate: Having often forgot which was the cat and which the dog, he was ashamed to ask; but, catching the cat, which he knew by feeling, he was observed to look at ner steadfastly, and then, setting her down, gaid, 'So, puss! I shall know you another time.'" Hire, when Cheselden says, ■■ that his patient, when recently couched, knew not the shape of any thing, nor any one thing from another,' &c , this cannot mean that he saw no difference bttwecn objects of different shapes and sizes; for, if this inter. pretation were adopted, the rest of the statement becomes nonsense. If he had been altogether inca. bable of apprehending differences, it could not be said that, " being told what things were whose form he before knew from feeling, he would carefully observe, that he might know them again ;" for oh- gervation supposes the power of discrimin.itioii, and, in particular, the anecdote of the dog and cat would be inconceivable on that hypothesis. It is plain that Cheselden only meant to say, that the things which the patient could previously distinguish and deno. minate by touch, he could not now identify and refer to their appellations by sight And this is what we might, a priori, be assured of A sphere and a cube would certainly make different impressions on him ; but it is probable that he could not assign to each its name, though, in this particular ras-, there is good ground for holding that the shghtest consi.ieration would enable a person, previou«ly a(c|uainled with these figures, and aware that the one w;u a cube and the other a splicre, to ciimect them with his anterior experience, and to discriminate them by name.— Set I'hiloi. Tram., l''<«, itu. 40^—11. eyes, and was so at midnight when no eye saw it. The colour remains when the appearance ceases ; it remains the same when the appearance changes. For when I view this scarlet-rose through a pair of green spectacles, the appearance is changed ; but I do not conceive the colour of the rose changed. To a person in the jaundice, it has still another appearance ; but he is easily convinced tliat the change is in his eye, and not in the colour of the object. Every different degree of light makes it have a different appearance, and total dark- ness takes away all appearance, but makes not the least change in the colour of the body. We may, by a variety of optical experiments, change the appearance of figure and magnitude in a body, as well as that of colour ; we may make one body appear to be ten. But all men believe, that, as a multiplyuig glass does not really produce ten guineas out of one, nor a mi- croscope turn a guinea into a ten-pound piece, so neither does a coloured glass change the real colour of the object seen through it, when it changes the appearance of that colour. The common language of mankind shews evidently, that we ought to distinguish be- tween the colour of a body, which is con- ceived to be a fixed and permanent quality in the body, and the appearance of that colour to the eye, which may be varied a thousand ways, by a variation of the light, of the medium, or of the eye itself. The permanent colour of the body is the cause which, by the mediation of various kinds or degrees of light, and of various transparent bodies interposed, produces all this variety of appearances. When a coloured body is presented, there is a certain apparition to the eye, or to the mind, which we have called the appearance of colour. Mr Locke calls it an iilea ; and, indeed, it may be called so with the greatest propriety. This idea can have no existence but when it is perceived. It is a kind of thought, and can only be the act of a ])urcipient or thinking being. By the constitution of our nature, we are led to conceive this idea as a sign of something external, and are impatient till we learn its meaning. A thousand experi- ments for this purpose are made every day by children, even before they come to the use of reason. They look at things, they handle them, they put them in various jio- sitions, at different distances, and in difter- ent lights. The ideas of sight, by these means, come to be associated with, and readily to suggest, things external, and al- together unlike them. In particular, tliat idea which we have called the ajipraraiicc of ciiloiir, Huggeststhe conception and belief of some unknown quality in the body which occasions the idea ; and it is to this quality, 138 OF THE HUMAN MIND and not to the idea, that we give the name oi colour.* The various colours, although in their nature equally unknown, are easily distinguished when we think or speak of them, by being associated with the ideas which they excite. In like manner, gravity, magnetism, and electricity, although all unknown qualities, are distinguished by their different effects. As we grow up, the mind acquires a habit of passing so rapidly from the ideas of sight to the external things suggested by them, that the ideas are not in the least attended to, nor have they names given them in common language. When we think or speak of any parti- cular colour, however simple the notion may seem to be which is presented to the imagin- ation, it is really in some sort compounded. It involves an unknown cause and a known effect. The name of colour belongs indeed to the cause only, and not to the effect. But, as the cause is unknown, we can form no distinct conception of it but by its relation to the known effect ; and, therefore, both go to- gether in the imagination, and are so closely united, that they are mistaken for one simple object ofthought.t When I would conceive those colours of bodies which we call scarlet and blue — if I conceived them only as un- known qualities, I could perceive no distinc- tion between the one and the other. I must, therefore, for the sake of distinction, join to each of them, in my imagination, some effect or some relation that is peculiar ; and the most obvious distinction is, the appear- ance which one and the other makes to the eye. Hence the appearance is, in the imagin- ation, so closely united with the quality called a scarlet-colour, that they are apt to be mistaken for one and the same thing, although they are in reality so different and so unlike, that one is an idea in the mind, the other is a quality of body. I conclude, then, that colour is not a sensation, but a secondary quality of bodies, in the sense we have already explained ; that it is a certain power or virtue in bodies, that in fair daylight exhibits to the eye an appearance which is very familiar to us, although it hath no name. Colour differs from other secondary qualities in this, that, whereas the name of the quality is sometimes given to the sensation which indicates it, and is occasioned by it, we never, as far as I can judge, give the name of colour to the sens- ation, but to the quality only.:]: Perhaps *+t It is justly observed by Mr Stewart, that these pissages seem inconsistent with each other. If in the perception of colour, the sensation and the quality " be so closely united as to be mis. taken for one simple object of thought," does it not obviously follow, that it is to this compounded notion the name of colour must in general be given ? On the other hand, when it is said t/iat the name of colour is niver given to ihe sensation, but to the quality only, does no' this imply, that every t;me the word is pronounced, the quality is separated from the reason of this may be, that the appear- ances of the same colour are so various and changeable, according to the different mo- difications of the light, of the medium, and of the eye, that language could not afford names for them. And, indeed, they are .'■o little interesting, that they are never at- tended to, but serve only as signs to in- troduce the things signified by them. Nor ought it to appear mcredible, that appearances so frequent and so familiar should have no names, nor be made ob- jects of thought ; since we have before shewn that this is true of many sensations of touch, which are no less frequent nor less familiar. Section V. AN INFERENCE FROM THE PRECEDING. From what hath been said about colour, we may infer two things. The first is, that one of the most remarkable paradoxes of modern philosophy, which hath been uni- versally esteemed as a great discovery, is, in reality, when examined to the bottom, nothing else but an abuse of word.s. The paradox I mean is. That colour is not a quality of bodies, but only an idea in the mind. We have shewn, that the word colour, as used by the vulgar, cannot signify an idea in the mind, but a permanent quality of body. We have shewn, that there is really a permanent quality of body, to which the common use of this word ex- actly agrees. Can any stronger proof be desired, that this quality is that to which the vulgar give the name of colour ?■ If it should be said, that this quality, to which we give the name of colour, is unknown to the vulgar, and, therefore, can have no name among them, I answer, it is, indeed, known only by its effects — that is, by its exciting a certain idea in us ; but are there not numberless quaUties of bodies which are known only by their effects, to which, notwithstanding, we find it necessary to give names ? Medicine alone might fur- nish us with a hundred instances of this kind. Do not the words astringent-, narcotic, epispastic, caustic, and innumerable others, s'gnify qualities of bodies, which are known only by their effects upon animal bodies ? Why, then, should not the vulgar give a name to a quality, whose effects are every moment perceived by their eyes ? We have all the reason, therefore, that the nature of the thing admits, to think that the vulgar apply the name of colour to that quality of bodies which excites in us what the sensation, even in the imagination of the vul- gar ?-H. OF SEEING. 139 the philosophers call the idea of colour. And that that there is such a quality in bodies, all philosophers allow, who allow that there is any such thing as body. Philo- sophers have thought fit to leave that quality of bodies which the vulgar call colour, without a name, and to give the name of colour to the idea or appearance, to which, as we have shewn, the vulgar give no name, because they never make it an object of thought or reflection. Hence it appears, that, when philosophers afiBrm that colour is not La bodies, but in the mind, and the vulgar affirm that colour is not in the mind, but is a quality of bodies, there is no difference between them about things, but only about the meaning of a word. The ^Tilgar have undoubted right to give names to things which they are daily con- versant about ; and philosophers seem justly chargeable with an abuse of language, when they change the meaning of a com- mon word, without giving warning. If it is a good rule, to think with philo- sophers and speak with the vulgar, it must be right to speak with the vulgar when we think with them, and not to shock them by philosophical paradoxes, which, when put into common language, express only the common sense of mankind. If you ask a man that is no philosopher, what colour is, or what makes one body appear white, another scarlet, he can- not tell. He leaves that inquiry to philo- sophers, and can embrace any hypothesis about it, except that of our modem philo- sophers, who affirm that colour is not in body, but only in the mind. Nothing appears more shocking to his apprehension, than that visible objects should have no colour, and that colour should be in that which he conceives to be invisible. Yet this strange paradox is not only universally received, but considered as one of tlie noblest discoveries of modern philosophy. The ingenious Addison, in the Spectator, No. 41.3, speaks thus of it : — " I have here supposed tliat my reader is acquainted with tiiat great modern discovery, which is at present universally acknow- ledged by all the inquirers into natural philosophy — namely, that light and colours, as apprehended by the iniiigination, are only ideas in the mind, and not qualities that have any existence in matter. As this is a truth which has been proved incon- testably l)y many modern philosophers, and is, indeed, one of the finest speculations in tiiat science, if tlie Knglisli reader would see tlie notion explained at large, he may find it in the eighth chapter of tlu; second book of Locke's 'Essay on Human Understanding.'" Mr Locke and Mr Addison are writers who Iiavc dcservorl so well of mankind, that one must feel some uneasiness in differing from them, and would wish to ascribe all the merit that is due to a discovery upon which they put so high a value. And, in- deed, it is just to acknowledge that Locke, and other modern philosophers, on the sub- ject of secondary qualities, have the merit of distinguishing more accurately than those that went before them, between the sensa- tion in the mind, and that constitution or quality of bodies which gives occasion to the sensation. They have shewn clearly that these two things are not only distinct, but altogether unlike : that there is no similitude between the effluvia of an odo- rous body and the sensation of smell, or between the vibrations of a sounding body and the sensation of sound : that there can be no resemblance between the feeling of heat, and the constitution of the heated body which occasions it ; or between the appearance which a coloured body makes to the eye, and the texture of the body which causes that appearance. Nor was the merit small of distinguishing these things accurately ; because, however different and unlike in their nature, they have been always so associated in the ima- gination, as to coalesce, as it were, into one two-faced form, which, from its amphibious nature, could not justly be appropriuted either to body or mind ; and, until it was properly distinguished into its different con- stituent parts, it was impossible to assign to either their just shares in it. None of the ancient philosophers had made this distinc- tion." The followers of Democritus and Epicurus conceived the forms of heat, and sound, and colour, to be in the mind only ; but that our senses fallaciously represented them as being in bodies. The Peripatetics imagined that those forms are really in bodies ; and that the images of them are conveyed to the mind by our senses. •)- The one system made the senses natur- ally fallacious nnd deceitful ; the other made the qualities of body to resemble the sensations of the mind. Nor was it possible to find a third, without making the distinc- tion we have mentioned ; by which, indeed, the errors of both these ancient systems are avoided, and we are not left under the hard necessity of behoving, either, on the one hand, that our sensations are like to the qualities of body, or, on the other, that God hath given us one faculty to deceive us, and another to detect the cheat. • This is inaccurate The (listinctioii w;ia known to tlie ancient i)hil(isoi)licr8 ; and Deninrritus was fcenerally allowed to bo its autlior. 'I'liis Keid liiniseK elsewhere inikr also adopted by Mr Stew.irt) in the bcquel.— II. 144 OF THE HUMAN MIND. when it is so difficult to conceive it at all. But our blind man's notion of visible figure will not be associated with colour, of which he hath no conception, but it will, perhaps, be associated with hardness or smoothness, with which he is acquainted by touch. These different associations are apt to impose upon us, and to make things seem different, which, in reality, are the same. Secondly, The blind man forms the no- tion of visible figure to himself, by thought, and by mathematical reasoning from prin- ciples ; whereas, the man that sees, has it presented to his eye at once, without any labour, without any reasoning, by a kind of inspiration. A man may form to himself the notion of a parabola, or a cycloid, from the mathematical definition of those figures, although he had never seen them drawn or delineated. Another, who knows nothing of the mathematical definition of the figures, may see them delineated on paper, or feel them cut out in wood. Each may have a distinct conception of the figures, one by mathematical reasoning, the other by sense. Now, the blind man forms his notion of visible figure in the same manner as the first of these formed his notion of a para- bola or a cycloid, which he never saw. Thirdly, Visible figure leads the man that sees, directly to the conception of the real figure, of which it is a sign. But the blind man's thoughts move in a contrary direction. For he must first know the real figure, distance, and situation of the body, and from thence he slowly traces out the visible figure by mathematical reasoning. Nor does his nature lead him to conceive this visible figure as a sign ; it is a creature of his own reason and imagination. Section VIII. SOME QUERIES CONCERNING VISIBLE FlfiURE ANSVv'ERED. It may be asked, What kind of thing is this visible figure ? Is it a Sensation, or an Idea ? If it is an idea, from what sensa- tion is it copied ? These questions may seem trivial or impertinent to one who does not know that there is a tribunal of inqui- sition erected by certain modern philoso- phers, before which everything in nature must answer. The articles of inquisition are few indeed, but very dreadful in their consequences. They are only these : Is the prisoner an Impression or an Idea ? If an idea, from what impression copied ? Now, if it appears that the prisoner is neither an impression, nor an idea copied from some impression, immediately, with- out being allowed to ofifer anything in arrest of judgment, he is sentenced to pass out of existence, and to be, in all time to come, an empty unmeaning sound, or the giiost of a departed entity.* Before this dreadful tribunal, cause and effect, time and place, matter and spirit, have been tried and cast : how then shall such a poor fiimsy form as visible figure stand before it ? It must even plead guilty, and confess that it is neither an impression nor an idea. For, alas ! it is notorious, that it is extended in length' and breadth ; it may be long or short, broad or narrow, triangular, quadrangular, or circular ; and, therefore, unless ideas and unpressions are extended and figured, it cannot belong to that category. If it should still be asked, To what cate- gory of beings does visible figure then be- long ? I can only, in answer, give some tokens, by which those who are better ac- quainted with the categories, may chance to find its place. It is, as we have said, the position of the several parts of a figured body with regard to the eye. The dif- ferent positions of the several parts of the body with regard to the eye, when put to- gether, make a real figure, which is truly extended in length and breadth, and which represents a figure that is extended in length, breadth, and thickness. In like manner, a projection of the sphere is a real figure, and hath length and breadth, but represents the sphere, which hath three dimensions. A projection of the sphere, or a perspective view of a palace, is a re- presentative in the very same sense as visi- i)le figure is ; and wherever they have their lodgings in the categories, this will be found to dwell next door to them. It may farther be asked. Whether there be any sensation proper to visible figure, by which it is suggested in vision ? — or by what means it is presented to the mind ?+ * " Where Kntity and Quiddity, The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly." Hi dibras. — H. f " In Dr Reid's ' Inquiry,'" (says Mr Stewart, in one of his last works, in reference to the following reasoning,) " he has introduced a discussion con. cerniiig the perception of visible figure, which has puzzled me since the first time (more than forty years ago) that I read his work- 1 he di-cussion relates te thequestion, ' Wheiherthere beany sensation propel to visible figure, by which it is suggested in visiim ?' The result of the argument is, that ' our eye mi/c/it have been so framed as to suggest the figure of the object, without suggesting colnur or any other quali- ty ; and, of consequence, there seems to be no sensa. tion appropriated to visible figure ; thisquality lieing suggested immidiaieli/ by the material imjiVession upon the organ, of which impression we are not conscious.' — Inqiiiiy, ikC. chap. vi. ^ 8. I'o my apprehension, nothing can appear more m.mifest than this, that, if there had been no variety in our sensations of colour, and, still more, if we liad had no sensation of C' lour whatsoever, the organ of sight could have given us no in'ormation, either with re- spect tafifruresoT todistarices : and, of consequence, would have been as useless to us, as if we had been afflicted, from the moment of our birth, with a gutla serena." — Dissertatiun, &c., p. 66, note ; 'ii ed. OF SEEING. 14; This is a question tf some importance, in order to our having a distinct notion of tlie faculty of seeing : and to give all the light to it we can, it is necessary to compare this sense with other senses, and to make some suppositions, by which we may be enabled to distinguish things that are apt to be con- iounded, although they ai'e totally dif- ferent. There are three of our senses which give us inteUigence of things at a distance :* smell, hearing, and sight. In smelling and •"n hearing, we have a sensation or impres- sion upon the mind, which, by our consti- tution, we conceive to be a sign of some- thing external : but the position of this external thing, with regard to the organ of sense, is not presented to the mind along with the sensation. When I hear the sound of a cnach, I could not, previous to experience, determine whether the sounding body was above or below, to the right hand or to the left. So that the sensation. sug- gests to nie some external object as the cause or occasion of it ; but it suggests not the position of that object, whether it lies in this direction or in that. The same thing may be said with regard to smelling. But the case is quite different with regard to seeing. When I see an object, the ap- pearance which the colour of it makes, may be called the sensation, which suggests to me some external thing as its cause ; but it suggests likewise the individual direction and position of this cause with regard to the eye. I know it is precisely in such a a direction, and in no other. At the same time, I am not conscious of anything that can be called sensation, but the sensation of colour. The position of the coloured thing is no sensation ; but it is by the laws of my constitution presented to the mind along with the colour, without any additional sensation. Let us suppose that the eye were so con- stituted that the rays coming from any one point of the object were not, as they are in our eyes, collected in one point of the retina, but diffused over the whole : it is evident to those who understand tlio struc- ture of the eye, that such an eye as we have supposed, would shew the colour of a body as our eyes do, but that it would neither shew figure nor position. The operation of such an eye would be precisely similar to tliat of liearing and smell ; it w ould give The quettions coriccrnirg the mutual dependence of colour on extension, and of extension and figure on colour. Ill I creep' ion and imagination, cannot be diKiniKiiod in a Hot. note. 1 shall endeavour, in Note H, to Bhiw tlal wo can ni'itliir see nor iniaRine colour apart from extension, nor extension and figure apart (roin (olour. — H. * I'ropirly «peakinff, no>cri<« gives UBaKnowIe! »\iy\ii lait what is iti immcdinlc contact with its organ. All else is somelhiiigovcr and above ipcrcep. lion— H. no perception of figure or extension, but merely of colour. Nor is the supposition we have made altogether imaginary : for it is nearly the case of most people who have cataracts, whose crystalline, as Mr Chesel- i!:,Q\\ observes, does not altogether exclude the rays of light, but diffuses them over the retina, so that such persons see things as one does through a glass of broken gelly : they perceive the colour, but nothing of the figure or magnitude of objects.* Again, if we should su])pose that smell and sound were conveyed in right lines from the objects, and that e\ery srensation of hearuig and smell suggested the precise direction or position of its object ; in this case, the operations of hearing and smelling would be similar to that of seeing : we should smell and hear the figure of objects, in the same sense as now we see it ; and every smell and sound would be associated with some figure m the imagination, as colour is in our present state. -|- * Rcid, as remarked by Mr Fearn, misinterprets Chcselden in founding on the expressions of this report, a proof of his own paradox, that-colour can possibly be anobject of vision, apaii from extension. There is no ground in that ie|ioit for ^uch an inference ; for it contains absolutely nothmg to in- validate, and much to support the doctrine — that, though sensations of colour may be experienced thiough the medium of an iinpe.fcct catara't, while the.fignies of external objects are intercepted or broken down ; yet th 't, in these sensations, colour bting difl'used over the retina, must appear to us extended, and of an extension limited by the bound, aries of that sensitive membrane itself 'J he relative passage of Chrselden is as follows:—" '1 hough we say of the gentleman couched between thirteen and fourteen years of age, that he was blind, as we do of all people who have ripe cataracts, yet they are never so Idind from thai Ciiui-e, but they can discern day from night, and lor the most part in a strong light distinguish black, white, and scarlet ; but the light by which these perceptions are made, being let in obliquely 'hrough tlie aqueous humour, or the anterior surface of the crystalline, by which the ray* cannot be brought into a focus upon the retina, they can discern in no other manner than a sound eye can through a glass of broken jelly, where a great variety of siirlarrs so difti^rently refract the light, th.it the several di^tillct pencils of rays cannot he collecteii by the eye into their proper foci, wherefore the shape of an o jcci in such a case c.iiino- be at all discerned, though the colour may Aiid tin- it was with this young gentleman, who, though he knew these colours asunder 111 a good light, yet, when he saw them after he was couched, the taint ideas he had of tluni before, were nut sutticient for him to know lum by after- wards, and thenfoie he did not think ihein the same u I ii'h he h.nion," ^^ I5:t— l&U.— 11. I, y 148 OF THE HUMAN MIND. great circles, the visible angle compre- hended under the former must be equal to the visible angle comprehended under the latter. But the visible angle comprehended under the two great circles, when seen from the centre, is of the same magnitude with the spherical angle which they really com- prehend, as mathematicians know ; there- fore, the visible angle made by any two visible lines is equal to the spherical angle made by the two great circles of the sphere which are their representatives. 5. Hence it is evident, that every visible right-lined triangle will coincide in all its parts with some spherical triangle. The sides of the one will appear equal to the sides of the other, and the angles of the one to the angles of the other, each to each ; and, therefore, the whole of the one triangle will appear equal to the whole of the other. In a word, to the eye they will be one and the same, and have the same mathematical properties. The properties, therefore, of visible right-lined triangles are not the same with the properties of plain triangles, but are the same with those of spherical tri- angles. 6. Every lesser circle of the sphere will appear a circle to the eye, placed, as we have supposed all along, in the centre of the sphere ; and, on the other hand, every visible circle will appear to coincide with some lesser circle of the sphere. 7. Moreover, the whole surface of the sphere will represent the whole of visible space ; for, since every visible point coin- cides with some point of the surface of the sphere, and has the same visible place, it follows, that all the parts of the spherical surface taken together, will represent all possible visible places — that is, the whole of visible space. And from this it follows, in the last place — 8. That every visible figure will be repre- sented by that part of the surface of the sphere on which it might be projected, the eye being in the centre. And every such visible figure will bear the same ratio to the whole of visible space, as the part of the spherical surface which represents it, bears to the whole spherical surface. The mathematical reader, I hope, will enter into these principles with perfect facility, and will as easily perceive that the following propositions with regard to visible figure and space, which we offer only as a specimen, may be mathematically demon- strated from them, and are not less true nor less evident than the propositions of Euclid, with regard to tangible figures. P)Op. 1. Every right line being produced, will at last return into itself. 2. A right line, returning into itself, is the longest possible right line ; and all other right lines bear a finite ratio to it. 3. A right line returning into itself, divides the whole of visible space into two equal parts, which will both be compre- hended under this right line. 4. The whole of visible space beais a finite ratio to any part of it. 5. Any two right lines being produced, will meet in two points, and mutually bisect each other C. If two lines be parallel — that is, every where equally distant from each other — they cannot both be straight. 7. Any right line being given, a point may be found, which is at the same dis- tance from all the points of the given right line. 8. A circle may be parallel to a right line — that is, may be equally distant from it in all its parts. 9. Right-lined triangles that are similar, are also equal. 10. Of every right-lined triangle, the three arg'e? taken together, are greater than two right angles. 1 1. The angles of a right-lined triangle, may all be right angles, or all obtuse angles. 12. Unequal circles are not as the squares of their diameters, nor are their circumferences in the ratio of their dia- meters. This small specimen of the geometry of visibles, is intended to lead the reader to a clear and distinct conception of the figure and extension which is presented to the mind by vision ; and to demonstrate the truth of what we have affirmed above — namely, that those figures and that exten- sion which are the immediate objects of sight, are not the figures and the extension about which common geometry is employed ; that the geometrician, while he looks at his diagram, and demonstrates a proposition, hath a figure presented to his eye, which is only a sign and representative of a tangible figure ; that he gives not the least atten- tion to the first, but attends only to the last ; and that these two figures have differ- ent properties, so that what he demon- strates of the one, is not true of the other. It deserves, however, to be remarked, that, as a small part of a spherical surface differs not sensibly from a plain surface, so a small part of visible extension differs very little from that extension in length and breadth, which is the object of touch. And it is likewise to be observed, that the human eye is so formed, that an object which is seen distinctly and at one view, can occupy but a small part of visible space ; for we never see distinctly what is at a consideiable distance f,-om the axis of the eye ; and, therefore, when we would see a large object at one view, the eye must be at so great a distance, that the object OF SEEING. 149 occupies but a small part of visible space. From these two observatious, it follows, that plain figures wliich are seen at one view, when their planes are not oblique, but direct to the eye, differ little from the visible figures which they present to the eye. The several lines in the tangible figure, have very nearly the same propor- tion to each other as in the visible ; and the angles of the one are very nearly, al- though not strictly and mathematically, equal to those of the other. Although, therefore, we have found many instances of natural signs which have no similitude to the things signified, this is not the case with regard to visible figure. It hath, in all cases, such a similitude to the thing signified by it, as a plan or profile hath to that which it represents ; and, in some cases, the sign and thing signified have to all sense the same figure and the same proportions. If we could find a being endued with sight only, without any other external sense, and capable of reflecting and reasoning upon what he sees, the notions and phi- losophical speculations of such a being, might assist us in the difficult task of distinguishmg the perceptions which we liave jiurely by siglit, from those which de- rive their origin from other senses. Let us suppose such a being, and conceive, as well as we can, what notion he w^ould have of visible objects, and what conclu- sions he would deduce from them. We must not conceive him disposed by his con- stitution, as we are, to consider the visi- ble appearance as a sign of something else : it is no sign to him, because there is no- thing signified by it ; and, therefore, we must suppose him as much disposed to attend to the visible figure and extension of bodies, as we are disposed to attend to their tangi- ble figure and extension. If various figures were presented to his sense, he might, without doubt, as they grow familiar, compare them together, and perceive wherein they agree, and wherein they differ. He miglit perceive visible ob- jects to have length and breadth, but could have no notion of a third dimension, any more than we can have of a fourth.* Atl visible objects would appear to be termi- nated by lines, straiglit or curve ; and ob- jects terminated by the same visible lines, would occupy the same place, and fill the same part of visible space. It would not be possible for him to conceive one object to be behind another, or one to be nearer, another more distant. To us, who conceive three dimensions, a line may be conceived straight ; or it may be conceived incurvated in ono dimension, ♦ ThU proceedn iipdti the siipponilion that our no- tion or (pace i» intTcly ciri|iiri<'al. — II. and straight in another ; or, lastly, it may be incurvated in two dimensions. Suppose a line to be drawn upwards and downwards, its length makes one dimension, which we shall call upwards and dnwnu-ards ; and there are two dimensions remaining, accord- ing to which it may be straight or curve. It may be bent to the rij^ht or to the left ; and, if it has no bending either to right or left, it is straight in this dimension. But supposing it straight in this dimension of right and left, there is still another dimen- sion remaining, in which it may be curve ; for it may be bent backwards or forwards. When we conceive a tangible straight line, we exclude curvature in either of these two dimensions : and as what is conceived to be excluded, must be conceived, as well as what is conceived to be included, it follows that all the three dimensions enter into our conception of a straight line. Its length is one dimension, its straightness in two other dimensions is included, or curvature in these two dimensions excluded, in the conception of it. The being we have supposed, having no conception of more than two dimensions, of which the length of a line is one, cannot possibly conceive it either straight or curve in more than one dimension ; so that, in his conception of a right line, curvature to the right hand or left is excluded ; but curva- ture backwards or forwards cannot be ex- cluded, because he neither hath, nor can have any conception of such curvature. Hence we see the reason that a line, wliich is straight to the eye, may return into itself ; for its being straight to the eye, implies only straightness in one dimension ; and a line which is straight in one dimension may, notwithstanding, be curve in another dimen- sion, and so may return into itself. To us, who conceive three dimensions, a surface is that which hath length and breadth, excluding thickness ; and a surface may be either plain in this third dimension, or it may be incurvated : so that the notion of a third dimension enters into our concep- tion of a surface ; for it is only by means of this third dimension that we can dis- tinguish surfaces into plain and curve sur- faces ; and neither one nor the other can be conceived without conceiving a third dimension. The being we liavo supposed, having no conception of a third dimension, his visible figures have length and breadth indeed; but thickness is neither included nor ex- cluded, being a thing of whieli he has no concej)tion. And, therefore, visililc figures, although they have length and breadtji, as 8iirfac(!8 have, yet tliey are neither plain surfaces nor curve surfaces. For a curve surface implies curvature in a tliird dinien- si(in, ami a plain surface imjilics the wani 150 OF THE HUMAN MIND. of curvature in a third dimension ; and such a being can conceive neither of these, because he has no conception of a third dimension. Moreover, although he hath a distinct conception of the incluiation of two lines which make an angle, yet he can neither conceive a plain angle nor a spher- ical angle. Even his notion of a point is somewhat less determined than ours. In the notion of a point, we exclude length, breadth, and thickness ; he excludes length and breadth, but cannot either exclude or include thickness, because he hath no con- ception of it. Having thus settled the notions which such a being as we have supposed might form of mathematical points, lines, angles, and figures, it is easy to see, that, by com- paring these together, and reasoning about them, he might discover their relations, and form geometrical couclusions built upon self-evident principles. He might likewise, without doubt, have the same notions of numbers as we have, and form a system of arithmetic. It is not material to say in what order he might proceed in such dis- coveries, or how much time and pains he might employ about them, but what such a being, by reason and ingenuity, without any materials of sensation but those of sight only, might discover. As it is more difficult to attend to a de- tail of possibilities than of facts, even of slender authority, I shall beg leave to give an extract from the travels of Johannes Rudolphus Anepigraphus, a Rosicrucian philosopher, who having, by deep study of the occult sciences, acquired the art of transporting himself to various sublunary re- gions, and of conversing with various orders of intelligences, in the course of his adven- tures became acquainted with an order of beings exactly such as I have supposed. How they communicate their sentiments to one another, and by what means he be- came acquainted with their language, and was initiated into their philosophy, as well as of many other particulars, which might have gratified the curiosity of his readers, and, perhaps, added credibility to his rela- tion, he hath not thought fit to inform us ; f'sse being matters proper for adepts only W know. His account of their philosophy is as fol- lows : — " The Idomenians," saith he, "are many of them very ingenious, and much given to contemplation. In arithmetic, geometry, metaphysics, and physics, tlicy have most elaborate systems. In the two latter, in- deed, they have had many disputes carried on with great subtilty, and are divided in- to various sects ; yet in the two former there hath been no less UTianimity than among the human species. Their princi- ples relating to immbers and arithmetic, making allowance for their notation, diflTer in nothing from ours — but their geometry difl'ers very considerably." As our author's account of the geometry of the Idomenians agrees in everything with the geometry of visibles, of which we have already given a specimen, we shall pass over it. He goes on thus : — " Colour, extension, and figure, are conceived to be the essential properties of body. A very considerable sect maintains, that colour is the essence of body. If there had been no colour, say they, there had been no percep- tion or sensation. Colour is all that we perceive, or can conceive, that is peculiar to body ; extension and figure being modes common to body and to empty space. And if we should suppose a body to be annihi- lated, colour is the only thing in it that can be annihilated ; for its place, and conse- quently the figure and extension of that place, must remain, and cannot be imagined not to exist. These philosophers hold space to be the place of all bodies, immoveable and indestructible, without figure, and similar in all its parts, incapable of increase or di- minution, yet not unmeasurable ; for every the least part of space bears a finite ratio to the whole. So that with them the whole extent of space is the common and natural measure of everything that hath length and breadth ; and the magnitude of every body and of every figure is expressed by its being such a part of the universe. In like manner, the common and natural measure of length is an infinite right line, which, as hath been before observed, returns into itself, and hath no limits, but bears a finite ralio to every other line. " As to their natural philosophy, it is now acknowledged by the wisest of them to have been for many ages in a very low state. The philosophers observing, that body can differ from another only in colour, figure, or magnitude, it was taken for granted, that all their particular qualities must arise from the various combinations of these their essential attributes ; and, therefore, it was looked upon as the end of natural philosophy, to shew how the various combinations of these three qualities in dif- ferent bodies produced all the phsenomena of nature. It were endless to enumerate the various systems that were invented with this view, and the disputes that were car- ried on for ages ; the followers of every system exposing the weak sides of other systems, and palliating those of their own, with great art. " At last, some free and facetious spirits, wearied with eternal disputation, and the labour of patching and propping weak sys- tems, began to complain of the subtilty of nature ; of the infinite changes that bodies OF SEEING. 151 ondergo iu figure, colour, and magnitude ; and of the difficulty of accounting for these appearances — making this a pretence for giving up all inquiries iuto the causes of things, as vain and fruitless. " These wits had ample matter of mirth and ridicule in the systems of philosophers ; and, linduig it an easier task to pull down than to build or support, and that every sect furnished them with arms and auxi- liaries to destroy another, they began to spread mightily, and went on with great success. Thus philosophy gave way to scep- ticism and irony, and those systems which had been the work of ages, and the admira- tion of the learned, became the jest of the vulgar : for even the vulgar readily took part in the triumph over a kind of learning whicli they had long suspected, because it produced nothing but wrangling and alter- cation. The wits, having now acquired great reputation, and being flushed with success, began to think their triumph incomplete, until every pretence to knowledge was over- turned; and accordingly began their attacks upon arithmetic, geometry, and even upon the common notions of untaught Idomen- ians. So difficult it hath always been," says our author, " for great conquerors to know where to stop. " In the meantime, natural philosophy began to rise from its ashes, under the direction of a person of great genius, wlio is looked upon as having had something in him above Idomenian nature. He observed, that the Idouieuian faculties were certainly iutended for contemplation, and that the works of nature were a nobler subject to exercise them upon, than the follies of sys- tems, or the errors of the learned ; and being sensible of the difficulty of finding out the causes of natural things, he proposed, by accurate observation of tlie jihteiioniena {ji nature, to find out the rules according to which they happen, without inquiring into the causes of those rules. In this lie made considerable progress himself, and planned out much work for liLs followers, who call themselves inductive philosophers. The sceptics look with envy upon this rising eect^ as eclipsing their rej)utation, and threatening to limit their empire ; but they are at a loss on what hand to attack it. The vulgar begin to reverence it as pro- ducing useful discoveries. " It is to be observed, that evei-y Idome- nian firmly believes, that two or more bo- dies may exist in the same place. For Ibis they have the testimony of sense, and they can no more doubt of it, than they can doubt whether they have any perception at all. They often see two bodies meet and coincide in the same place, and separate again, without having undergone any change in their hcnsible qualities by thlH penetration. When two bodies meet, and occupy the same place, commonly one only appears in that place, and the other disap- pears. That which continues to appear is said to overcome, the other to be over- come." To this quality of bodies they gave a name, which our author tells us hath no word answering to it in any human lan- guage. And, therefore, after makmg a long apology, which I omit, he begs leave to call it the overcoming quality of bodies. He assures us, that "the speculatious which had been raised about this single quality of bodies, and the hypotheses contrived to ac- count for it, were sufficient to fill many volumes. Nor have there been fewer hy- potheses invented by their philosophers, to account for the changes of magnitude and figure ; which, in most bodies that move, they perceive to be in a continual fluctua- ation. The founder of the inductive sect, believing it to be above the reach of Ido- menian faculties, to discover the real causes of these phsenomena, applied himself to find from observation, by what laws they are connected together ; and discovered many mathematical ratios and relations con- cerning the motions, magnitudes, figures, and overcoming quality of bodies, which constant experience confirms. But the op- posers of this sect choose rather to content themselves with feigned causes of these phsenomena, than to acknowledge the real laws whereby they are governed, which humble their pride, by bemg confessedly unaccountable." Thus far Johannes Rudolphus Anepigra- ]ihus. Whether this Anepigraphus be the same who is recorded among the Greek alchemistical writers not yet published, by Borrichius, Fabricius, and others," I do not pretend to determine. The identity of their name, and the similitude of their studies, although no slight arguments, yet are not absolutely conclusive. Nor will I take upon me to judge of the narrative of this learned traveller, by the iwicrnal marks of his credibility ; 1 shall confine myself to those which the crit cs call internal. It would even be of small importance to in- quire, whether the Idonunians have a real, or only an ideal existence ; since this is disputed among the learned with regard to things with which we are more nearly con- nected. The hnportant question is, wlie- ther the account above given, is a just ac- count of their geometry and philosophy ? We have all the faculties which they » This is true ; tlic namr is not imaginary "Anc|)i(!ra;)hHKll)criul<)Sc)i)liir''isllieioinitO(liUitli<)r ol Sfver.il rlK iiii( nl treating in (irii-k, wliicli have not .16 yet berii cli I'liieil worthy of i)iihlicnti(>ii. Sec Oil Cniigc, " Glo8«. mcil. I't inf.. (JraicilntiB," voce Umr.Ti.t, and Keiiifsii, " Viir. licit" I.. II. c. 5. — II. J 52 OF THE- HUMAN MIND. have, with the addition of others which they have not ; we may, therefore, form some judgment of their philosophy and ge- ometry, by separating from all others, the perceptions we have by sight and reasoning upon them. As far as I am able to judge in this way, after a careful examination, their geometry must be such as Anepigraphus hath described. Nor does his account of their philosophy appear to contain any evi- dent marlvs of imposture ; although here, no doubt, proper allowance is to be made for liberties which travellers take, as well as for involuntary mistakes which they are apt to fall into. Section X. OF THE PARALLEL MOTION OF THE EYES. Having explained, as distinctly as we can, visible figure, and shewn its connection with the things signified by it, it will be proper next to consider some phsenomena of the eyes, and of vision, which have com- monly been referred to custom, to anato- mical or to mechanical causes ; but which, as I conceive, must be resolved into origi- nal powers and principles of the human mind ; and, therefore, belong properly to the sub- ject of this inquiry. The first is the parallel motion of the eyes ; by which, when one eye is turned to the right or to the left, upwards or down- wards, or straight forwards, the other always goes along with it in the same direc- tion. We see plainly, when both eyes are open, that they are always turned the same way, as if both were acted upon by the same motive force ; and if one eye is shut, and the hand laid upon it, whi'e the other turns various ways, we feel the eye that is shut turn at the same time, and that whether we will or not. What makes this phteno- menon surprising is, that it is acluiowledged, by all anatomists, that the muscles which move the two eyes, and the nerves which serve these muscles, are entirely distinct and unconnected. It would be thought very surprising and unaccountable to see a man, who, from his birth, never moved one arm, without moving the other pre- cisely in the same manner, so as to keep them always parallel— yet it would not be more difficult to find the physical cause of such motion of the arms, than it is to find the cause of the parallel motion of the eyes, which is perfectly similar. The only cause that hath been assigned of this parallel motion of the eyes, is cus- tom. We find by experience, it is said. when we begin to look at objects, that, in order to have distinct vision, it is necessary to turn both eyes the same way ; therefore. we soon acquire the habit of doing it con- stantly, and by degrees lose the power of doing otherwise. This account of the matter seems to be insufficient ; because habits are not got at once ; it takes time to acquire and to con- firm them ; and if this motion of the eyes were got by habit, we should see children, when they are born, turn their eyes difierent ways, and move one without the other, as they do their hands or legs. I know some have affirmed that they are apt to do so. But I have never found it true from my own observation, although I have taken pains to make observations of this kind, and have had good opportunities. I have hkewise consulted experienced inidwives, mothers, and nurses, and found them agree, that they had never observed distortions of this kind in the eyes of children, but when they had reason to suspect convul- sions, or some preternatural cause. It seems, therefore, to be extremely pro- bable, that, previous to custom, there is something in the constitution, some natural instinct, which directs us to move both eyes always the same way.* We know not how the mind acts upon the body, nor by what power the muscles are contracted and relaxed — but we see that, in some of the voluntary, as well as in some of the involuntary motions, this power is so directed, that many muscles which have no material tie or connection, -f act in concert, each of them being taught to play its part in exact time and measure. Nor doth a company of expert players in a theatrical performance, or of excellent musicians in a concert, or of good dancers in a country dance, with more regularity and order, conspire and contribute their several parts, to produce one uniform effect, than a number of muscles do, in many of the animal functii ns, and in many volun- tary actions. Yet we see such actions no less skilfully and regularly performed in children, and in those who know not that they have such muscles, than in the most skilful anatomist and physiologist. Who taught all the muscles that are concerned in sucking, in swallowing our food, in breathing, and in the several na- tural expulsions, to act their part in such regular order and exact measure ? It was not custom surely. It was that same power- ful and wise Being who made the faljric of the human body, and fixed the laws by which the mind operates upon every part • The parallel movemrnt, like other reciprocities of the two eyes, can be explained physiologiialli;, liy the "mutiial relatior. of their nerves, withcjut rr. ciirring to any higher or moremvsterious principle. — H. t This is nut correct. Muscles which have cor. relative niotioiis are now either known or admitted to tiavc correlative nerves — H. OF SEEING. 153 of it, so that they may answer the pur- poses intended by them. And when we see, in so many other instances, a system of unconnected muscles* conspiring so won- derfully in their several functions, without the aid" of habit, it needs not be thought strange, that the nmscles of the eyes should, without this aid, conspire to give that di- rection to the eyes, without which they could not answer their end. We see a like conspiring action in the muscles which contract the pupils of the two eyes ; and in those muscles, whatever they be, by which the conformation of the eyes is varied according to tlie distance of objects- It ought, however, to be observed, that, although it appears to be by natural in- stinct that both eyes are always turned the same way, there is still some latitude left for custom. What we have said of the parallel motion of theeyes, is not to be understood so strictly as if nature directed us to keep their axes always precisely and mathematically par- allel to each other. Indeed, although they are always nearly parallel, they hardly ever are exactly so. When we look at an ob- ject, the axes of the eyes meet in that object : and, therefore, make an angle, which is always small, but will be greater or less, according as the object is nearer or more remote. Nature hath very wisely left us the power of varying the parallelism of our eyes a little, so that we can direct them to the same point, whether remote or near. This, no doubt, is learned by custom ; and accordingly we see, that it is a long time before children get this habit in perfection. This power of varying the parallelism of theeyes is naturally no more than is suffi- cient for the purpose intended by it ; but by much practice and straining, it may be increased. Accordingly, we see, that some have acquired the power of distorting their eyes into unnatural directions, as others have acquired the power of distorting their bodies into unnatural postures. Those who have lost the sight of an eye, commonly lose what they had got by custom, in the direction of their eyes, but retain what they had by nature ; that is, although their eyes turn and move always together, yet, when they look u]ion an object, the blind eye will often have a very small devia- tion from it ; wliicli is not perceived by a elight obierver, but may be discerned by one accustomed to make exact observations in tliese matters. See the prcctdiDg iiotc. Seclion XI. OF OUR SEEING OliJECTS ERECT BY INVERTED IMAGES. Another phrcnomenon which hath per- plexed philosophers, is, our seeing objects erect, when it is well known that their images or pictures upou the tunica retina of the eye are inverted. The sagacious Kepler first made the noble discovery, that distinct but inverted pictures of visible objects ar^ formed upon the ritina by the rays of light coming from the object. The same great philosopher demonstrated, from the principles of optics, how these pictures are formed — to wit, That the rays coming from any one point of the object, and falling upon the various parts of the pupil, are, by the cornea and crystalline, refracted so as to meet again in one point of the retina, and there paint the colour of that point of the object from which they come. As the rays from dif- ferent points of the object cross each other before they come to the retina, the picture they form must be inverted ; the upper part of the object being painted upon the lower part of the retina, the right side of the object upon the left of the retina, and so of the other parts.* This philosopher thought that we see objects erect by means of these inverted pictures, for this reason, that, as the rays from diflerent points of the object cross each other before they fall upon the letina, we conclude that the impulse which we feel upon the lower part of the retina comes from above, and that the impulse which we feel upon the higher part comes from below. Des Cartes afterwards gave the same solution of this phenomenon, and illustrated it by the judgment which we form of the position of objects which we feel with our arms crossed, or with two-sticks that cross each other. liut we cannot acquiesce in this solution. First, Because it supposes our seeing things erect, to be a deduction of reason, drawn from certain premises : whereas it seems to be an immediate perception. And, secondly. Be- cause the premises from which all mankind are supposed to draw this conclusion, never entered into the minds of the far greater part, but are absolutely unknown to them. We have no feeling or perception of the pictures upon the retina, and as little surely * This inverted picture is seen it" we take the oyc ot an iix. lor (x:ini|ili-, iinil cut auay the posicrmr p:iit ot llic sclerotica hikI choroid; l)Ut, williovit Ilit-t preparation, it is apparent m thr eyes ol all) no am inals, of llieowl, fie, in winch Ihf tintd ivnr and ilioiuid are scini. diaphanous. — li. 154 OF THE HUMAN MIND of the position of them. In order to see I objects erect, according to the princii)les of Kepler or Des Cartes, we must previ- ously know that the rays of light come from the object to the eye in straight lines ; we must know that the rays from different points of the object cross one another before they form the pictures upon the retina ; and, lastly, we must know that these pictures are really inverted. Now, although all these things are true, and known to philosophers, yet they are absolutely un- known to the far greatest part of mankind : nor is it possible that they who are abso- lutely ignorant of them, should reason from them, and build conclusions upon them. Since, therefore, visible objects appear erect to the ignorant as well as to the learned, this cannot be a conclusion drawn from premises which never entered into the minds of the ignorant. We have indeed had oc- casion to observe many instances of con- clusions drawn, either by means of original principles, or by habit, from premises which pass through the mind very quickly, and which are never made the objects of re- flection ; but surely no man will conceive it possible to draw conclusions fro n pre- mises which never entered into the mind at all. Bishop Berkeley having justly rejected this solution, gives one founded upon his own principles ; wherein he is followed by the judicious Dr Smith, in his " Optics;" and this we shall next explain and examine. That ingenious writer conceives the ideas of sight to be altogether unlike those of touch. And, since the notions we have of an object by these different senses have no similitude, we can learn only by experience how one sense will be affected, by what, in a certain manner, affects the other. Figure, position, and even number, in tangible objects, are ideas of touch ; and, although there is no similitude between these and the ideas of sight, yet we learn by expe- rience, that a triangle affects the sight in such a manner, and that a square affects it in such another manner — hence we judge that which affects it in the first manner, to be a triangle, and that which affects it in the second, to be a square. In the same way, finding, from experience, that an object in an erect position affects the eye in one manner, and the same object in an inverted position affects it in another, we learn to judge, by the manner in which the eye is affected, whether the object is erect or in- verted. In a word, visible ideas, according to this author, are signs of the tangible ; and the mind passeth from the sign to th.e thing signified, not by means of any simi- litude between the one and other, nor by any natural principle, but by having found them constantly conjoined in experience, as the sounds of a language are with the things they signify : so that, if the images upon the retina had been always erect, they would have shewn the objects erect, in the manner as they do now that they are in- verted — nay, if the visible idea which we now have from an inverted object, had been associated from the beginning with the erect position of that object, it would have signi- fied an erect position, as readily as it now signifies an inverted one. And, if the vis- ible appearance of two shillings had been found connected from the beginning with the tangible idea of one shilling, that ap- pearance would as naturally and readily have signified the unity of the object as now it signifies its duplicity. This opinion is, undoubtedly, very inge- liious ; and, if it is just, serves to resolve not only the pha;nomenon now under con- sideration, but likewise that which we shall next consider — our seeing objects single with two eyes. It is evident that, in this solution, it is supposed that we do not originally, and previous to acquired habits, see things either erect or inverted, of one figure or another, single or double ; but learn, from experience, to judge of their tangible posi- tion, figure, and number, by certain visible signs. Indeed, it must be acknowledged to be extremely difficult to distinguish the imme- diate and natural objects of sight, from the conclusions which we have been ac- customed from infancy to draw from them. Bishop Berkeley was the first that attem.pted to distinguish the one from the other, and to trace out the boundary that divides them. And if, in doing so, he hath gone a little to the right hand or to the left, this might be exjiected in a subject altogether new, and of the greatest subtilty. The nature of vision hath received great light from this distinction ; and many phsenomena in optics, which before appeared altogether unaccountable, have been clearly and dis- tinctly resolved by it. It is natural, and almost unavoidable, to one who hath made an important discovery in philosophy, to carry it a little beyond its sphere, and to apply it to the resolution of phsenomena which do not fall within its province. Even the great Newton, when he had discovered the universal law of gravitation, and ob- served how many of the phsenomena of nature depend upon this, and other laws of attraction and repulsion, could not help ex- pressing his conjecture, that all the phseno- mena of the material world depend upon attracting and repelling forces in the par- ticles of matter. And I suspect that the ingenious Bishop of Cloyne, having found so many phsenomena of vision reducible to the constant association of the ideas of sight OF SEEING. 155 and touch, carried this principle a little be- yond its just limits. In order to judge as well as we can whether it is so, let us suppose such a blind man as Dr Saunderson, having all the knowledge and abilities which a blind man may have, suddenly made to see perfectly. Let us suppose him kept from all opportu- nities of associating his ideas of sight with those of touch, until the former become a httle fumiliar ; and the first surprise, occa- sioned by objects so new, being abated, he has time to canvass them, and to compare them, in his mind, with the notions which he formerly had by touch ; and, in particu- lar, to compare, in his mind, that visible extension which his eyes present, with the extension in length and breadth with which he was before acquainted. We have endeavoured to prove, that a blind man may form a notion of the visible extension and figure of bodies, from the relation which it bears to their tangible extension and figure. Much more, when this visible extension and figure are presented to his eye, will he be able to compare them with tangible extension and figure, and to perceive that the one has length and breadth as well as the other ; that the one may be bounded by lines, either straight or curve, as well as the other. And, therefore, he will perceive that there may be visible as well as tangible circles, triangles, quadri- lateral and multilateral figures. And, al- though the visible figure is coloured, and the tangible is not, they may, notwithstand- ing, have the same figure ; as two objects of touch may have the same figure, although one is hot and the other cold. We have demonstrated, that the proper- ties of visible figures differ from those of the j)laiu figures which they represent ; but it was observed, at the same time, that when the object is so small as to be seen distinctly at one view, and is jjlaced directly before the eye, the difference between the visible and the tangible figure is too small to be perceived by the senses. Thus, it is true, that, of every visible triangle, the three angles are greater than two right angles ; whereas, in a plain triangle, the three angles arc equal to two right angles ; but when the visible triangle is small, its three angles will be so nearly equal to two right angles, that the sense cannot discern the ditt'erence. In like manner, the circum- ferences of unequal visible circles are not, K)ut those of plain circles are, in the ratio of their diameters ; yet, in small visible circles, the circumferences are very nearly in the rn/io of their diameters ; and the diameter bears the same rutin to the circumference, as in a jdaiu circle, very nearly. Hence it appears, that small viRibl«a'y qualit es of matter ; dis- tinctions which are thus identified and carried up into a general law. But of this again.— il. OF SEEING. IGl four or five Inches. We know that, in this case, the rays eouiing from one point of the object do not meet in one point of the retina, but spread over a small circular spot of it ; the central rays occupying the centre of this circle, the rays that pass above the centre occupying the upper part of the circular spot, and so of the rest- And we know that the object is, in this case, seen confused; every pohit of it being seen, not in one, but in various directions. To remedy this confu- sion, we look at the object through the pin- hole, and, while we move the pin-hole over the various parts of the pupil, the object does not keep its place, but seems to move in a contrary direction. It is here to be observed, that, when the ])in-hole is carried upwards over the pupil, the picture of the object is carried upwards upon the retina, and the object, at the same time, seems to move downwards, so as to be always in the right line, passing from the picture through the centre of the eye. It is likewise to be observed, that the rays which form the upper and the lower pictures upon the retina do not cross each other, as in or- dinary vision; yet, still, the higher picture shews the object lower, and the lower pic- ture shews the object higher, in the same manner as when the rays cross each other. Whence we may observe, by the way, that this phtenomenon of our seeing objects in a position contrary to that of their pictures upon the retina, does not depend upon the crossing of the rays, as Kepler and Des Cartes conceived. Experiment 3. Other things remaining as in the last experiment, make three pin- holes in a straight lii.ie, so near that the rays comingfrom the object through all the holes may enter the pupil at the same time. In this case, we have a very curious phenome- non ; for the object is seen triple witli one eye. And if you make more holes within the breadth of the pupil, you will see as many objects as there are holes. However, we shall suppose them only three — one on the right, one in the middle, and one on the left ; in which case you see three olijects standing in a line from right to left. It is here to be observed, that there are three pictures on the retina ; that on the left being formed by the rays which i)ass on the left of the eye's centre, the middle picture being formed by the central rays, and the right-hand picture by the rays which pass on the right of the eye's centre. It is farther to be observed, that the object whicii appears on the right, is not that whicii is seen through the hole on tlie right, but that which is seen through the hole on the left ; and, in like manner, the left- hand object is seen through the hole on tlie riglit, as is easily proved by covering the holes Hucccssivcly : so that, wiiatever is the direction of the rays which form the right-hand and left-hand pictures, still the right-hand picture shews a left-hand object, and the left-hand picture shews a right- hand object. Experiment 4. It is easy to see how the two last experiments may be varied, by placing the object beyond the farthest limit of distinct vision. In order to make this experiment, I looked at a candle at the dis- tance of ten feet, and put the eye of my spectacles behind the card, that the rays from the same point of the object might meet and cross each other, before they reached the retina. In this case, as in the former, the candle was seen triple through the three pin-holes ; but the candle on the right was seen through the hole on the right ; and, on the contrary, the left-hand candle was seen through the hole on the left. In this experiment it is evident, from the principles of optics, that the rays forming the several pictures on the retina cross each other a little before they reach the retina ; and, therefore, the left-hand picture is formed by the rays which pass through the hole on the right : so that the [losition of the jiictures is contrary to that of the holes by which they are formed ; and, therefore, is also contrary to that of their objects — as we have found it to be in the former experiments. These experiments exhibit several un- common phoenoraena, that regard the appa- rent place, and the direction of visible objects from the eye ; phenomena that seem to be most contrary to the common rules of vision. When we look at the same time through three holes that are in a right line, and at certain distances from each othei', we expect that the objects seen through them should really be, and should ai)pear to be, at a distance from each other. Yet, liy the first experiment, wo may, through three such holes, see the same olijeet, and the same ]ioint of that object ; and through all the three it apjjoars in the same individual jilace and direction. When the rays of light come Iroin the object in right lines to the eye, without any reflection, inflection, or refraction, wo expect that the object should appear in its real and proper direction from the eye ; and so it commonly does. But in the second, third, and fourth exi)eriments, wo see the object in a direction which is not its true and real direction from the eye, although tlio rays come from the object to the eye, without any inflection, reflection, or refraction. When both the object and the eye are fixed without the least motion, and the medium unchanged, wo expect that the object should ap])ear to rest, and keep the same place. Yu\>- poses that we see only with one eye— that man is in reality a Cyclops; the tecond supposcr> that the two impiesjion-. are not, in fact, made at the fame instatit In iioth eyes, and, consequently, that two simulta- neou< impressions are not conveyed to the tram and mind; the H^nct sup[>osos that, although a separate impresfion he made on each retina, yet that tlie~e ■evcral impression- are, as it were, fused into one before they reach the common sensory, in coiise. quence ol a union of the optic nerves. — I'hc hypo, ttiest* of the latter class which, I think, may also be reduced to Mr(C, and that these ini. prtsuioni" are separa'ely conveyiil to the termination of the organic a| paratus ; but still hold thai, in the mind, there u dttermincd only a single perception. One opinion allows the perception to have been origi- nally twofold, and tavcs the phajiiomenon, by 6iip|ios. iiig that it became single througl. the influence of cus. tonwind association. Another ex]ilalns it more siib- 'OctiTcly, by an ultimate and inexplicable law of uur tures of the object, one on each retina , and each picture by itself makes us see an object in a certain direction from the eye ; yet both together commonly make us see only one object. All the accounts or solu- tions of this phtenomenon given by anato- mists and philosophers seem to be unsatisfac- tory. I shall pass over the opinions of Galen, of Gassendus, of Baptista Porta, and of Ro- hault. The reader may see these examined and refuted by Dr Porterfield. I shall ex- amine Dr Porterfield's own opinion, Bishop Berkeley's, and some others. But it will be necessary first to ascertain the facts : for, if we mistake the phaenomena of single and double vision, it is ten to one but this mis- take will lead us wrong in assigning the causes. This likewise we ought carefully to attend to, w^hich is acknowledged in theory by all who have any true judgment or just taste in inquiries of this nature, but is very often overlooked in practice — namely, that, in the solution of natural phenomena, all the length that the human faculties can carry us, is only this, that, from particular phsenomena, we may, by induction, trace out general phsenomena, of which all the particular ones are necessary consequences. And when we have arrived at the mo.st general phcenomena we can reach, there we must stop. If it is asked. Why such a body gravitates towards the earth ? all the answer that can be given is. Because all bodies gravitate towards the earth. This is resolving a particular pluenomenon into a general one. If it should again be asked, Why do all bodies gravitate towards the earth ? we can give no other solution of this phfenomenon, but that all bodies whatso- ever gravitate towards each other. This is resolving a general phenomenon into a more general one. If it should be asked. Why all bodies gravitate to one anotlier ? we cannot tell ; but, if wc could tell, it could only be by resolving this universal gravita- tion of bodies into some other pluvnomenon still more general, and of which the gravi- tation of all bodies is a i)articular instance. The most general plucnoinena we can reach, are what we call law.s cfnaivre ; so that the laws of nature are nothing else but the most general facts relating to the operations of nature, which include a great many parti- cular facts under them. And if, in any case, we should give the name (jf a law of nature to a general phaiiionicnon, which human i: dustry bhall afterwards trace to one more general, there is no groat liarm done. The most general as.sumcs the name of a law of nature when it is discovered, and the less general is contained and comprehended in it. Ilavuig premised these things, we pro- ceed to consider the jihiBiiomena of single constitution ; and the lust, morcobjcctively.oneom* intelligible principle of optics.— II. .M -J OF TllK HU.VLVN MIND nul double vision, in order to discover some general princii)lo towhicli they all lead, and of which they are the necessary conse- quences. ]f we can discover any such general iJrineiplc, it must either be a law of nature, or the necessary consequence of some law of nature ; and its authority will be equal whether it is the first or the last. 1. We find that, when the eyes are sound and perfect, and the axes of both directed to one point, an object placed in that point is seen single — and here we observe, that in this case the two pictures which shew the object single, are in the centres of the retina. When two pictures of a small object are formed upon points of the retina, if they shew the object single, we shall, for the sake of perspicuity, call such two points of the retina, corresponding points ; and where the object is seen double, we shall call the points of the retina on which the pictures are formed, points that do not cor- respond.* Now, in this first phaBuomenon, it is evident, that the two centres of the retina are corresponding points. 2. Supposing the same things as in the last plioenomcnon, other objects at the same distance from the eyes as that to which their axes are directed, do also appear single. Thus, if I direct my eyes to a candle placed at the distance of ten feet, and, while I look at tliis candle, another stands at the same distance from my eyes, within the field of vision, I can, while I look at the first candle, attend to the ap- pearance which the second makes to the eye ; and I find that in this case it always appears single. It is here to be observed, that the pictures of the second candle do not fall upon the centres of the relincB, but they both fall upon the same side of the centres — that is, both to the right, or both to the left ; and both are at the same dis- tance from the centres. This might easily be demonstrated from the principles of optics. Hence it appears, that in this second phenomenon of single vision, the corresponding points are points of the two retince, which are similarly situate with respect to the two centres, being both upon the same side of the centre, and at the same distance from it. It appears likewise, from this phtenomenon, that every point in one retina corresponds with that which is simi- larly situate in the other. • It is to be not ircd that Reid uses the terms, cor- respondini; points in a sense opposite to that of Smith, and .-ome optical writers; they UivM analomi- cally, he phtjsiolr>i;icnlly. Two points are anatomi. cally corrrspondent, when on opposite sides oi the body they scverallv hold the same relation to the centre. J. Mueller, and oihcr recent physiologists, employ these terms in the fame signification hs Reid. An argument « )iriori has been employed ag.iinst the doctrine here maii taiiied, on the groun.l that the congruent points in the opposite eyes are imt anatomically corresponding points. — 11. .'}. Supposing still the same things, ob- jects which are much nearer to the eyes, or much more distant from them, than that to which the two eyes are directed, ai)])ear double. Thus, if the candle is placed at the distance of ten feet, and I hold my finger at arms-length between my eyes and the can- dle — w hen I look at the candle, I see my fin- ger double ; and when I look at my finger, 1 see the candle double ; and the same thing happens with regard to all other objects at like distances which fall within the sphere of vision. In this phrenomenon, it is evi- dent to those who understand the prin- ciples of optics, that the pictures of the ob- jects which are seen double, do not fall upon points of the retina which are similarly sit- uate, but that the pictures of the objects seen single do fall upon points similarly situate. Whence we infer, that, as the points of the two retina, which are similarly situate with regard to the centres, do correspond, so those which are dissimilarly situate do not correspond. 4. It is to be observed, that, although, in such cases as are mentioned in the last phrenomenon, we have been accustomed from infancy to see objects double which we know to be single ; yet custom, and ex- perience of the unity of the object, never take away this appearance of duplicity. 5. It may, however, be remarked that the custom of attending to visible appear- ances has a considerable effect, and makes the phfonomenon of double vision to be more or less observed and remembered. Thus you may find a man that can say, with a good conscience, that he never saw things double all his life ; yet this very man, put in the situation above mentioned, with his finger between him and the candle, and de- sired to attend to the appearance of the object which he does not look at, will, upon the first trial, see the candle double, when he looks at his finger ; and his finger double, w hen he looks at the candle. Does he now see otherwise than he saw before ? No, surely ; but he now attends to what he never attended to before. The same double appearance of an object hath been a thou- sand times presented to his eye before now, but he did not attend to it ; and so it is as little an object of his reflection and memory, as if it had never happened. When we look at an object, the circum- jacent objects may be seen at the same time, although more obscurely and indis- tinctly : for the eye hath a considerable field of vision, which it takes in at once. But we attend only to the object we look at. The other objects which fall within the field of vision, ;iro not attended to ; and therefore are as if they were not seen. If any of tlicm draws our attention, it naturally draws the eyes at the same time : for, in the com- OF SEEING. 165 mou course of life, the eyes always follow the attention : or if at any time, in a revery, tliey are separated from it, we hardly at that time see what is directly before us. Hence we may see the reason why the man we are speaking of thinks that he never before saw an object double. When he looks at any object, he sees it single, and takes no notice of other visible objects at that time, whether they appear single or double. If any of them draws his attention, it draws his eyes at the same time ; and, as soon as the eyes are turned towards it, it appears single. But, in order to see things double — at least, in order to have any reflec- tion or remembrance that he did so — it is necessary that he should look at one object, and at the same time attend to the faint appearance of other objects which are within the field of vision. This is a practice which perhaps he never used, nor attempted ; and therefore he does not recollect that ever he saw an object double. But when he is put upon giving this attention, he immediately sees objects double, in the same manner, and with the very same circumstances, as they who have been accustomed, for the greatest part of their lives, to give this attention. There are many pha?nomena of a similar nature, which shew that the mind may not attend to, and thereby, in some sort, not perceive objects that strike the senses. I had occasion to mention several instances of this in the second chapter; and I have been assured, I.y persons of the best skill in music, that, in hearing a tune upon the harpsichord, when they give attention to the treble, they do not hear the bass ; and when they attend to the bass, they do not perceive the air of the treble. Some per- sons are so near-sighted, that, in reading, they hold the book to one eye, while the other is directed to other objects. Such persons acquire the habit of attending, in this case, to the objects of one eye, while they give no attention to those of the other. 6. It is observable, that, in all cases wherein we see an object double, the two appearances have a certain position with regard to one another, and a certain apjiar- ent or angular distance. This apparent distance is greater or less in difi'erent cir- cumstances; but, in the same circumstances, it is always the snme, not only to the same, but to different j)ersons. Thus, in the experiment above mentioned, if twenty different ])ersoiis, who see perfectly with both eyes, shall jilaec their finger and the candle at the distances above exjiressed, and hold their heads upright, 'ooking at the finger, they will see (wo candles, one on the right, another on the left. That which is seen on tl:i' ri;:ht, i.'i seen by the right eye, anenty degrees. We see young people in their frolics learn to squint, malt- ing their eyes either converge or diverge, when they will, to a very considerable de- gree. Why should it be more difficult for a squinting person to leaiu to look straight when he pleases ? If once, by an effort of his will, he can but lessen his squint, fre- quent practice will make it easy to lessen it, and will daily increase his power. So that, if he begins this practice in youth, and perseveres in it, he may probably, after some time, learn to direct both his eyes to one object. When he hath acquired this power, it will be no difficult matter to determine, by proper observations, whether the centres of the retince, and other points simOarly situate with regard to the centres, correspond, as in other men. 9. Let us now suppose that he finds this to be the case ; and that he sees an object single with both eyes, when the axes of both are directed to it. It will then concern him to acquire the habit of looking straight, as he hath got the power, because he will thereby not only remove a deformity, but improve his sight ; and I conceive this ha- bit, like all others, may be got by frequent exercise. He may practise before a mirror when alone, and in company he ought to have those about him who will observe and ad- monish him wlien he squints. 10. \\'liat is sup])osed in the 9th article is not merely imaginary ; it is really the case of some squinting persons, as will appear in the next section. Therefore, it ought further to be inquired, How it comes to pass that such a person sees an object which he looks at, only with one eye, when both are open ? In order to answer this question, it may be observed, first, Whether, when he looks at an object, the diverging eye is not drawn so close to the nose, that it can have no distinct images ? Or, secondly, whether the pn])ilof the diverging eye is not covered wholly, or in part, by the upper eye- Lid ? Dr Jurin observed instances of these c.'uses in persons that squinteil, and assigns them as causes of their seeing the object only with one eye. Thirdly, it may be observeil, whether the diverging eye is not 80 directed, that the picture of tho. object falls iipiin tli;it jiart of thorr/iim where the optic nerve enters, and where there is no vision ? This will probably happen in a squmt wherein the axes of the eyes converge so as to meet about six inches before the nose. 11. In the last place, it ought to be inquired. Whether such a person hath any distinct vision at all with the diverging eye, at the time he is looking at an object with the other ? It may seem very improbable that he should be able to read with the diverging eye when the other is covered, and yet, when both are open, have no distinct vision with it at all. But this, perhaps, will not appear so improbable if the following considerations are duly attended to. Let us suppose that one who saw per- fectly, gets, by a blow on the head, or some other accident, a permanent and involun- tary squint. According to the laws of vi- sion, he will see objects double, and will see objects distant from one another confounded together ; but, such vision being very dis- agreeable, as well as inconvenient, he will do everything in his power to remedy it. For alleviating such distresses, nature often teaches men wonderful expedients, which the sagacity of a philosopher would be un- able to discover. Every accidental motion, every direction or conformation of his eyes, which lessens the evil, will be agreeable ; it will be repeated until it be learned to perfection, and become habitual, even with- out thought or design. Now, in this case, what disturbs the sight of one eye is the sight of the other ; and all the disagreeable appearances in vision would cease if the light of one eye was extinct. The sight of one eye will become more distinct and more agreeable, in the same proportion as that of the otlier becomes faint and in- distinct. It may, therefore, be expected, that every habit will, by degrees, be ac- quired which tends to destroy distinct vi- sion in one eye while it is preserved in the other. These habits will be greatly facili- tated if one eye was at first better than the other ; for, in that case, the best eye will always be directed to the object which he intends to look at, and every habit will be acquired which tends to hinder his seeing it at all, or seeing it distinctly by the other at the same time. I shall mention one or two habits that may probably be accpiired in such a case ; perhaps there are others which we cannot so easily conjecture. First, By a small in- crease or diminution of his squint, he may bring it to correspond with one or other of the eases mentioned in the last article. Secondly, The diverging eye may be brought to such a conformation as to lie ertremely 8hort-sight(;d, and consecpiently to have no distinct vision of objects at a distance 172 OF THE HUMAN MIND. knew this to be the case of one person that squinted ; but cannot say whether the short-sightedness of the diverging eye was original, or acquired by habit. We see, therefore, that one who squints, and originally saw objects double by reason of that squint, may acquire such habits that, when he looks at an object, he shall see it only with one eye ; nay, he may ac- quire such habits that, when he looks at an object with his best eye, he shall have no distinct vision with the other at all. Whether this is really the case — being unable to de- termine in the instances that have fallen under my observation — I shall leave to fu- ture inquiry. I have endeavoured, in the foregoing articles, to delineate such a process as is proper in observing the phtenoraena of squinting. I know well by experience, that this process appears more easy m theory, than it will be found to be in practice ; and that, in order to carry it on with success, some qualifications of mind are necessary in the patient, which are not always to be met with. But, if those who have proper opportunities and inclination to observe such phaenomena, attend duly to this pro- cess, they may be able to furnish facts less vague and uninstructive than those we meet with, even in authors of reputation. By such facts, vain theories may be exploded, and our knowledge of the laws of nature, which regard the noblest of our senses, enlarged. Section XVI. FACTS RELATING TO SQUINTING. Having considered the phaenomena of squinting, hypothetically, and their connec- tion with corresponding points in the re- tince. I shall now mention the facts I have had occasion to observe myself, or have met with in authors, that can give any light to this subject. Having examined above twenty persons that squinted, I found in all of them a de- fect in the sight of one eye. Four only had so much of distinct vision in the weak eye, as to be able to read with it, when the other was covered. The rest saw nothing at all distinctly with one eye. Dr Porterfield says, tliat this is generally the case of people that squint : and I sus- pect it is so more generally than is com- monly imagined. Dr Jurin, in a very judicious dissertation upon squinting, printed in Dr Smith's " Optics," observes, that those who squint, and see with both eyes, never sec the same object with both at the same time; that, when one eye is dircctfctl straight forward to mu object, the other is drawn so close to the nose that the object cannot at all be seen by it, the images being too oblique and too indistinct to affect the eye. In some squinting per- sons, he observed the diverging eye drawn under the upper eyelid, while the other was directed to the object. From these observations, he concludes that " che eye is thus distorted, not for the sake of seeing better with it, but rather to avoid seeing at all with it as much as possible." From all the observations he had made, he was satis- fied that there is nothing peculiar in the structure of a squinting eye ; that the fault is only in its wrong direction ; and that this wrong direction is got by habit. There- fore, he proposes that method of cure which we have described in the eighth and ninth articles of the last section. He tells us, that he had attempted a cure, after this method, upon a young gentleman, with promising hopes of success ; but was in- terrupted by his falling ill of the small- pox, of which he died. It were to be wished that Dr Jurin had acquainted us whether he ever brought the young man to direct the axes of both eyes to the same object, and whether, in that case, he saw the object single, and saw it with both eyes ; and that he had likewise acquainted us, whether he saw objects double when his squint was diminished. But as to these facts he is silent. I wished long for an opportunity of trying Dr Jurin's method of curing a squint, with- out finding one ; having always, upon ex- amination, discovered so great a defect in the sight of one eye of the patient as dis- couraged the attempt. But I have lately found three yoimg gentlemen, with whom I am hopeful this method may have success, if they have patience and perseverance in using it. Two of them are brothers, and, before I had access to examine them, had been practis- ing this method by the direction of their tutor, with such success that the elder looks straight when he is upon his guard : the younger can direct both his eyes to one object ; but they soon return to their usual squint. A third young gentleman, who had never heard of this method before, by a few days practice, was able to direct both his eyes to one object, but could not keep thein long in that direction. All the three agree in this, that, when both eyes are directed to one ob- ject, they see it and the adjacent objects single ; but, when they squint, they see objects sometimes single and sometimes double. I observed of all the three, that when they squinted most — that is, in the way they had been accustomed to — the axes of their eyes converged so as to meet five or six inches before the nose. It is pro- OF SEEING. 173 bable that, in this case, the picture of the object in the diverging eye, must fall upon that part of the retina where the optic nerve enters ; and, therefore, the object could not be seen by that eye. All the three have some defect in the sight of one eye, which none of them knew until I put them upon making trials ; and when they squint, the best eye is always directed to the object, and the weak eye is that whicli diverges from it. But when the best eye is covered, the weak eye is turned directly to the object. Whether this defect of sight in one eye, be the effect of its hav- ing been long disused, as it must have been when they squinted ; or whether some ori- ginal defect in one eye might be the occasion of their squinting, time may discover. The two brothers have found the sight of the weak eye improved by using to read with it while the other is covered. The elder can read an ordinary print with the weak eye ; the other, as well as the third gentleman, can only read a large print with tlie weak eye. I have met with one other person only who squinted, and yet could read a large print with the weak eye. He is a young man, whose eyes are both tender and weak-sighted, but the left much weaker than the right. When he looks at any object, he always directs the right eye to it, and then the left is turned towards the nose so much that it is impossible for him to see the same object with both eyes at the same time. When the right eye is covered, he turns the left directly to the object ; but he sees it indistinctly, and as if it had a mist about it. I made several experiments, some of them in the company and with the assistance of an ingenious physician, in order to discover whether objects that were in the axes of the two eyes, were seen in one ])lace confounded together, as in those who have no involun- tary squint. The object placed in the axis of the weak eye was a liglitcd candle, at the distance of eight or ten feet. Before the otlier eye was placed a printed book, at such a distance as that he could read upon it. He Faid, that while he read upon the book, he saw the candle but very faintly. And from what we could learn, these two objects did not api)ear in one place, but h.Td all that angular distance in appearance which they had in reality.* If this was really the case, the conclusion to be drawn from it is, that the correspond- ing points in )iis eyes are not situate in the same ni;iniier as in other men ; and that, if ho could be brought to direct botli eyes to one object, he would see it doul)le. But, considering that tlie young man bad never been accustomed to observations of this « Sec VVolU— C'ly assumed by Mr Fearn. 'I his natural perception of Outiie.s, which is the loundaiion of our acquired knowledge ot (lis- taiice, semis given us in Ihe-naliiral perci ption we have ot the direction of the rays ot light. In like manner, we must i ot contbuiid, as is com- monly done, ti'Cfaci of thee\e .dfiirding us a per. ception of extension and jilain Jtunre, or outline, in the perception e ttntpment i» far too iiii(]iialific(l. — II. hydraulic engine, consisting of a bundle of pipes, which carried to andfro a liquorcalled animal spirits. About the time of Dr Briggs, it was thought rather to be a stringed instrument, composed of vibrating chords, each of which had its proper tension and tone. But some, with as great probability, conceived it to be a wind instrument, which played its part by the vibrations of an elastic eether in the nervous fibrUs. These, I think, are all the engines into which the nervous system hath been moulded by philosophers, for conveying the images of sensible things from the organ to the sensorlum. And, for all that we know of the matter, every man may freely choose which he thinks fittest for the purpose ; for, from fact and experiment, no one of them can claim preference to another. _ Indeed, they all seem so unhandy engines for carry- ing images, that a man would be tempted to indent a new one. Since, therefore, a blind man may guess as well in the dark as one that sees, I beg leave to offer another conjecture touching the nervous system, which, I hope, will answer the purpose as well as those we have mentioned, and which recommends itself by its simplicity. Why may not the optic nerves, for instance, be made up of empty tubes, opening their mouths wide enough to receive the rays of light which form the image upon the retinw, and gently convey- ing them safe, and in their proper order, to the very seat of the soul, until they flash in her face ? It is easy for an ingenious phi. losopher to fit the caliber of these empty tubes to the aiameter of the particles of light, so as they shall receive no grosser kind of matter ; and, if these rays should be in danger of mistaking their way, an expe- dient may also be found to prevent this ; for it requires no more than to bestow u]ion the tubes of the nervous system a peristal- tic motion, like that of the alimentary tube. It is a peculiar advantage of this hypo- thesis, that, although all philosophers be- lieve that the species or images of things are conveyed by the nerves to the soul, yet none of their hypotheses shew how this may be done. For how can the images of sound, taste, smell, colour, figure, and all sensible qualities, be made out of the vibra- tions of musical chords, or the undulations of animal s})irits, or of aether ? Wc ought not to suppose means inadequate to tiie end. Is it not as phil(js()[)liical, and more intelligible, to conceive, that, as the stomach receives its food, so the soul receives her images by a kind of nervous deglutition ? I might add, that wc need only continue this iicristaltic motion of the nervous tubes from tlie sniinrinm to tiie extremities of the nerves tiiat servo the muscles, in order to account for nuiscular motion. N y 180 OF THE HUMAN MIND. Thus Nature will be consonant to her- self ; and, as sensation will be the convey- ance of the ideal aliment to the mind, so muscular motion will be the expulsion of the recrementitious part of it. For who can deny, that the images of things con- veyed by sensation, may, after due con- coction, become fit to be thrown off by muscular motion ? I only give hints of these things to the ingenious, hoping that in time this hypothesis may be wrought up into a system as truly philosophical as that of ani- mal spirits, or the vibration of nervous fibres. To be serious : In the operations of na- ture, I hold the theories of a philosopher, which are unsupported by fact, in the same estimation with the dreams of a man asleep, or the ravings of a madman. We laugh at the Indian philosopher, who, to account for the support of the earth, contrived the hypothesis of a huge elephant, and, to support the elephant, a huge tortoise. If we will candidly confess the truth, we know as little of the operation of the nerves, as he did of the manner in which the earth is supported ; and our hj'potheses about animal spirits, or about the tension and vibrations of the nerves, are as like to be true, as his about the support of the earth. His elephant was a hypothesis, and our hypotheses are elephants. Every theory in philosophy, which is built on pure con- jecture, is an elephant ; and every theory that is supported partly by fact, and partly by conjecture, is like Nebuchadnezzar's image, whose feet were partly of iron and partly of clay. The great Newton first gave an example to philosophers, which always ought to be, but rarely hath been followed, by distin- guishing his conjectures from his conclu- sions, and putting the former by themselves, in the modest form of queries. This is fair and legal ; but all other philosophical traf- fic in conjecture ought to be held contra- band and illicit. Indeed, his conjectures have commonly more foundation in fivct, and more verisimilitude, than the dogma- tical theories of most other philosophers ; and, therefore, we ought not to omit that which he hath offered concerning the cause of our seeing objects single with two eyes, in the 15th query annexed to his "Optics." " Are not the species of objects seen with both eyes, united where the optic nerves meet before they come into the brain, the fibres on the right side of both nerves uniting there, and after union going thence into the brain in the nerve which is on the right side of the head, and the fibres on the left side of both nerves uniting in the same place, and after union going into the brain in the nerve which is on the left side of the head, and these two nerves meeting in the brain in such a manner that their fibres make but one entire species or picture, half of which on the right side of the sensoiiian comes from the right side of both eyea through the right side of both optic nerves, to the place where the nerves meet, and from thence on the right side of the head into the brain, and the other half on the left side of the sensorium comes, in like manner, from the left side of both eyes ? For the optic nerves of such animals as look the same way with both eyes (as men, dogs, sheep, oxen, &c.) meet before they come into the brain ; but the optic nerves of such animals as do not look the same way with both eyes (as of fishes, and of the chameleon) do not meet, if I am rightly in- formed." I beg leave to distinguish this query into two, which are of very difi'erent natures ; one being purely anatomical, the other re- lating to the carrying species or pictures of visible objects to the sensorium. The first question is, Whether the fibres coming from corresponding points of the two retincB do not unite at the place where the optic nerves meet, and continue united from thence to the brain ; so that the right optic nerve, after the meeting of the two nerves, is composed of the fibres coming from the right side of both retinae, and the left, of the fibres coming from the left side of both relintB .^ This is undoubtedly a curious and rational question ; because, if we could find ground from anatomy to answer it in the affirm- ative, it would lead us a step forward in discovering the cause of the correspondence and sympathy which there is between cer- tain points of the two relince. For, although wo know not what is the particular function of the optic nerves, yet it is probable that some impression made upon them, and communicated along their fibres, is neces- sary to vision ; and, whatever be the nature of this impression, if two fibres are united into one, an impression made upon one of them, or upon both, may probably produce the same effect. Anatomists think it a sufficient account of a sympathy between two parts of the body, when they are served by branches of the same nerve ; we should, therefore, look upon it as an important dis- covery in anatomy, if it were found that the same nerve sent branches to the corre- sponding points of the retinw. But hath any such discovery been made ? No, not so much as in one subject, as far as I can learn ; but, in several subjects, the contrary seems to have been discovered. Dr Porterfield hath given us two cases at length from Vesalius, and one from Csesal- pmus, wherein the optic nerves, after touch • ing one another as usual, appeared to be refiected back to the same side whence they came, without any mixture of their OF SEEING. 1B\ fibres. Each of these persons had lost an eye some time before his death, and the optic nerve belonging to that eye was shrunk, so that it could be distinguished from the other at the place where they met. Another case, which the same author gives from Vesalius, is still more remarkable ; for in it the optic nerves did not touch at all ; and yet, upon inquiry, those who were most familiar with the person in his life- time, declared that he never complained of any defect of sight, or of his seeing objects double. Diemerbroeek tells us, that Aqua- pendens [ab Aquapendente] and Valverda likewise affirm, that they have met with subjects wherein the optic nerves did not touch.* As these observations were made before Sir Isaac Newton put this query, it is un- certain whether he was ignorant of them, or whether he suspected some inaccu- racy in them, and desired that the matter might be more carefully examined. But, from the following passage of the most accurate Winslow, it does not appear that later observations have been more favour- able to his conjecture. " The union of tliese (optic) nerves, by the small curva- tures of their corjiJia, is very difficult to be unfolded in human bodies. This union is commonly found to be very close ; but, in some subjects, it seems to be no more than a strong adhesion — in others, to be partly made by an intersection or crossing of hbres. They have been found quite sejiarate ; and, in other subjects, one of them has been found to be very much altered both in size and colour through its whole passage, the other remaining in its natural state." When we consider this conjecture of Sir Isaac Newton by itself, it appears more ingenious, and to have more verisimilitude, than anything that has been ofl'ered upon the suViject ; and we admire the caution and modesty of tlie author, in i)roposing it only as a subject of inquiry : but when we compare it with the observations of anato- mists which contradict it,i- we are naturally ♦ See Meckel's " Pathologische Anatomie," 1., p. 3roportion as* we-find the fields of the t wo eyci exclusive ofeach oilier, and whei e, conse- quently, the necehsity of bringing thc' twoorjjans into union miKht seem ahohshcd, there, however, we find the crossing of the optic filjies comiilete. In fishes, accordingly, it it distinct and isolated; in birds, it taker led to this reflection, That, if we trust to the conjectures of men of the greatest genius in the operations of nature, we have only the chance of going wrong in an inge- nious manner. The second part of the query is, Whether the two species of objects from the two eyes are not, at the place where the optic nerves meet, united into one species or picture, half of which is carried thence to the sen. solium in the right optic nerve, and the other half in the left ? and whether these two halves are not so put together again at the se7isorium, as to make one species or picture ? Here it seems natural to put the previous question. What reason have we to believe that pictures of objects are at all carried to the sensoihim, either by the optic nerves, or by any other nerves ? Is it not possible that this great philosopher, as well as many of a lower form, having been led into this opinion at first by education, may have con- tinued in it, because he never thought of calling it in question .-' I confess this was my own case for a considerable part of my life. But since I was led by accident to think seriously what reason I had to believe it, I could find none at all. It seems to be a mere hypothesis, as much as the Indian philosopher's elephant. I am not conscious of any pictures of external objects in my sensur'mm, any more than in my stomach : the things which I perceive by my senses, appear to be external, and not in any part of the brain ; and my sensations, properly so called, have no resemblance of external objects. The conclusion from all that hath been said, in no less than seven sections, upon our seeing objects single with two eyes, is this — That, by an original property of human eyes, objects painted upon the centres of the two retiiiai, or upon jioints siniihirly situate with regard to the centres, appear in the same visible place ; that the most plausible attempts to account for this property of the eyes, have been unsuccess- ful ; and, therefore, that it must be either a primary law of our constitution, or the consecjuence of some more general law, which is not yet discovered. We have now finished what we intended to say, both of the visible ap]iearaiices of things to the eye, and of the laws of our constitution by which those appearances m re the appearance of .in interl.iccmcnt ; in the niatnmalia, that of a fusion of snbs'atice. A second coiisideratn n, however, riconclestlieory and observ. a'ion. Some, however, as Woolaston, mnko the paralU I motion of the eyes to be dependent on the connection of the opti(' neivcs ; and, brsides expiri. nients, there .ire varii us patliolo(;ieal ca-is in (avoui of (Manendie's opinion, that the yi/Z/i pair are Ihi nerves on wliicli the cncrnieH of ti(0'l, liiariiiK tin of external things. But, although the same necessity seems in theory equally incumbent on the lower aiiim.ils as on man, yet this theory is provokingly — and that by the most manifest experience — found totally at fault with re- gard to them ; for we find that all the animals who possess at birth the power of regulated motion (and these are those only through whom the truth ot the theory can be brought to the test of a decisive ex. periment) possess also from birth the whole appre- hension of distance, &c , which they are ever known to exhibit. The solution of this difference, by a resort to instinct, ;s unsatisfactory ; for instinct is, in fact, an occult principle— a kind of natural revi 1- ation — and the hypothesisof instinct, therefore, only a confession of our ignorance : and, at the same time, if instinct be allowed in the lower animals, how can we determine whether and how far instinct may not in like manner operate to the same reyult in man ?— I have discovered, and, by a wide induc- tion, estatlished, that the power ot regulated mo. lion at birth is, in all animals, governed by the de- veloperaent, at that period, of the cerebellum, in pro- portion to the brain proper. Is this law to be exte ded to the faculty of determining distances, &c., by sight? — H. t On the distinction of Sensation proper, from Perception proper, see " Kssays on the Intellectual I'owers," Essay II., chap. Hi, and Note D.* Kcid himself, especially in this work, has not been always rigid in observing their discrimination. — H. X Not only are they difTerent, but — what has escaped our philosiphers — the law ot their manifestation is, that, while bitli are co-existent, e.ich is always in the inverse ratio of tne other. Percepiiiin is the-objcr- tive. Sensation the sufjjectivo, element. J'his by I he way. — H. OF SEEING. 183 for both consist of an active verb and an object. But, if we attend to the things sig- nified by these expressions, we shall find that, in the first, the distinction between the act and tlie object is not real but gramma- tical ; in the second, the distinction is not only grammatical but real. The form of the expression, I feel pain, might seem to imply that the feeling is something distinct from the pain felt ; yet, in reality, there is no distinction. As thinking a thought is an expression which could signify no more than thinking, so feeling a pain signifies no more than being pained. What we have said of pain is ap- licable to every other mere sensation. It is difficult to give instances, very few of our sensations having names ; and, where they have, the name being common to the sensation, and to something else which is associated with it. But, when we attend to the sensation by itself, and separate it from other things which are conjoined with it in the imagination, it appears to be something which can have no existence but in a sentient mind, no distinction from the act of the mind bv which it is felt. Perception, as we here understand it, hath always an object distinct from the act by which it is perceived; an object which may exist whether it be perceived or not. I perceive a tree that grows before my win- dow ; there is here an object which is per- ceived, and an act of the mind by which it is perceived ; and these two are not only distinguishable, but they are extremely un- like in their natures- The object is made up of a trunk, branches, and leaves ; but the act of the mind by which it is per- ceived hath neither trunk, branches, nor leaves. I am conscious of this act of my mind, and I can reflect upon it ; but it is too simple to admit of an analysis, and I cannot find proper words to describe it. I find nothing that resembles it so much as the remembrance of the tree, or the ima- gination of it. Yet both these differ essen- tially from perception ; they difi'er likewise one from another. It is in vain that a philosopher assures me, that the imagina- tion of the tree, the remembrance of it, and the perception of it, are all one, and dill'er only in degree of vivacity. I know the contrary ; for I am as well acquainted witii all the three as I am with the apartments of my own house. I know this also, that the perception of an object implies both a concei)tion of its form, and a belief of its present existence.* I know, moreover, that ♦ It 19 to be observed Ihat Reid himself does not dinrrimiiia o perception ami iinaninnliun by any e»>eiilial (bfTircncc. Afcoriiint; to liiin, percfi/tidii ii only tbc conception (imagination) of an object, ac- rom)>.ioi<'il with a bcbel of its iiri'unt existence; and even Ibis lusi distinction, a mere " laith witboiii this belief is not the effect of argumentation and reasoning ; it is the immediate eft'ect of my constitution. I am aware that this belief which I have in perception stands exposed to the strongest batteries of scepticism. But they make no great impression upon it. The sceptic asks me. Why do you believe the existence of the external object which you perceive ? This belief, sir, is none of my manufacture ; it came from the mint of Nature ; it bears her image and superscription ; and, if it is not right, the fault is not mine : I even took it upon trust, and without suspicion. Rea- son, says the sceptic, is the only judge of trutli, and you ought to throw ofi' every opi- nion and every belief that is not grounded on reason. Why, sir, should I believe the faculty of reason more than that of percep- tion ? — they came both out of the same shop, and were made by the same artist ; and if he puts one piece of false ware into ray hands, what should hinder him from put- ting another ?* Perhaps the sceptic will agree to distrust reason, rather than give any credit to per- ception. For, says he, since, by your own concession, the object which you perceive, and that act of your mind by which you perceive it, are quite different things, the one may exist without the other ; and, as the object may exist without being per- ceived, so the perception may exist without an object. There is nothing so shameful in a philosopher as to be deceived and de- luded ; and, therefore, you ought to resolve firmly to withhold assent, and to throw off this belief of external objects, which may be all delusion. For my part, I will never attempt to throw it off; and, although the sober part of mankind will not be very anxious to know my reasons, yet, if they can be of use to any sceptic, they are these : — First, because it is not in my power : why, then, should I make a vain attempt ? It would be agreeable to fly to the moon, and to make a visit to Jupiter and Saturn; but, when I know that Natin-e has bound me down by the law of gravitation to this planet which I inhabit, I rest contented, and quietly knowledge," is surrendered by Mr Stewart. Now, as conception (imagination) is only immediately cog- nisant of the cijo, so must pcrcp' ion on Ibis doctrine be a knowledge purely .v"'yr///'('. I'ercipiion niUMt be wholly diflerent in kiiul Irom ('onception, if we are to possess a faculty inlornung us of the existence and qualities of an external world; and, unless wc are possessed of such a faculty, we .-ball never be compe. lent to vindicate more than an ideal reality lo the objects of our cognitions, — II. ■ This argument would bo pood in favour of our belief, that we are really percipient of a tiott.epo : it is not good in favour of (air belief that a tion.i-po really exists, our perception of its rel exiKtcnee being abiiidoned. Mankind liave the latter belief only as they h.ive the former ; and, if we .iri' deceived by our Nature touching the one, it is al'Minl to up peal lo her veracity in proof ol the iitlier — II. 184 OF THE HUMAN MIND. suffer myself to be carried along in its orbit. My belief is carried along by perception, as irresistibly as my body by the earth. And the greatest sceptic will find himself to be in the same condition. He may struggle hard to disbelieve the informations of his senses, as a man does to swim against a tor- rent ; but, ah ! it is in vain. It is in vain that he strains every nerve, and wrestles with nature, and with every object that strikes upon his senses. For, after all, when his strength is spent in the fruitless attempt, he will be carried down the tor- rent with the common herd of believers. Secondly, I think it would not be pru- dent to throvv' off this belief, if it were in my power. If Nature intended to deceive me, and impose upon me by false appear- ances, and I, by my great cunning and pro- found logic, have discovered the imposture, prudence would dictate to me, in this case, even to put up [with] this indignity done me, as quietly as I could, and not to call her an impostor to her face, lest she should be even with me in another way. For what do I gain by resenting this injury ? You ought at least not to believe what she says. This indeed seems reasonable, if she intends to inajjose upon me. But what is the consequence ? 1 resolve not to be- lieve my senses. I break my nose against a post that comes in my way ; I step into a dirty keunel ; and, after twenty such wise and rational actions, I am taken up and clapped into a mad-house. Now, I con- fess I would rather make one of the credu- lous fools whom Nature imposes upon, than of those wise and rational philosophers who resolve to withhold assent at all tliis expense. If a man pretends to be a scep- tic with regard to the informations of sense, and yet prudently keeps out of harm's way as other men do, he must excuse my suspicion, that he either acts the hypocrite, or imposes upon himself. For, if the scale of his belief were so evenly poised as to lean no more to one side than to the con- trary, it is impossible that his actions could be directed by any rules of common prudence.* Thirdly, Although the two reasons al- ready mentioned are perhaps two more than enough, I shall offer a third. I gave im- plicit belief to the informations of Nature by my senses, for a considerable part of my life, before I had learned so much logic as to be able to start a doubt concerning them. And now, when I reflect upon what is past, I do not find that I have been imposed upon by this belief. I find that without it I must have perished by a thousand accidents. I find that without it I should have been no wiser now than wlien I was born. I should • This is not a fair consequence of Idealism ; there. fftc, it is not a reduclw ad absjadum. — H. not even have been able to acquire that logic which suggests these sceptical doubts with regard to my senses. Therefore, I consider this instinctive belief as one of the best gifts of Nature. I thank the Author of my being, who bestowed it upon nie before the eyes of my reason were opened, and still bestows it upon me, to be my guide where reason leaves me in the dark. And now I yield to the direction of my senses, not from instinct only, but from confidence and trust in a faithful and beneficent Moni- tor, grounded upon the experience of his paternal care and goodness. In all this, I deal with the Author of my being, no otherwise than I thought it reason- able to deal with my parents and tutors. I believed by instinct whatever they told me, long before I had the idea of a lie, or thought of the possibility of their deceiving me. Afterwards, upon reflection, I found they liad acted like fair and honest people, who wished me well. I found that, if I had not believed what they told me, before I could give a reason of my belief, I had to this day been little better than a changeling. And although tliis natural credulity hath some- times occasioned my being imposed upon by deceivers, yet it hath been of infinite advantage to me upon the whole ; therefore, I consider it as another good gift of Nature. And I contmue to give that credit, from reflection, to those of whose integrity and veracity I have had experience, which be- fore I gave from instinct. There is a much greater similitude than is commonly imagined, between the testi- mony of nature given by our senses, and the testimony of men given by language. The credit we give to both is at first the effect of instinct* only. When we grow up, and begin to reason about them, the credit given to human testimony is re- strained and weakened, by the experience we have of deceit. But the credit given to the testimony of our senses, is established and confirmed by the uniformity and con- stancy of the laws of nature. Our perceptions are of two kinds : some are natural and original ; others acquired, and the fruit of experience. When I per- ceive that this is the taste of cyder, that of brandy ; that this is the smell of an apple, that of an orange ; that this is the noise of thunder, that the ringing of bells ; this the sound of a coach passing, that the voice of such a friend : these perceptions, and others of the same kind, are not original — ihey are acquired. But the perception which I have, by touch, of the hardness and softness of bodies, of their extension, figure, and mo- tion, is not acquired — it is original. * On the proprielv ol the term " instinct," tie in Note A— H. OF SEEING. 185 lu all our senses, the aei|uired percep- tions are many more than the original, especially in sight. By this sense we per- ceive originally the visible figure and colour of bodies only, and their visible place :* but we learn to perceive by tlie eye, almost everything which we can perceive by touch. The original perceptions of this sense serve only as signs to introduce the acquired. The signs by which objects are presented to us in perception, are the language of Nature to man ; and as, in many respects, if hath great affinity with the language of man to man, so particularly in this, that both are partly natural and original, partly acquired by custom. Our original or natural perceptions are analogous to the natural language of man to man, of which we took notice in the fourth chapter ; and our acquired perceptions are analogous to artificial language, which, in our mother- tongue, is got very much in the same man- ner with our acquired perceptions — as we shall afterwards more fully explain. Not only men, but children, idiots, and brutes, acquire by habit many perceptions which they had not originally. Almost every employment in life hath perct'ptioijs of this kind" that are peculiar to it. The shepherd knows every sheep of his flock, as we do our acquaintance, and can pick them out of another fiock one by one. The butcher knows by sight the weight and quality of his beeves and sheep before they are killed. The farmer perceives by his eye, very nearly, the quantity of hay in a rick, or of corn in a heap. The sailor sees the burtlien, the built, and the distance of a ship at sea, while she is a great way off. Every man accustomed to writing, distin- guishes his acquaintance by their hand- writing, as he does by their faces. And the painter distinguishes, in the w^rks of his art, the style of all the great masters. In a word, acquired perception is very different in different persons, aci-ording to the divers- ity of objects about which they are em- ployed, and the application they bestow in observing them. Perception ounht not only to be distin- guished from sensntion, but likewise from that knowledge of the objects of sense which is got by reasoning. There is no reasoning in perception, as hath been ob- served. The belief which is implied in it, is tile effect of instinct. But there are many tilings, with regard to sensible ob- jects, wliicli we can irifcsr from what we perceive ; and such conclusions of reason ougjit to be distinguished from what is merely perceived. When I look at tiie • In thin palliate Keid atiinitu KiKurc and Place (rotup^iueiitly, rCxtcimion) to be on'ghinl p' rccptiotis ol vlainn. Sec al)Ovc, \>. \i'A, 1> . noie \. — II. moon, I perceive her to be soinetmies cir- cular, sometimes horned, and sometimes gibbous. This is simple perception, and is the same in the philosopher and in the clown : but from these various appearances of her enlightened part, I infer that she is really of a spherical figure. This conclu- sion is not obtained by simple perception, but by reasoning. Simple jierception has the same relation to the conclusions of rea- son drawn from our perceptions, as the axioms in mathematics have to the pro- positions. I cannot demonstrate that two quantities which are equal to the same quantity, are equal to each other ; neither can I demonstrate that the tree which I perceive, exists. But, by the constitution of my nature, my belief is irresistibly car- ried along by my apprehension of the axiom ; and, by the constitution of my nature, my belief is no less irresistilily car- ried along by my perception of the tree. All reasoning is from principles. The first principles of mathematical reasoning are mathematical axioms and definitions ; and the first principles of all our reasoning about existences, are our perceptions. The first principles of every kind of reasoning are given us by Nature, and are of equal authority with the faculty of reason itself, which is also the gift of Nature. The con- clusions of reason are all built upon first principles, and can have no other founda- tion. INIost justly, therefore, do such prin- ciples disdain to be tr'ed by reason, and laugh at all the artillery of the logician, when it is directed against them. When a long train of reasoning is neces- sary in demonstrating a mathematical pro- position, it is easily distinguished from an axiom ; and they seem to be things of a very different nature. But there are some pro- positions which lie so near to axioms, that it is difficult to say whether they ought to be held as axioms, or demonstrated as pro- positions. The same thing holds with regard to perception, and the conclusions drawn from it. Some of these conclusions follow our perceptions so easily, and are so immediately connected with them, that it is difficult to fix the limit which divides the one from the other. Perception, whether original or acquired, implies no exercise of reason ; and is com- mon to men, children, idiots, and brutes. The more obvious conclusions drawn from our |)erc('ptions, by reason, make wljat wo call conanim un
  • arts nf ti.itiin-, wlicllicr in agriculture, mediciiK', nicciiiiiiicH, (u- in any 186 OF THE HUMAN MIND. part of natural pliilosopliy. When I see a garden in good order, containing a great variety of things of the best kinds, and in the most flourishing condition, I immedi- ately conclude from these signs the skill and industry of the gardener. A farmer, when he rises in the morning, and perceives that the neighbouring brook overflows his field, concludes that a great deal of rain hath fallen in the night. Perceiving his fence broken, and his corn trodden down, he concludes that some of his own or his neighbours' cattle have broke loose. Per- ceiving that his stable-door is broke open, and some of his horses gone, he concludes tliat a thief has carried them off. He traces the prints of his horses' feet in the soft ground, and by them discovers which road the thief hath taken. These are instances of common understanding, which dwells so near to perception that it is difficult to trace the line which divides the one from the other. In like manner, the science of nature dwells so near to common understanding that we cannot discern where the latter ends and the former begins. I perceive that bodies lighter than water swim in water, and that those which are heavier sink. Hence I conclude, that, if a body remains wherever it is put under water, whether at the top or bottom, it is precisely of the same weight with water. If it will rest only when part of it is above water, it is lighter than water. And the greater the part above water is, compared with the whole, the lighter is the body. If it had no gravity at all, it would make no impression upon the water, but stand wholly above it. Thus, every man, by common understanding, has a rule by which he judges of the specific gravity of bodies which swim in water : and a step or two more leads him into the science of hydro- statics. All that we know of nature, or of exist- ences, may be compared to a tree, which hath its root, trunk, and branches. In this tree of knowledge, perception is the root, common imderstanding is the trunk, and the sciences are the branches. Section XXI. OF THE PROCESS OF NATURE IN PERCEPTION. Although there is no reasoning in per- ception, yet there are certain means and instruments, which, by the appointment of nature, must intervene between the object and our perception of it ; and, by these, our perceptions are limited and regulated. First, If the object is not in contact with the organ of sense, there must be some medium which passes between them. Thus, in vision, the rays of light ; in hearing, the vibrations of elastic air ; in smelling, the efiluvia of the bodysmelled — must pass from the object to the organ ; otherwise we have no perception.* Secondly, There must be some action or impression upon the organ of sense, either by the immediate applica- tion of the object, or by the medium that goes between them. Thirdly, The nerves which go from the brain to the organ must receive some impression by means of that which was made upon the organ ; and, pro- bably, by means of the nerves, some im- pression must be made upon the brain. Fourthly, The impression made upon the organ, nerves, and brain, is followed by a sensation. And, last of all, This sensation is followed by the perception of the object. -j- Thus, our perception of objects is the re- sult of a train of operations ; some of which affect the body only, others affect the mind. We know very little of the nature of some of these operations ; we know not at all how they are connected together, or in what way they contribute to that perception which is the result of the whole ; but, by the laws of our constitution, we perceive objects in this, and in no other way. There may be other beings who can per- ceive external objects without rays of light, or vibrations of air, or effluvia of bodies without impressions on bodily organs, or even without sensations ; but we are so framed by the Author of Nature, that, even when we are surrounded by external objects, we may perceive none of them. Our faculty of perceiving an object lies dormant, until it is roused and stimulated by a certain corresponding sensation. Nor is this sens- ation always at hand to perform its office ; for it enters into the mind only in conse- quence of a certain corresponding impres- sion made on the organ of sense by the ob- ject. Let us trace this correspondence of im- pressions, sensations, and perceptions, as far as we can — beginning with that which is first in order, the impression made upon the bodily organ. But, alas ! we know not of what nature these impressions are, far less how they excite sensations in the mind. We know that one body may act upon another by pressure, by percussion, by at- traction, by repulsion, and, probably, in many other ways which we neither know nor have names to express. But in which of these ways objects, when perceived by us, act upon the organs of sense, these organs upon the nerves, and the nerves * The only object ol perception is the immediate object. J he distant reality — he mediate object, ot object simply of Reid and other p' ilo=opbers— isun. known to the perception ot sense, and only reached by reasoning. — H. f I'hat sensation prop r precedes percept on pro- per is a false assumption. They are simultaneous elements of the same indivisible energy. — H. OF SEEING. 187 upon the brain, we know not. Can any man tell me how, in vision, the rays of light act upon the retina, how the retina acts upon the optic nerve, and how the optic nerve acts upon the brain ? No man can. When I feel the pain of the gout in my toe, I know that there is some unusual im- pression made upon that part of my body. But of what kind is it ? Are the small vessels distended with some redundant elastic, or unelastic fluid? Are the fibres unusually stretched ? Are they torn asunder by force, or gnawed and corroded by some acrid humour ? I can answer none of these questions. All that I feel is pain, which is not an impression upon the body, but upon the mind ; and all that I perceive by this sensation is, that some dis- temper in my toe occasions this pain. But, as 1 know not the natural temper and tex- ture of my toe when it is at ease, I know as little what cliange or disorder of its parts occasions this uneasy sensation. In like manner, in every other sensation, there is, without doubt, some impression made upon the organ of sense ; but an impreasion of which we know not the nature. It is too subtile to be discovered by our senses, and we may make a thousand conjectures with- out coming near the truth. If we under- stood the structure of our organs of sense so minutely as to discover what eS'ects are produced upon them by external objects, this knowledge would contribute nothing to our perception of the object ; for they per- ceive as distinctly who know least about the manner of perception, as the greatest adepts. 1 1 is necessary that the impression be made upon our organs, but not that it be known. Nature carries on this part of the process of perception, without our consciousness or concurrence. But we cannot be unconscious of the next step in this process — the sensation of the mind, which always immediately follows the impression made upon the body. It is essential to a sensation to be felt, and it can be nothing more than we feel it to be. If we can only acquire the habit of attending to our sensations, we may know them per- fectly. But how are the (sensations of the mind produced by impressions upon the body ? Of this we are absolutely ignorant, having no means of knowing how the body acts upon the mind, or the mind upon the body. When we consider tlie nature and attributes of both, they seem to be so difl'or- ent, and so unlike, that we can find no jiandlo by which the one may lay hrjlii of the otlier. There is a deep and a dark gulf between them, which our understanding cannot j)as.s ; and the manner of their corrcsjiondence and intercourse is absolutely unknown. Kxpcrience ttachcH us, tluit certain iin- prcHsions upou the body arc constantly fol- lowed by certain sensations of the mind ; and that, on the other hand, certain deter- minations of the mind are constantly fol- lowed by certain motions in the body ; but we see not the chain that ties these things together. Who knows but their connection may be arbitrary, and owing to the will of our Maker ? Perhaps the same sensations might have been connected with other im- pressions, or other bodily organs. Perhaps we might have been so made as to taste with our fingers, to smell with our ears, and to hear by the nose. Perhaps we might have been so made as to have all the sensations and perceptions which we have, without any impression made upon our bodily organs at all. However these things may be, if Nature had given us nothing more than impressions made upon the body, and sensations in our minds corresponding to them, we should, in that case, have been merely sentient, but not percipient beings. We sliould never have been able to form a conception of any ex- ternal object, far less a belief of its exist- ence. Our sensations have no resemblance to external objects ; nor can we discover, by our reason, any necessary connection between the existence of the former, and that of the latter. We might, perhaps, have been made of such a constitution as to have our present perceptions connected with other sensations. We might, perhaps, have had the percep- tion of external objects, without either im- pressions upon the organs of sense, or sens- ations. Or, lastly. The perceptions we have, might have been immediately connected with the impressions ujion our organs, with- out any intervention of sensations. This last seems really to be the case in one in- stance — to wit, in our perception of the visible figure of bodies, as was observed in the eighth section of this chapter. The process of Nature, in perception by the senses, may, therefore, be conceived as a kind of drama, wherein some things are per- formed behind the scenes, others are repre- sented to the mind in ditt'erent scenes, oiie succeeding anotlier. The impression made by tlie object upon the organ, either by im- mediate contact or by some intervening medium, as well as the impression made upon the nerves and brain, is performed beiiindthe scenes, and the mind sees nothing of it. But every such impression, by the laws of the drama, is followed liy a sensa- tion, whicli is the first scene eNliil'ited to the mind ; and this scene is quickly suc- ceeded* by another, which is the percep- tion of tlic oliject. In this drama. Nature is the actor, we are the spectators. We know notliing of • See the prcroding note— H. 188 OF THE HUMAN MIND. the machinery by means of which every different impression upon the organ, nerves, and brain, exhibits its corresponding sens- ation ; or of the machinery by means of which each sensation exhibits its corre- sponding perception. We are inspired with the sensation, and we are inspired with the corresponding perception, by means un- known.* And, because the mind passes immediately from the sensation to that con- ception and beUef of the object which we have in perception, in tlie same manner as it passes from signs to the tilings signified by them, we have, therefore, called our sensations si,ts. — 11 to all distances of the object, from six or seven inches, to fifteen or sixteen feet ; so as to have perfect and distinct vision at any distance within these limits. From this it follows, that the effort we consciously em- ploy to adapt the eye to any particular dis- tance of objects witlun these limits, will be connected and associated with that dis- tance, and will become a sign of it. When the object is removed beyond the farthest limit of distinct vision, it will be seen in- chstinctly ; but, more or less so, according as its distance is greater or less ; so that the degrees of indistinctness of the object may become the signs of distances consi- derably beyond the farthest limit of distinct vision. If we had no other mean but this, of per- ceiving distance of visible objects, the most distant would not appear to be above twenty or thirty feet from the eye, and the tops of houses and trees would seem to touch the clouds ; for, in that case, the signs of all greater distances being the same, they have the saiiie signification, and give the same perception of distance. But it is of more importance to observe, that, because the nearest limit of distinct vision in the time of youth, when we learn to perceive distance by the eye, is about six or seven inches, no object seen dis- tinctly ever appears to be nearer than six or seven inches from the eje. We can, by art, make a small object appear dis- tinct, when it is in reality not above half an inch from the eye ; either by using a single microscope, or by looking through a small pin-hole in a card. AVheu, by either of these means, an object is made to appear distinct, however small its dis- tance is in reality, it seems to be removed at least to the distance of six or seven inches — that is, within the limits of distinct vision. This observation is the more important, because it affords the only reason we^an give why an object is magnified cither by a single microscope, or by being seen th.rough a pin-hole ; and the only mean by which we can ascertain the degree in which the object will be magnified by either. Thus, if the object is really half an inch distant from the eye, and appears to be seven inches distant, its diameter will seem to be enlarged in the same jiroportion as its distance — that is, fourteen times. 2. In order to direct both eyes to an oliject, the ojitic axes must have a greater or less inclination, according as the oliject is nearer or more distant. And, although we are not conscious of this iiicliuatidu, yet we are conscious of the effort I'mplnyed in it. By this mean we jicrceive small distances more accurately than we could tlo by the conformation of the eye only- 190 OF THE HUMAN MIND, And, therefore, we fiad, that those who have lost the sight of one eye are apt, even within arm's-length, to make mistakes in the distance of objects, which are easily avoided by those who see witli both eyes. Such mistakes are often discovered in snuft- ing a candle, in threading a needle, or in filling a tea-cup.* When a picture is seen with both eyes, and at no great distance, the representation appears not so natural as when it is seen only with one. The intention of painting being to deceive the eye, and to make things appear at different distances which in reality are upon the same piece of canvass, this deception is not so easily put upon both eyes as upon one ; because we perceive the distance of visible objects more exactly and determinately with two eyes than with one. If the shading and relief be executed in the best manner, the picture may have almost the same appearance to one eye as the objects themselves would have ; but it cannot have the same appearance to both. This is not the fault of the artist, but an unavoid- able imperfection in the art. And it is owing to what we just now observed, that the perception we have of the distance of objects by one eye is more uncertain, and more liable to deception, than that which we have by both. The great impediment, and I think the only invincible impediment, to that agree- able deception of the eye which the painter aims at, is the perception which we have of the distance of visible objects from the eye, partly by means of the conformation of the eye, but chiefly by means of the inclmation of the optic axes. If this perception could be removed, I see no reason why a picture might not be made so perfect as to deceive the eye in reality, and to be mistaken for the original object. Therefore, in order to judge of the merit of a picture, we ought, as much as possible, to exclude these two means of perceiving the distance of the several parts of it. In order to remove this perception of dis- tance, the connoisseurs in painting use a method which is very proper. They look at the picture with one eye, through a tube which excludes the view of all other objects. By this method, the principal mean whereby we perceive the distance of the object — to wit, the inclination of the optic axes — is en- tirely excluded. I would humbly propose, as an improvement of this method of view- ing pictures, that the aperture of the tube next to the eye should be very small. If it is as small as a pin-hole, so much the better, providing there be light enough to see the picture clearly. The reason of this proposal • The same remark is made by many optical wri- tcrs, old and new. — H. is, that, when we look at an object through a small aperture, it will be seen distinctly, whether the conformation of the eye be adapted to its distance or not ; and we have no mean left to judge of the distance, but the light and colouring, which are in the painter's i)ower. If, therefore, the artist performs his part properly, the picture will by this method affect the eye in the same manner that the object represented would do ; which is the perfection of this art. Although this second mean of perceiving the distance of visible objects be more de- terminate and exact than the first, yet it hath its limits, beyond which it can be of no use. For when the optic axes directed to an object are so nearly parallel that, in directing them to an object yet more distant, we are not conscious of any new effort, nor have any different sensation, there our per- ception of distance stops ; and, as all more distant objects affect the eye in the same manner, we perceive them to be at the same distance. This is the reason why the sun, moon, planets, and fixed stars, when seen not near the horizon, appear to be all at the same distance, as if they touched the concave surface of a great sphere. The surface of this celestial sphere is at that distance beyond which all objects affect the eye in the same manner. Why this celestial vault appears more distant towards the horizon, than towards the zenith, will afterwards appear. 3. The colours of objects, according as they are more distant, become more faint and languid, and are tinged more with the azure of the intervening atmosphere : to this we may add, that their minute parts become more indistinct, and their outline less accurately defined. It is by these means chiefly, that painters can represent objects at very different distances, upon the same canvass. And the diminution of the magnitude of an object would not have the effect of making it appear to be at a great distance, without this degradation of colour, and indistinctness of the outline, and of the minute parts. If a painter should make a human figure ten times less than other human figures that are in the same piece, having the colours as bright, and the out- line and minute parts as accurately defined, it would not have the appearance of a man at a great distance, but of a pigmy or Lilli- putian. When an object hath a known variety of colours, its distance is more clearly indi- cated by the gradual dilution of the colours into one another, than when it is of one uniform colour. In the steeple which stands before me at a small distance, the joinings of the stones are clearly percepti- ble ; the grey colour of the stone, and the white cement are distinctly limited : when OF SEEING. 191 I see it at a greater distance, the joinings of the stones are less distinct, and the colours of the stone and of the cement begin to dilute into one another : at a distance still greater, the joinings disajipear altogether, and the variety of colour vanishes. In an apple-tree which stands at the dis- tance of about twelve feet, covered with flowers, I can perceive the figure and the colour of the leaves and petals ; pieces of branches, some larger, others smaller, peep- ing through the intervals of the leaves — some of them enlightened by the sun's rays, others shaded ; and some openings of the sky are perceived through the whole. When I gradually remove from this tree, the ap- pearance, even as to colour, changes every minute. First, the smaller parts, then the larger, are gradually confounded and mixed. The colours of leaves, petals, branches, and sky, are gradually diluted into each other, and the colour of the whole becomes more and more uniform. This change of appearance, corresponding to the several dis- tances, marks the distance more exactly than if the whole object had been of one colour. Dr Smith, in his " Optics," gives us a very curious observation made by Bishop Berke- ley, in his travels through Italj- and Sicily. He observed. That, in those countries, cities and palaces seen at a great distance appeared nearer to him by several miles than they really were ; and he very judi- ciously imputed it to this cause, That the purity of the ItaUan and Sicilian air, gave to very distant objects that degree of brightness and distinctness which, in the grosser air of his own country, was to be seen only in those that are near. The purity of the Italian air hath been assigned as the reason why the Italian painters commonly give a more lively colour to the sky than the Flemish. Ought they not, for the same reason, to give less degrad- ation of the colours, and less indistinct- ness of the minute parts, in the representa- tion of very distant objects ? It is very certain that, as in air uncom- monly pure, we are apt to think visible objects nearer and less than they really are, so, in air uncommonly foggy, we are apt to think them more distant and larger than the trutli. Walking by the sea-side in a thick fog, I see an object which seems to me to be a man on horseback, and at the distance of al)out half a mile. My com- panion, who has better eyes, or is more accustomed to see such objects in such cir- cumstances, assures nie that it is a sea- gull, and not a man on horseback, U])on a second view, I imnuMlIately assent to his opinion ; and now it ujjpcars to me to be a Bea -gull, and at tlie distance only of seventy or eighty yards. The mistalic! made on this occasion, and tlie correction of it, are both so sudden, that we are at a loss whether to call them by the name of judgment, or by that of simple perceplion. It is not worth while to dispute about names • but it is evident that my belief, both first and last, was produced rather by signs than by arguments, and that the mind proceeded to the conclusion in both cases by habit, and not by ratiochiation. And the process of the mind seems to have been this — First, Not knowing, or not minding, the effect of a foggy air on the vis- ible appearance of objects, the object seems to me to have that degradation of colour, and that indistinctness of the outline, which oVijects have at the distance of half a mile ; therefore, from the visible appearance as a sign, I immediately proceed to the belief that the object is half a mile distant. Then, this distance, together with the vis- ible magnitude, signify to me the real magnitude, which, supposing the distance to be half a mile, must be equal to that of a man on horseback ; and the figure, considering the indistinctness of the outline, agrees with that of a man on horseback. Thus the deception is brought about. But when I am assured that it is a sea-gull, the real magnitude of a sea-gull, together with the visible magnitude presented to the eye, immediately suggest the distance, which, in this case, cannot be above seventy or eighty yards : the indistinctness of the figure likewise suggests the fogginess of the air as its cause ; and now the whole chain of signs, and things signified, seems stronger and better connected than it was before ; the half mile vanishes to eighty yards ; the man on horseback dwindles to a sea- gull ; I get a new perception, and wonder how I got the former, or what is become of it ; for it is now so entirely gone, that I cannot recover it. It ought to be observed that, in order to produce such deceptions from the clearness or fogginess of the air, it must be uncom- monly dear or uncommonly foggy ; for we learn, from experience, to make allowance for that variety of constitutions of the air which wc have been accustomed to observe, and of which we are aware. Bishop Berkeley therefore connnitted a mistake, when he attributed the large appearance of the horizontal moon to the faintness of her light, occasioned by its passing througli a larger tract of atmosphere :* for we are so much accustomed to see the moon in all degrees of faintness and brightness, from the greatest to the least, that we learn to make allowance for it ; and do not imagine her magnitude increased ))y the faintniss of her a])|)carance. Besides, it is certain that the horizontal moon seen through a tube • 'I'hii)fX|lanation wasnotoriginalto Rcrkctcy.— H. 192 OF THE HUMAN MIND. wliich cuts off the view of the interjacent ground, and of all terrestrial nbjects, loses all that unusual appearance of magnitude. 4. We frequently perceive the distance of objects, by means of intervening or con- tiguous olijects, whose distance or magni- tude is otherwise known. When I perceive certain fields or tracts of ground to lie be- tween me and an object, it is evident that these may become signs of its distance. And although we have no particular in- formation of the dimensions of such fields or tracts, yet their similitude to others which we know, suggests their dimensions. We are so much accustomed to measure with our eye the ground which Me travel, and to compare the judgments of distances formed by sight, with our experience or in- formation, that we learn by degrees, in this way, to form a more accurate judgment of the distance of terrestrial objects, than we could do by any of the means before men- tioned. An object placed upon the top of a high building, appears much less than when placed upon the ground, at the same distance. When it stands upon the ground, the intervening tract of ground serves as a sign of its distjince ; and the distance, to- gether with the visible magnitude, serves as a sign of its real magnitude. But when the object is placed on high, this sign of its distance is taken away : the remaining signs lead us to place it at a less distance ; and this less distance, together with the visible magnitude, becomes a sign of a less real magnitude. The two first means we have mentioned, would never of themselves make a visible object appear above a hundred and fifty, or two hundred feet, distant ; because, be- yond that there is no sensible change, either of the conformation of the eyes, or of the inclination of their axes. The third mean is but a vague and undeterminate sign, when applied to distances above two or three hundred feet, unless we know the real colour and figure of the object ; and the fifth mean, to be afterwards mentioned, can only be applied to objects which are fami- liar, or whose real magnitude is known. Hence it follows, that, when unknown ob- jects, upon or near the surface of the earth, are perceived to be at the distance of some miles, it is always by this fourth mean that we are led to that conclusion. Dr Smith hath observed, very justly, that the known distance of the terrestrial objects which terminate our view, makes that part of the sky which is towards the horizon appear more distant than that which is to- wards the zenith. Hence it comes to pass, that the a[)parent figure of the sky is not that of a hemisphere, but rather a less seg- ment of a sphere. And, hence, likewise, it comes to pass, that the diameter of the sun or moon, or the distance between two fixed stars, seen contiguous to a hill, or to any distant terrestrial object, appears much greater than when no such object strikes the eye at the same time. These observations have been sufficiently explained and confirmed by Dr Smith. I beg leave to add, that, when the visible horizon is terminated by very distant ob- jects, the celestial vault seems to be en- larged in all its dimensions. When 1 view it from a confined street or lane, it bears some proportion to the buildings that sur- round me ; but,, when I view it from a large plain, terminated on all hands by hills which rise one above another to the distance of twenty miles from the eye, methinks I fcee a new heaven, whose magnificence declares the greatness of its Author, and puts every human edifice out of countenance ; for now the lofty spires and the gorgeous palaces shrink into nothing before it, and bear no more proportion to the celestial dome than their makers bear to its Maker. 5. There remains another mean by which we perceive the distance of visible objects — and that is, the diminution of their visible or apparent magnitude. By experience, I know what figure a man, or any other known object, makes to my eye at the distance of ten feet — I perceive the gradual and pro- portional diminution of this visible figure, at the distance of twenty, forty, a hundred feet, and at greater distances, until it vanish altogether. Hence a certain visible magni- tude of a known object becomes the sign of a certain determinate distance, and carries along with it the conception and belief of that distance. In this process of the mind, the sign is not a sensation ; it is an original percep- tion. We perceive the visible figure and visible magnitude of the object, by the ori- ginal power^ of vision ; but the visible figure is used only as a sign of the real figure, and the visible magnitude is used only as a sign either of the distance, or of the real magni- tude, of the object ; and, therefore, these original perceptions, like other mere signs, pass through the mind without any atten- tion or reflection. This last mean of perceiving the dis- tance of known objects, serves to explain some very remarkable phsenomena in op- tics, which would otherwise appear very mysterious. When we view objects of known dimensions through optical glasses, there is no other mean left of determining their distance, but this fifth. Hence it follows, that known objects seen through glasses, must seem to be brought nearer, in proportion to the magnifying power of the glass, or to be removed to a greater distance, in proportion to the diminishing power of the glass. OF SEEING. 193 If a man who had never before seen ob- jects tlirough a telescope, were told that the telescope, which he is about to use, mag- nifies the diameter of the object ten times ; when he looks througli this telescope at a man six feet high, what would he expect to see ? Surely he would very naturally expect to see a giant sixty feet high. But he sees no such tliinir. The man appears no more than six feet high, and conse- quently no bigger than he really is ; but he appears ten times nearer than he is. The telescope indeed magnifies the image of this man upon the retina ten times in dia- meter, and must, therefore, magnify his visible figure in the same proportion ; and, as we have been accustomed to see him of this visible magnitude when he was ten times nearer than he is presently,* and in no other case, tliis visible magnitude, there- fore, suggests the conception and belief of tliat distance of the object with which it hath been always connected. We have been accustomed to conceive this amplifi- cation of the visible figure of a known ob- ject, only as the effect or sign of its being brought nearer : and we have annexed a certain determinate distance to every de- gree of visible magnitude of the object ; and, therefore, any particular degree of vi- sible magnitude, whether seen by the naked eye or by glasses, brings along with it the conception and belief of the distance which corresponds to it. This is the reason why a telescope seems not to magnify known objects, but to bring them nearer to the eye. When we look through a pin-hole, or a single microscope, at an object which is half an inch from the eye, the picture of the object upon the retina is not enlarged, but only rendered distinct ; neither is the visible figure enlarged: yet the ob ect ap- pears to the eye twelve or fourteen times more distant, and as many times larger in diameter, than it really is. Such a tele- scope as we have mentioned amplifies the image on the reliiui, and the visible figure of the object, ten times in diameter, and yet makes it seem no bigger, but only ten times nearer. These appearances had been long observed by the writers on o])tics ; they tor- tured their invention to find the causes of them from optical principles ; but in vain : they must be resolved into habits of perce[)- tion, which arc ac((uir(Ml by custDin, but are apt to bo mistak(!ii for original perci-p- tions. The JJishoi) of Cloyi;e first furnished the world with the proper key for opening up these mysterious appearances ; but he made considerable mistakes in the applica- tion of it. Dr Smith, in his elaborate and ju- dicious treatise (jf 'Optics," hath applied it • Sec note ♦ p. OR, a.— H. to the apparent distance of objects seen with glasses, and to the apparent figure of the heavens, with such happy success, that there can be no more doubt about the causes of these phenomena. Section XXIII. OV THE SIGNS USED IN OTHER ACQUIRED PER- CEPTIONS. The distance of objects from the eye is the most important lesson in vision. Many others are easily learned in consequence of it. The distance of the object, joined with its visible magnitude, is a sign of its real magnitude : and the distance of the several parts of an object, joined with its visible figure, becomes a sign of its real figure. Thus, when I look at a globe which stands before me, by the original powers of sight I perceive only something of a circular form, variously coloured. The visible figure hath no distance from the eye, no convexitv, nor hath it three dimensions ; even its length and breadth are inca])able of being mea- sured by inches, feet, or other linear mea- sures. But, when I have learned to per- ceive the distance of every part of this object from the eye, this perception gives it convexity, and a spherical figure ; and adds a third dimension to that which had but two before. The distance of the whole object makes me likewise perceive the real magnitude ; for, being accustomed to ob- serve how an inch or a foot of length aftects the eye at that distance, I plainly perceive by my eye the linear dimensions of the globe, and can attirm with certainty that its diameter is about one foot and three inches. It was shewn in the 7th section of this chapter that the visible figure of a body may, by mathematical reasoning, be inferi-ed from its real figure, distance, and position, with regard to the eye: in like inannc!-, we may, by mathematical reason- ing, from the visible figure, together with the distance of the several parts of it from the eye, infer the real figure and position. But this last inference is not commonly made by mathematical reasoning, nor, in- deed, by reasoning of any kind, but by cus- tom. The original appearance which the colour of an object makes to the eye, is a sensa- tion for which we have no name, because it is used merely as a sign, and is never made an object of attention in common life: but this appearance, according to the different, circumstances, signifies various things. If .a i)iece of cloth, of one uniform cdleur, is laid so that [lart f)f it is in the sun, and pait in the shaM tCxoi, &c. of Demo, critus and Epicurus differed from the uhrj, or species of the later I'eripatetic', in this — that the former were confessedly substantive and corporeal, while the latter, as mere accidents, shrewdly puzzled their advocates, to say how they were separcble from a subjert, and whether they were material, immaterial, or soniel.ow nitcrmediate between body and snirii — H. CONCLUSION. 205 ject, than aiiv philosopher had done before him. Intending to build a system upon a new foundation, he began with a resolution to admit nothing but what was abso- lutely certain and evident. He supposed that his senses, his memory, his reason, and every other faculty to which we trust in common life, might be fallacious ; and resolved to disbelieve everything, until he was compelled by irresistible evidence to yield assent. In this method of proceeding, what ap- peared to him, first of all, certain and evident, was, That he thought — that he doubted — that he deliberated. In a word, the operations of his own mind, of which he was conscious, must be real, and no de- lusion ; and, though all his other faculties should deceive him, his consciousness could not.* This, therefore, he looked upon as the first of all truths. This was the first firm ground upon which he set his foot, after being tossed in the ocean of scepticism ; and he resolved to build all knowledge up- on it, without seeking after any more first principles. As every other truth, therefore, and par- ticularly the existence of the objects of sense, was to be deduced by a train of strict argumentation from what he knew by con- sciousness, he was naturally led to give attention to the operations of which he was conscious, without borrowing his notions of them from external things. It was not in the way of analogy, but of attentive reflection, that he was led to observe. That thought, volition, remem- brance, and the other attributes of the mind, are altogether unlike to extension, to figure, and to all the attributes of body ; that we have no reason, there'bre, to con- ceive thinking substances to have any re- semblance to extended substances ; and that, as the attributes of the thinldng sul)- stance are things of which we are coiiscious, we may have a more certain and immediate knowledge of them by reflection, than we can have of external objects by our senses. These observations, as far as I know, were first made by Des Cartes ; and they are of more importance, and throw more light upon the subject, than all that had been said uj)r)n it before. They ought to make us diffident and jealous of every notion concerning the mind and its oper- ations, which is drawn from sensible ob- jects in the way of analogy, and to inaki^ us rely only upon aocurate reflection, as the source of all real knowledge upon this subject. 2. I observe that, as the Peripatetic ♦ DcM Cartes did not rommit Hcid'g error of mak- j iiig con:)CiouMies» a cii-orilii:atf and .'.prcijl laciilly. I system has a tendency to materialize the mind and its operations, so the Cartesian has a tendency to spiritualize body and its qualities. One error, common to both s\ stems, leads to the first of these extremes in the way of analogy, and to tlie last in the way of reflection. The error I mean is. That we can know nothing about body, or its qualities, but as far as we have sens- ations which resemble those qualities. Both systems agreed in this : but, according to their difl'erent methods of reasoning, they drew very different conclusions from it ; the Peripatetic drawing his notions of sensa- tion from the qualities of body ; the Car- tesian, on the contrary, drawing his notions of the qualities of body from his sensa- tions. The Peripatetic, taking it for granted that bodies and their qualities do really exist, and are such as we commonly take them to be, inferred from them the nature of his sensations, and reasoned in this man- ner : — Our sensiitions are the impressions which t-eiisibie objects make upon the mind, and may be comjiared to the impression of a seal upon wax : the impression is the image or form of the seal, without the mat- ter of it ; in like manner, every sensation is the image or form of some sensible qua- lity of the object. This is the reasoning of Aristotle : and it has an evident tendency to materialize the mind and its sensations. The Cartesian, on the contrary, thinks that the existence of body, or of any of its qualities, is not to be taken as a first principle ; and that we ought to admit no- thing concerning it, but what, by just rea- soning, can be deduced from our sensatioiis ; and he knows that, by reflection, we can form clear and distinct notions of our sensa- tions, without borrowing our notions of them by analogy from the objects of sense. The Cartesians, therefore, beginmng to give attention to their sensations, first discovered that the sensations corresponding to second- ary qualities, cannot resemble aiiy quality of body. Hence, Des Cartes and Locke inferred, that sound, taste, smell, colour, heat, and cold, which the vulgar took to be (jualitics of body, were not (pialities of body, but mere sensations of tlie mind." * Dc8 Cartes and Locke made no such inference. 'J'hey only maintained (as Kcid himself states) that found, taste, Ac, as sensations in us, have no re- semblance to any quahty in bodies. If the nanvs, therefore, ol sound, taste, Ac, were to l)e emiiloyrd univocally — i. c, to denote always tliingMthe same or similar — in that ca^ethcy ar(;ued that these terin«, if properly eigi ificant of the seiifalions, cciu'd not be properly apiiliiil to the rdativi' (inalities in external things, 'this is distinctly stated biilh liy ' es Carles and I.ocke. Hut I'es Cartes anil the Cartesians (jI). •erve thit the terms in (|ue^tion are i (|iMvht to carry them farther. Berkeley, frighted at tlie appearance of the dreadful abyss, starts aside, and avoids it. But the author of the " Treatise of Human Nature," more daring and intrepid, without turning aside to the right hand or to the left, like Virgil's Alecto, shoots directly into the gulf: " Hie specus horrendum, et swv\ spiracul* Ditis MoMstrantur : rupf oque ingeiis Aclieroiite vorago Pcstiteras aperit fauces." 4. We may observe. That the account given by the new system, of that furniture of the human understanding which is the gift of Nature, and not the acquisition of our own reasoning faculty, is extremely lame and imperfect. • The natural furniture of the human un- derstanding is of two kinds : First, The notions or simple apprehensions which we have of things ; and, secondly, The judi/- mcnts or the belief which we have concern- ing them. As to our notions, the new sys- tem reduces them to two classes — ideas of sensation, and ideas of reflection : the first are conceived to be copies of our sensations, retained in tlie memory or imagination ; the second, to be copies of the operations of our minds whereof we are conscious, in like manner retained in the memory or imagin- ation : and we are taught that these two comprehend all the materials about which the human understandnig is, or can be em- ployed. As to our judgment of things, or the belief which we have concerning them, the new system allows no part of it to be the gift of nature, but holds it to be the acquisi- tion of reason, and to be got by comparing our ideas, and perceiving their agreements or disagreements. Now I take this account, both of our notions, and of our judgments or belief, to be extremely imperfect ; and I shall briefly point out some of its capital defects. The division of our notions into ideas of sensation, -j- and ideas of reflection, is con- trary to all rules of logic ; because the second member of the divisiou includes the first. For, can we form clear and just notions of our sensations any other way tluin by reflection ? Surely we cannot. Sen.sation is an operation of the mind of which we are conscious ; and we get the notion of sensation by reflecting upon that which we are conscious of. In like manner, doubting and believing are operations of the mind whereof we are conscious ; and we get the notion of them by reflecting upou what we are conscious of. The ideas of sensation, therefore, are ideas of reflection, • The following summary refers principally to I,OL-kc. — H. + It inust be remembered that under Sensation Locke and others included Perception proper and Hi-nsa: ion pn per. — ii . as much as the ideas of doubting, or be- lieving, or any other ideas whatsoever.* But, to pass over the inaccuracy of this division, it is extremely incomplete. For, since .sensation is an operation of the mind, as well as all the other things of which we form our notions by reflection, w^hen it is asserted that all our notions are either ideas of sensation or ideas of reflection, the plain English of this is, That mankind neither do nor can think of anything but of the operations of their own minds. No- thing can be more contrary to truth, or more contrary to the experience of man- kind. I know that Locke, while he main- tained this doctrine, believed the notions which we have of body and of its qualities, and the notions which we have of motion and of space, to be ideas of sensation. But why did he believe this ? Because he believed those notions to be nothing else but images of our sensations. If, there- fore, the notions of body and its qualities, of motion and space, be not images of our sensations, will it not follow that those notions are not ideas of sensation ? Most certainly. -|- * I do not see how this criticism on Locke's divi. sion can bedefended, or even excused. It is perfectly evident that Reid here confounds tke proper ideai of sensation — that is, ihe ideas of the qualities of matter, about which sensat'on (perception) is conversant — with the idea of sensation itself— that is, the idea of this faculty as an attribute of mind, and which is the oliject of a refltx consciousness. Nor would it be competentto maintain that Locke, allowing no im- mediate knowledge of aught but of mind and its contents, consequently reduces all our faculties to self-consciousness, and thus abolishes the distinction ol sensation (perception) and reflection, as separate faculties, the one conversant with the qualities of the external world, the other with the qualities of the internal. For, in the first place, it would still be logically competent, on th« hypothesis that mII our knowledge is exclusively of self, to divide the ideas we possessed, into classes, according as these were given as representations of the iion-ego by the ego, or as phjenomena of the ego itself. In th > sr-- cond place, Reid's criticism dut wisdom In the inward parta f* - J"" C^ This impression of the " Essays on the Intellectual Powers," is made from the only authentic edition — that of 1785, in 4to. For the convenience of reference the pages of that edition are distinguished in the present ; and by these pages I shall always, in the notes, prospeclively, quote. They will be found marked both in the text and on the lower margin, — H. DEDICATION. TO MR DUGALD STEWART, f.ATELY PROFESSOR OF MATHEMATICS, NOW PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY, ANO DR JAMES GREGORY, PROFESSOR OF THE THEORY OF PHYSIC IN THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH.* My Dear Friends, — I know not to whom I can address these Essays with more propriety than to you ; not only on account of a friendship bej^uu in early life on your part, though in old age on mine, and in one of you I may say hereditary ; nor yet on account of that correspondence in our literary pursuits and amusements, which has always given me so great plea- sure ; but because, if these Essays have any merit, you have a considerable share in it, having not only encouraged me to hope that [iv.] they may be useful, but favoured me with your observations on every part of them, both before they were sent to the press, and while they were under it. I have availed myself of your observa- tions, so as to correct many faults that might otherwise have escaped me ; and I have a very grateful sense of your friend- ship, in giving this aid to one who stood much in need of it ; having no shame, but much pleasure, in being instructed liy those who formerly were my pupils, as one of you was. It would be ingratitude to a man whose memory I most highly respect, not to men- tion my obligations to the late Lord Karnes, for the concern he was pleased to take in this Work. Having seen a small part of it, he urged me to carry it on ; took acount of my i)rogres8 from time to time ; revised it more than once, as far as it was carried, before his deatii ; ami gave me his observa- tions on it, both with respect to the matter and the expression. On some points wo • Sec above, in " Corrcspmiilencc," p._ 05, a.— H. Oii- -vi.l differed in opinion, and debated them keenly, both in conversation and by many letters, without any abatement of his affec- tion, or of his zeal for the work's being carried on and published : for he had too much liberality of mmd not to allow to [v.] others the same liberty in judging which he claimed to himself. It is difficult to say whether that worthy man was more eminent in active life or in speculation. Very rare, surely, have been the instances where the talents for both were united in so eminent a degree. His genius and industry, in many differ- ent branches of literature, will, by his works, be known to posterity : his private virtues and public spirit, his assiduity, through a long and laborious life, in many honourable public offices with which he was entrusted, and his zeal to encourage and promote everything that tended to tho improvement of his counti-y in laws, litera- ture, commerce, manufactures, and agricul- ture, are best known to his frienils and contemporaries. The favourable opinion whicli ho, and you my friends, were pleased to express of this work, has been my chief encourage- ment to lay it before the public ; and per- haps, without that encouragement, it had never seen the light : for I have always found, that, witliout social intercourse, even a favourite speculation languishes; and thatwecamiot help tliiiikiiig the betti'rofour own opinions Lvi-J when they are ap|)roved by those whom we esteem good judges. Yon know that the snbslanco of these Essays was delivcreil annually, for nioro 216 niEFACC. than twenty years, in Lectures to a large body of tlic more advanced students in this University, and for several years before, in another University. Those who heard me with attention, of \\h()m I presume there are some hundreds alive, will i-ecoguise the doctrine which they heard, some of them thirty years ago, delivered to them more diffusely, and with the repetitions and illus- trations proper for such audiences, I am afraid, indeed, that the more intel- ligent reader, who is conversant in such abstract subjects, may think that there are repetitions still left, which might be spared. Such, I hope, will consider, that what to one reader is a superfluous repetition, to the greater part, less conversant in such subjects, may be very useful. If this apo- logy be deemed insufficient, and be thought to be the dictate of laziness, I claim some indulgence even for that laziness, at my period of life, [vii.] You who are in the prime of life, with the vigour which it inspires, will, I hope, make more happy advances in this or in any other branch of science to which your taleuta may be applied. Tho, Reid, Glasgow College, June I, 1785. PREFACE. Human knowledge may be reduced to two general heads, according as it relates to body or to mind ; to thmgs material or to things intellectual.* The whole system of bodies in the imi- verse, of which we know but a very small part, may be called the Material World ; the whole system of minds, from the infinite Creator to the meanest creature endowed with thought, may be called the Intellectual World, These are the two great kingdoms of nature-f that fall within our notice ; and about the one, or the other, or things pertaining to them, every art, every science, and every human thought is employed ; nor can the boldest flight of imagination carry us beyond their limits. Many things there are, indeed, regarding the nature and the structure both of body and of mind, which our faculties cannot reach ; many difficulties which the ablest philosopher cannot resolve : but of other * See Stewart's " Life and Writings of Reid," supra, p. It ; and hi3 " Elements," vol. I., introduc- tion ; Jouffroy, in the preface to his " Oeuvres de Reid," t. i., pp. 23-53. This important Preface will soon be made generally accessible to the British pub. lie by a highly competent translator. — H. f The term Nature is used sometimes in a wider, sometimes in a narrower extension. When employed in its most extensive meaning, it embraces the two worlds ot mind and matter. When employed in its more restricted signification, it is a synonyme for the latter only, and is then used in contradistinction to the former. In the Greek philosophy, the word Cua-ii was general in its meaning; and the great branch of philosophy styled " physical or physiolo- gical," included under it not only the sciences of matter, but also those of mind. With us, the term Nature is more vaguely extensive than the terms, physics, phi/sical, physiology, physiological, or even tnan the adjective natural; whereas, in the philo- sophy of Germany, Natur, and its correlatives, wlu thcr of Greek or Latin derivation, are, in general, expressive of the world of matter in contrast to the world of intelligence. — H. Ivii.-2J natures, if any other there be, we have no knowledge, no conception at all. That everything that exists must be either corporeal or incorporeal is evident. But it is not so evident that everything [2] that exists must either be corporeal or endowed with thought. Whether there be in the universe beings which are neither extended, solid, and inert, like body, nor active and intelligent, like mmd, seems to be beyond the reach of our knowledge. There appears to be a vast interval between body and mind ; and whether there be any interme- diate nature that connects them together, we know not. We have no reason to ascribe intelli- gence, or even sensation, to plants ; yet there appears in them an active force and energy, which cannot be the result of any arrangement or combination of inert matter. The same thmg may be said of those powers by which animals are nourished and grow, by which matter gravitates, by which mag- netical and electrical bodies attract and repel each other, and by which the parts of solid bodies cohere. Some have conjectured that the phseno- mena of the material world which require active force, are produced by the continual operation of intelligent beings : others have conjectured that there may be in the uni- verse, beings that are active, without in- telligence, which, as a kind of incorporeal machinery, contrived by the supreme wis- dom, perform their destined task without any knowledge or intention.* But, laying aside conjecture, and all pretences to deter- mine in things beyond our reach, we must + Like the tripods of Vulcan— ' 0?{a 01 ivro/xocrci Suet ^vitkIki' iymcc — H. PREFACE. 217 rest in this, that body and mind are the only kinds of being of which we can have any knowledge, or can form any concep- tion. If there are other kinds, they are not discoverable by the faculties which God hath given us ; and, with regard to us, are as if they were not. [3] As, therefore, all our knowledge is con- fined to body and muid, or things belonging to them, there are two great branches of philosophy, one relating to body, the other to mmd. ' The properties of body, and the laws that obtain in the material system, are the objects of natural philosophy, as that word is now used. The branch which treats of the nature and operations of minds has, by some, been called Pncumatology.* And to the oueor the otherof these branches, the principles of all the sciences belong. What variety there may be of minds or thinking beings, throughout this vast uni- verse, we cannot pretend to say. We dwell in a little corner of God's dominion, dis- joined from the rest of it. The globe which we inhabit is but one of seven planets that encircle our sun. What various orders of beings may inhabit the other six, their secondaries, and the comets belonging to our system, and how many other suns may be encircled with like systems, are things altogether hid from us. Although human reason and indu&try have discovered, with great accuracy, the order and distances of the planets, and the laws of their motion, we have no means of corresponding with them. That they may be the habitation of animated beings, is very probable ; but of the nature or powers of their inhabitants, we are perfectly ignorant. Every man is conscious of a thinking principle, or mind, in himself; and we have sufficient evidence of a like principle in other men. The actions of brute animals shew that they have some thinking principle, though of a nature far inferior to the human mind. And everything about us may convince us of the existence of a supreme mind, the ]Maker and Governor of the universe. These are all the minds of which reason can give us any certain knowledge. [4] The mind of man is the noblest work of God whicli reason discovers to us, and, therefore, on account of its dignity, deserves our study.-]- It nuist, indeed, be acknow- ledged, that, although it is of all objects the nearest to us, and seems the most within cur reach, it is very difficult to attend to its operations so as to form a distinct notion • Now properly suporscdcil liy the term I'sychul- iit^y ■ to v-iiieh no eoinpeteiil olijietioii can be iiiadc, and wIikIi aTrords u«— what the various clunisy [icri. piirasi's in u-e do not — a convenient adjcclive.ps^cAy- luf;iciil. — \ I. \ •• On earth," says a forgotten pliilosojiher, " there is nottiinj! great Imt Man; in mmm there is uutiiinK (;r(at l)iit Mmd. "--il 1.3— .'>l of them i and on that account there is no branch of knowledge in which the ingenious and speculative have fallen into so great errors, and even absurdities. These errors and absurdities have given rise to a general prejudice against all inquiries of this nature. Because ingenious men have, for many ages, given difi'erent and contradictory accounts of the powers of the mind, it is concluded that all speculations concerning them are chimerical and visionary. But whatever effect this prejudice may have with superficial thiidicrs, the judicious ■svill not be apt to be carried away with it. About two hundred years ago, the opinions of men m natural philosophy were as various and as contradictory as they are now con- cerning the powers of the mind. Galileo, Torricelli, Kepler, Bacon, and Newton, had the same discouragement in their attempts to throw light upon the material system, as we have with regard to the in- tellectual. If they had been deterred by such prejudices, we should never have reaped the benefit of their discoveries, which do honour to human nature, and will make their names immortal. The motto which Lord Bacon prefixed to some of his writings was worthy of his genius, Jnveniam viam aul faciam. * There is a natural order in the progress of the sciences, and good reasons may be assigned why the philosophy of body should [5] be el:Ier sis/er to that of mind, and of a quicker growth ; but the last hath the prin- ciple of life no less than the first, and will grow up, though slowly, to maturity. The remains of ancient philosophy upon this subject, are venerable ruins, carrying the marks of genius and industry, sufficient to inflame, but not to satisfy our curiosity. In later ages, Des Cartes was the first that pointed out the road we ought to take in those dark regions. Malebranche, Arnauld, Locke, Berkeley, Buffier, Ilutcheson, Butler, Hume, Price, Lord Karnes, have laboured to make discoveries— nor have they laboured in vain; for, however different and contrary their conclusions are, how- ever sceptical some of them, they have all given new light, and cleared the way to those who shall come after them. We ought never to despair of human genius, but rather to hope that, in time, it may produce a system of the powers and operations of the human mind, no less cer- tain than those of o|)tics or astroiioniy. This is the more devoutly to be wished, that a distinct knowledge of the powers of the mind would nndoulitedly give great light any otlur ))i;uicin'S of science. Mr le hath justly observed, that " all tin' to ma Hume • .Sec Mr Rtcwmfg " rhilosoi>hlrnl Essays," J're- liininary liisstitdion, ch, ti 218 PREFACE. sciences have a relation to human nature ; and, however wide any of them may seem to run from it, they still return back by one passage or another. This is the centre and capital of the sciences," which, being once masters of, we may easily extend our con- quests everywhere." The faculties of our minds are the tools and engines we must use in every disquisi- tion ; and the better we understand their [C] nature and force, the more successfully we shall be able to apply them. Mr Locke gives this account of the occasion of his entering upon his essay concerning human understanding : — " Five or six friends," says he, " meeting at my chamber, and dis- coursing on a subject very remote from this, found themselves quickly at a stand by the difficulties that rose on every side. After we had for a while puzzled ourselves, without coming any nearer to a resolution of those doubts that perplexed us, it came into my thoughts that we took a wrong course ; and that, before we set ourselves upon inquiries of that nature, it was neces- sary to examine our own abilities, and see what objects our understandings were fitted or not fitted to deal with. This I proposed to the company, who all readily assented ; and thereupon it was agreed that this should be our first enquiry." If this be commonly the cause of perplexity in those disquisi- tions which have least relation to the mind, it must be so much more in those that have an immediate connection with it. The sciences may be distinguished into two classes, according as they pertain to the material or to the intellectual world. The various parts of natural philosophy, the mechanical arts, chemistry, medicine, and agriculture, belong to the first ; but, to the last, belong grammar, logic, rhetoric, na- * Hume probably had the siying of Polybius in liis eye, who calls History the mother city (^jjTjoa-o- Ki; ) of Philosophy.— H. [6- 7] tural theology, morals, jurisprudence, law. politics, and the fine arts. The know- ledge of the human mind is the root from which these grow, and draw their nourish- ment." Whether, therefore, we consider the dignity of this subject, or its subser- viency to science in general, and to the noblest branches of science in particular, it highly deserves to be cultivated. [7] A very elegant writer, on the sublime and beaut'iful,-\ concludes his account of the passions thus : — " The variety of the pas- sions is great, and worthy, in every branch of that variety, of the most diligent inves- tigation. The more accurately we search into the human mind, the stronger traces we everywhere find of His wisdom who made it. If a discourse on the use of the parts of the body may be considered as a hymn to the Creator,:]: the use of the passions, which are the organs of the mind, cannot be barren of praise to Him, nor unproductive to ourselves of that noble and uncommon union of science and admiration, which a contemplation of the works of infinite Wis- dom alone can afford to a rational mind ; whilst referring to Him whatever we find of right, or good, or fair, in ourselves, dis- covering His strength and wisdom even in our own weakness and imperfection, honouring them where we discover them clearly, and adoring their profundity where we are lost in our search, we may be inquisitive with- out impertinence, and elevated without pride ; we may be admitted, if I may dare to say so, into the counsels of the Almighty, by a consideration of his works. This ele- vation of the mind ought to be the principal end of all our studies, which, if they do not in some measure effect, they are of very little service to us." * It is justly observed by M. Jouffroy, that the division here enounced is not in principle identical with that previously propounded. — H. t Burke.— H. t Galeix is referred to— H. ESSAYS ON TUB INTELLECTUAL POWERS OF MAN. ESSAY I. PRELIMINARY. CHAPTER I. EXPLICATION OF WORDS. There is no greater impediment to the advancement of knowledge than the ambi- guity of words. To this chiefly it is owing that we find sects and parties La most brandies of science ; and disputes which are carried on from age to age, without being brought to an issue. Sophistry has been more effectually ex- cluded from mathematics and natural philosophy than from other sciences. In mathematics it had no place from the begin- ning ; matheraaticians having had the wis- dom to define accurately the terms they use, and to lay down, as axioms, the first prin- ciples on which their reasoning is grounded. Accordingly, we find no parties among ma- thematicians, and hardly any disputes.* [10] In natural philosophy, there was no less sophistry, no less dispute and uncertainty, than in other sciences, until, about a cen- tury and a half ago, this science began to be built upon the foundation of clear defini- tions and self-evident axioms. Since that time, the science, as if watered with the dew of Heaven, hath grown apace ; dis- putes have ceased, truth hath prevailed, and the science hath received greater in- crease in two centuries than in two thous- and years before. It were to be wished that this method, wliich hath been so successful in those branches of science, were attempted in others ; for definitions and axioms are the foundations of all science. But that defini- tions may not be sought where no defini- tion can be given, nor logical definitions be attempted where the subject does not admit of them, it may be proper to lay down some general principles concerning definition, for " It was not the superior wiBcloin iif mathoiiia- ticiarit, but the Hiiii|)l<> aii — 11. Lu. ivj there is no absurdity in supposing a bein to have power to operate, when it does u<^ operate. Thus I may have power to walk, when I sit ; or to speak, when I am silent. Every operation, therefore, implies power ; but the power does not imply the operation. The faculties of the mind, and its powers, are often used as synonymous expressions. But, as most synonymcs have some minute distinction that deserves notice, I apprehend that the word /ac«% [15] is most properly applied to those powers of the mind which are original and natural, and which make a part of the constitution of the mind. There are other powers, which are acquired by use, exercise, or study, which are not called faculties, but habits. There must be some- thing in the constitution of the mind neces- sary to our being able to acquire habits and this is commonly called capacity.' 4. We frequently meet with a distinction in writers upon this subject, between things in the mind, and things corlcrnul to the mind. The powers, faculties, and operations of the mind, are things in the mind. Everything is said to be in the mind, of which the mind is the subject. It is self-evident that there are some things which cannot exist without a subject to which they belong, and of which tliey are attributes. Thus, colour must be in something coloured ; figure in something figured ; thought can only be in something that thinks ; wisdom and virtue cannot exist but in some being that is wise and virtuous. When, therefore, we speak of things in the mind, we understand by this, things of which the mind is the subject. Excc[iting the mind itself, and things in the mind, all other things are said to be external. It ought therefore to be remembered, that this dis- tinction between things in the mind and things external, is not meant to signify the place of the things we speak of, but their subject. -j- There is a figurative sense in which things are said to be in the mind, which it is suf- ficient barely to mention. We say such a thing was not in my mind ; meaning no more than that I had not the least thought of it. By a figure, we put thcthing for the thought * Tho.iC terms properly stand in the followiiic; re lations •.—I'oUH'rs are active iinil pnssiih\ nnliirut ami acquired. I'owcrs, natural ar.daelive,.areralletl t'aciilliis : I'owcrs, natural ai'il passive, r(;/).7i-iY/ij or Ilcccptivilii s : I'owtrs aeijiiired arc llnlhts, .ind habit 18 used both in anaetiveand in a pa^i-iveeense; the Power, again, ol ae<|uirin>! a h.ibil, i.s called n Disposition.— On the meanini,' ot the term I'ower, see further, under the lirst Kssay on tho Active I'owers, chap, iii , p •-':( — II f Subject and (tijcct .ire correlative Icrmi. I'lic former i* properly /(/ in i/i/u : liie laller, id ciicn quod. Hence, in psycholdKicul lan^u.-ine, the juAy-c/, absolutely, is the niiiiil Ihal knows or thinks— i <•., the mind considireil as the subject ol knowledne or tliuuijhl ; the til'jccl, that which is known, or tlioiij;lit about. I'he .idjciiivi's sulijcftivr ntn\ ol'jcctivc are convenient, il not indLviientable, expicssiuns.— II. 222 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [^ESSAY I. of it. In this sense external things are in the mind as often as they are the objects of our tliought. 5. Thinking is a very general word, which includes all the operations of our minds, and is so well understood as to need no defi- nition.* [IG] To percKive, to remember, to be conscious, and to conceive or imagine, are words com- mon to philosophers and to the vulgar. They signify different operations of the mind, which are distinguished in all lan- guages, and by all men that think. I shall endeavour to use them in their most com- mon and proper acceptation, and I think they are hardly capable of strict definition. But, as some philosophers, in treating of the mind, have taken the liberty to use them very improperly, so as to corrupt the Eng- lish language, and to confound things which the common understanding of man- kind hath always led them to distinguish, I shall make some observations on the mean- ing of them, that may prevent ambiguity or confusion in the use of them. G. First, We are never said to perceive things, of the existence of which we have not a full conviction. I may conceive or imagine a mountain of gold, or a winged horse ; but no man says that he perceives such a creature of imagination. Thus per- ception is distinguished from conception or imagination. Secondly, Perception is ap- plied only to external objects, not to those that are in the mind itself. When I am pained, I do not say that I perceive pain, but that I feel it, or that I am conscious of it. Thus, perception is distinguished from consciousness. Thirdly, The immediate object of perception must be something pre- sent, and not what is past. We may re- member what is past, but do not perceive it. I may say, I perceive such a person has had the small-pox ; but this phrase is figurative, although the figure is so familiar that it is not observed. The meaning of it is, that I perceive the pits in his face, which are certain signs of his having had the small pox. We say we perceive the thing signi- tied, when we only perceive the sign. But when the word perception is used properly, and without any figure, it is never applied to things past. And thus it is distinguished from remembrance. In a woi'd, perception is most properly applied to the evidence which we have of external objects by our senses. But, as this is a [17] very clear and cogent kind of evidence, the word is often applied by ana- logy to the evidence of reason or of testi- • ThotightaxiA thinking are used in a more, and in a less, restricted signification. In the former mean- ing they are limited to the discursive energies alone ; in the latter, they are co-extensive with conscious- ness. — H. [ 16-18"! niony, when it is clear and cogent. The perception of external objects by our senses, is an operation of the mind of a peculiar nature, and ought to have a name appro- priated to it. It has so in all languages. And, in English, I know no word more proper to express this act of the mind than perception. Seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, and touching or feeling, are words that express the operations, proper to each sense ; perceiving expresses that which is common to them all. The observations made on this word would have been unnecessary, if it had not been so much abused in philosophical writings upon the mind ; for, in other writ- ings, it nas no obscurity. Although this abuse is not chargeable on Mr Hume only, yet I think he has carried it to the highest pitch. The first sentence of his " Treatise of Hunian Nature" runs thus :-— " All the perceptions of the human mind resolve themselves into two distinct heads, which I shall call impressions and ideas." He adds, a little after, that, under the nam* of impressions, he comprehends all our sensations, passions, and emotions. Here we learn that our passions and emotions are perceptions. I beUeve, no English writer before him ever gave the name of a perception to any passion or emotion. When a man is angry, we must say that he has the perception of anger. When he is in love, that he has the perception of love. He speaks often of the perceptions of me- mory, and of the perceptions of imagina- tion ; and he might as well speak of the hearing of sight, or of the smelling of touch ; for, surely, hearing is not more different from sight, or smelling from touch, than perceiving is from remembering or imagin- ing.* 7- Consciousness is a word used bv philosophers, to signify that immediate knowledge which we have of our present thoughts and purposes, and, in general, of all the present operations of our minds. Whence we may observe, that conscious- ness is only of things present. To apply consciousness to things past, which some- times [ 18] is done in popular discourse, is to confound consciousness with memory ; and all such confusion of words ought to be avoided in philosophical discourse. It is likewise to be observed, that consciousness • In the Cartesian and Lockian philosophies, the term Perception was used almost convertibly with Consciousness : whatever we could be said to be conscious of, that we could be said to perceive. And there is nothing in the etymology of the word, or in its use by ancient writers, that renders this unexclu. sive application of it abusive. In the Leibnitzian pliilosophy, perception and apperception were dis. tinguished in a peculiar manner — of which again. Reld IS right in his own restriction of the term; but he is not warranted in blaming Humefor having used it in the wider signification of his predecessors. — H. euAP. 1.3 EXPLICATION OF WORDS. 223 is only of things in the mind, and not of external things. It is improper to say, I am conscious of the table which is before me. I perceive it, I see it ; but do not say I am conscious of it. As that consciousness by which we have a knowledge of the opera- tions of our own minds, is a different power from that by which we perceive external objects, and as these different powers have different names in our language, and, I believe, in all languages, a philosopher ought carefully to preserve this distinction, and never to confound things so different in their nature." 8. Conceiving, imagining, and appre- hending, are commonly used as synony- mous hi our language, and signify the same thing which the logicians call simple appre- hension. This is an operation of the mind different from all tliose we have mentioned. Whatever we perceive, whatever we re- member, whatever we are conscious of, we have a full persuasion or conviction of its existence. But we may conceive or imagine what has no existence, and what we firmly believe to have no existence. What never had an existence cannot be remembered ; what has no existence at present cannot be the object of perception or of conscious- ness ; but what never had, nor has any existence, may be conceived. Every man knows that it is as easy to conceive a winged horse, or a centaur, as it is to conceive ahorse or a man. Let it be observed, therefore, that to conceive, to imagine, to apprehend, when taken in the proper sense, signify an act of the mind which implies no belief or judg- ment at all.+ It is an act of the mind by which nothing is affirmed or denied, and which, therefore, can neither be true nor false. But there is another and a very different meaning of those words, so common and so well authorized in language that it cannot easily be avoided ; and on that account we ought to be the more on our guard, that we be not misled by the ambiguity. I'o- ateness and [19] good-breeding lead men, on most occasions, to express their opinions with modesty, especially when they differ from others whom they ought to respect. Therefore, when we would express our opinion modestly, instead of saying, " This ismyopinion," or, "This is my judgment," which has the air of dogmaticalness, we say, "I conceive it to be thus. — I imagine, or ap- prehend it to be thus ;" which is understood aa a modest declaration of our judgmcnt- In like manner, when anything is said which we take to be impossible, we say, " We can- • Heid's degradation of Consciousncis into n ipccial faculty, (in which he teems to follow Hut- cheion, in opiiositioii to other |>hiluio|ihers,] is, in every iKjint of view, obfioxioua to cver7 possible ob- jection. .See note II. — H t Except of its own ideal reality. — H. [ly, 20 1 not conceive it ;" meaiung that we cannot believe it. Thus we see that the words conceive, imagine, apprehend, have two meanings, and are used to express two operations of the mind, which ought never to be con- founded. Sometimes they express simple apprehension, which implies no judgment at all ; sometimes they express judgment or opinion. This ambiguity ought to be at- tended to, that we may not impose upon ourselves or others in the use of tliem. The ambiguity is indeed remedied, in a great measure, by their construction. When they are used to express simple apprehcn« sion, they are followed by a noun in the accusative case, which signifies the object conceived ; but, when they are used to ex- press opinion or judgment, they are com- monly followed by a verb, in the infinitive mood. " I conceive an Egyptian pyramid." This implies no judgment. " I conceive the Egyptian pyramids to be the most an- cient monuments of human art." This imphes judgment. When the words are used in the last sense, the thing conceived must be a proposition, because judgment cannot be expressed but by a proposition. When they are used in the first sense, the thing conceived may be no proposition, but a simple term only — as a pyramid, an obe- lisk. Yet it may be observed, that even a proposition may be simply apprehended, without forming any judgment of its truth or falsehood : for it is one thing to conceive the meaning of a proposition ; it is another thing to judge it to bo true or false. [20] Although the distinction between simple apprehension, and every degree of assent or judgment, be perfectly evident to every man who reflects attentively on what passes in his own mind — although it is very neces- sary, in treatuig of the powers of the mind, to attend carefully to this distinction — yet, in the afl'airs of common life, it is seldom necessary to observe it accurately. On this account we shall iii^, in all conmion languages, the words whWh express one of those operations frequently applied to the other. To think, to sujipose, to imagine, to conceive, to apprehend, are the words wc use to express simple ajiprehension ; but they are all frequently used to express judgment. Tiieir ambiguity seldom occa- sions any inconvenience in tlie connnon aflairs of life, for which language is franif d. But it has perplexed jjliilosophcrs, in treat- ing of the oi)eratii)ns of the mind, and will always jierplex tliem, if tlioy do not attend accurately to the ditlorent meanings which are put upon tiiose words y all men as an act or operation of the mind, and, on that account, has been ex- pressed in all languages by an active verb. When, therefore, we use the phrase of having ideas, in the popular sense, we ought to attend to this, that it signifies precisely the same thing which we com- monly express by the active verbs, conceiv- ing or apprehending. When the word idea is taken in thi? po- pular sense, no man can possibly doubt whether he has ideas. For he that doubts must think, and to think is to have ideas. Sometimes, in popular language, a man's ideas signify his opinions. The ideas of Aristotle, or of Epicurus, signify the opinions of these philosophers. What was formerly said of the words imagine, conceive, apprehend, that they are sometimes used to express judgment, is no less true of the word idea. This signification of the word seems indeed more common in the French language than in English. But it is found in this sense in good English authors, and even in JMr Locke. Thus we see, that having ideas, taken in the popular sense, has precisely the same meaning with conceiv- ing, imagining, apprehending, and has like- wise [23 j the same ambiguity. It may, there- fore, be doubted, whether the introduction of this word into popular discourse, to signify the operation of conceiving or apprehending, was at all necessary. For, first, We have, as has been shewn, several words which are either originally English, or have been long naturalized, that express the same thing ; * Oi! l!ic history of the term Idea, see Note G.— 11. CHAP. I.] EXPLICATION OF WORDS. 2-25 why, therefore, should we adopt a Greek word, in place of these, any more than a French or a German word ? Besides, the words of our own language are less ambi- guous. For the word idea has, for many ages, been used by philosophers as a term of art ; and in the different systems of phi- losophers means very different things. Secondly, According to the philosophi- cal meaning of the word idea, it does not signify that act of the mind which we call thought or conception, but some object of thought. Ideas, accordiug to Mr Locke, (^\ hose very frequent use of this word has probably been the occasion of its being adopted into common language,) " are nothing but the immediate objects of the mind in thinking." But of those objects of thought called ideas, different sects of phi- losophers have given a very different ac- count. Bruckerus, a learned German,'wrote a whole book, giving the history of ideas. The most ancient system we have con- cerning ideas, is that which is explained in several dialogues of Plato, and which many ancient, as well as n;oderu writers, have ascribed to Plato, as the inventor. But it is certain that Plato had his doctrine upon this subject, as well as the name i'lea, from the school of Pythagoras. We have still extant, a tract of Timieus, the Locrian, a Pythagorean philosopher, concerning the soul of the world, in which we find the sub- stance of Plato's doctrine concerning ideas.* They were held to be eternal, uncreated, and immutable forms, or models, according to which the Deity made every species of things that exists, of an eternal matter. Those philosophers held, that there are three first principles of all things: F'usl, An eternal matter, of which all tilings were made ; Second/i/, Eternal and immaterial forms, or ideas, according to whichthcy were made; and, [24] T/iirrlly, AnefWcicnt L-.iuse, the Deity who made theni.-|- The mind of man, in order to its being fitted for the con- templation of these eternal ideas, must un- dergo a certain purification, and be weaned from sensible things. Tlie eternal ideas arc the only oljject of science ; because the ob- jectsof sense, being in a perpetual flux, there canbeno real knowledge with regard to thcin. The philosophers of the Alexandrian school, commonly called llic latter Plalo- nisls, made some change upon the system of the ancient Platonists with respect to the eternal ideas. They held them not to be a princijile distinct from the Deity, but to be tlie conceptions of things in the divine un- ♦ The whole series of Pythagorean treatises and fragments in the Doric clialcc, in which the di)C- trirjou and (jhra'fc'olopy (if I'lato-anil Aristotle an' so marvellounly anticipated, are now iirovtd to l)e coni- parativtly recent I'lrgerics. Of ihese, the treatise under the name of I'im.rus, is one. — \i. \ .See aiiove, p- '^Ut, a, note ' — II. [24, 2.5] derstanding ;tlie natures and essences of all things being perfectly known to him from eternity. It ought to be observed that the Pythago- reans, and the Platonists, whether elder or latter, made the eternal'ideas to be objects of science only, and of abstract contempla- tion, not the objects of sense.* And in this, the ancient system of eternal ideas differs from the modern one of Father Ma- lebranche. He held, in common with other modern philosophers, that no external thing is perceived by us immediately, but only by ideas. But he thought that the ideas, by which we perceive an external world, are the ideas of the Deity himself, in whose mind the ideas of all things, past, present, and future, must have been from eternity; for the Deity being intimately present to our minds at all times, may dis- cover to us as much of his ideas as he sees proper, according to certain established laws of nature ; and in his ideas, as in a mirror, w^e perceive whatever we do per- ceive of the external world. Thus we have three systems, which main- tain that the ideas which are the imme- diate objects of human knowledge, are eternal and immutable, and existed before the things which they represent. There are other systems, accordiug to which the ideas which are the immediate objects of all our thoughts, are posterior to the things which they represent, and derived from them. We shall [25] give some account of these ; but, as they have gradually sprung out of the ancient Peripatetic system, it is necessary to begin with some account of it. Aristotle taught that all the objects of our thought enter at first by the senses ; and, since the sense cannot receive external material objects themselves, it receives their species — that is, their images or forms, without the matter; as wax receives tlie form of the seal without any of the matter c)f it. These images or forms, impressed upon the senses, are called sen.sVile species, and are the objects only of the sensitive jiart of the mind ; but, by various internal powers, they are retained, refined, and spiritualized, so as to become objects of memory and imagina- tion, and, at last, of pure intellection. When they are objects of memory and of imagination, they get the name(>f/)/*aw/rtA'»is. When, by farther refinement, and being stripped of their particularities, tliey become ol)jects of science, they are called intclli- H'lble species : so that every inunediato « Roid, in common with onr philosophers In general, had no knowledge i-f the Platonic theory of scnsihU percr.iliini; and yet tbc gnostic Joiins, the cnfiniliiif rt'iisiiiis of the Platonists, held afar more proximate relation ti> idcaf in the modern acceptation, than the Plaion c idi'as themselves. 'Jhesr, in fact, n« to all that relates to tlie '(jcirineof pcrccpilnn und ima. ginalinn, may he thrown wli.lly i nt of .-iccoinit. Se» l)( low.iitider \>, IIH. — II. 2-26 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay I. object, whether of sense, of memory, of imagination, or of reasoning, must be some phantasm or species in the mind itself.* The followers of Aristotle, especially the schoolmen, made great additicjns to this theory, which the author himself mentions very briefly, and with an appearance of reserve. They entered into large disquisi- tions with regard to the sensible species : what kind of things they are ; how they are sent forth by the object, and enter by the organs of the senses ; how they are preserved and refined by various agents, called internal senses, concerning the num- ber and offices of which they had many controversies. But we shall not enter into a detail of these matters. The reason of giving this brief account of the theory of the Peripatetics, with regard to the immediate objects of our thoughts, is, because the doctrine of modern philoso- phers concerning ideas is built upon it. Mr Locke, who uses this word so very fre- quently, tells us, that he means the same thing by it as is commonly [26] meant by species or phantasm. Gassendi, from whom Locke borrowed more than from any other author, says the same. The words species and phantasm, are terms of art in the Peripa- tetic system, and the meaning of them is to be learned from it.-|- The theory of Democritus and Epicurus, on this subject, was not very unlike to that of the Peripatetics. They held that all bodies continually send forth slender films or spectres from their surface, of such extreme subtilty that they easily penetrate our gross bodies, or enter by the organs of sense, and stamp their image upon the mind. The sensible species of Aristotle were mere forms without matter. The spectres of Epicurus were composed of a very subtile matter. Modern philosophers, as well as the Peri- patetics and Epicureans of old, have con- ceived that external objects cannot be the immediate objects of our thought ; that there must be some image of them m the mind itself, in which, as in a mirror, they are seen. And the name idea, in the philo- sophical sense of it, is given to those inter- nal and immediate objects of our thoughts. The external thing is the remote or mediate object ; but the idea, or image of that object in the mind, is the immediate object, without • This is a tolerable account of the doctrine vulgarly attributed to Aristotle. — H. ■^ If by this it be meant that the terms of species and phantasm, as occasionally employed by Gassendi and lx)cljecl, as perceived, I give the name of i>«;»<-.isio7i.— Nor can the act ol perception (he would add) be really disliiguished Irom Ihccili. Ject perceived. Both are only relatives, mutually constituent of the same indivi ihle relaticm ol know, ledge : anTHE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay /. that he has written ou this subject, I find this word impression sometimes used to sig- nify an operation of the mind, sometimes the object of the operation ; but, for the most part, it is a vague and indetermined word that signifies both, I know not whether it may be considered as an apology for such abuse of words, in an author who understood the language so well, and used it with so great propriety in writ- ing on other subjects, [30] that Mr Hume's system, with regard to tlie mind, required a language of a different structure from the common : or, if expressed in plain English, would have been too shocking to the com- mon sense of mankind. To give an instance or two of this. If a man receives a present on which he puts a high value, if he see and handle it, and put it in his pocket, this, says Mr Hume, is an impression. If the man only dream that he received such a present, this is an idea. Wherein lies the difference between this impression and this idea — between the dream and the reality ? They are different classes or species, says Mr Hume : so far all men will agree with him. But he adds, that they are distinguished only by different degrees of force and viva- city. Here he insinuates a tenet of his own, in contradiction to the commonsense of mankind. Common sense convinces every man, that a lively dream is no nearer to a reality than a faint one ; and that, if a man should dream that he had all the wealth of Croesus, it would not put one farthing in his pocket. It is impossible to fabricate ar- guments against such undeniable principles, without confounding the meaning of words. In like manner, if a man would persuade me that the moon which I see, and my see- ing it, are not two things, but one and the same thing, he will answer his purpose less by arguing this point in plain English, than by confounding the two under one name — such as that of an impression. For such is the power of words, that, if we can be brought to the habit of calling two things that are connected by the same name, we are the more easily led to believe them to be one and the same thinsr. Let us next consider the proper meaning of the word impression* in English, that we may see how far it is fit to express either the operations of the mind or their objects. When a figure is stamped upon a body by pressure, that figure is called an impression, as the impression of a seal on wax, of [31] printing-types, or of a copperplate on paper- This seems now to be the literal sense of the word ; the effect borrowing its name from the cause. But, by metaphor or ana- logy, like most other words, its meaning is extended, so as to signify any change pro- * See below, unilerp 3;s.— H. duced in a body by the operation of some external cause. A blow of the hand makes no impression on a stone wall ; but a bat- tery of cannon may. The moon raises a tide in the ocean, but makes no impression on rivers and lakes. When we speak of making an impression on the mind, the word is carried still farther from its literal meaning ; use, however, which is the arbiter of language, authorizes this application of it — as when we say that admonition and reproof make little impres- sion on those who are confirmed in bad habits. The same discourse delivered in one way makes a strong impression on the hearers ; delivered in another way, it makes no impression at all. It may be observed that, in such ex- amples, an impression made on the mind always implies some change of purpose or will ; some new habit produced, or some former habit weakened ; some passion raised or allayed. When such changes are pro- duced by persuasion, example, or any ex- ternal cause, we say that such causes make an impression upon the mind ; but, when things are seen, or heard, or apprehended, without producing any passion or emotion, we say that they make no impression. In the most extensive sense, an impres- sion is a change produced in some passive subject by the operation of an external cause, if we suppose an active being to produce any change in itself by its own active power, this is never called an im- pression. It is the act or operation of the being itself, not an impression upon it. From this it appears, that to give the name of an impression to any effect produced in the mind, is to suppose that the mind does not act at all in the production of that effect. If seemg, heai'ing, desiring, willing, be operations of the mind, they cannot be im- pressions. If [32] they be impressions, they cannot be operations of the mind. In the structure of all languages, they are con- sidered as acts or operations of the mind it- self, and the names given them imply this. To call them impressions, therefore, is to trespass against the structure, not of a par- ticular language only, but of all languages.* If the word impression be an improper word to signify the operations of the mind, it is at least as unproper to signify their objects ; for would any man be thought to speak with propriety, who should say that the sun is an impression, that the earth and the sea are impressions ? It is commonly believed, and taken for granted, that every language, if '\t be suffi- ciently copious in words, is equally fit to express all opinions, whether they be true * But see Scaligcr, " De Siibtiliute," Exerc. 298, [30-32] I CHAP. I.] EXPLICATION OF >VORDS. 229 or false. I apprehend, however, that there is an exception to this general rule, which deserves our notice. There are certain common opinions of mankind, upon which the structure and grammar of all languages are founded. While these opinions are common to all men, there will be a great similarity in all languages that are to be found on the face of the earth. Such a similarity there really is ; for we find in all languages the same parts of speech, the distinction of nouns and verbs, the distinc- tion of nouns into adjective and substan- tive, of verbs into active and passive. In verbs we find like tenses, moods, persons, and numbers. There are general rules of grammar, the same in all languages. This similarity of structure in all languages, shews an uniformity among men in those opinions upon which the structure of lan- guage is founded. If, for instance, we should suppose that there was a nation who believed that the things which we call attributes might exist without a subject, there would be in their language no distinction between adjectives and substantives, nor would it be a rule with them that an adjective has no mean- ing, unless when joined to a substantive. If there was any nation who did not dis- tinguish bet ween [33] acting and being acted upon, there would in their language be no distinction between active and passive verbs ; nor would it be a rule that the active verb must have an agent in the nominative case, but that, in the passive verb, the agent must be in an oblique case. Thestructure of all languages is grounded upon common notions, which Mr Hume's philosophy opposes, and endeavours to overturn. Tliis, no doubt, led him to warji the common language into a conformity with his princii>les ; but we ought not to imitate him in this, until we are satisfied that his principles are Ijuilt on a solid foundation. 12. Sensation is a name given by philo- .sophers to an act of mind, which may be distinguished From all others l)y this, tliat it hath no object distinct from the act itself.* Pain of every kind is an uneasy sensation. When I am pained, I cannot say that the pain I feel is one thing, and that my feeling it is another thing. They are one and the same thing, and cannot be disjoined, even in imagination. Pain, when it is not felt, has no existence. It can be neither greater nor less in degree or duration, nor anything else in kind tlian it is felt to be. It cannot exist by itself, nor in any suliject but in a sentient being. No quality of an inanimate • But seniation, in the laiiBuago of pliilosoplicri, ha» been gcnoralh cmplnycd to ikiiotrllic whole pro- ecu of seimitive.cognitiiiii, including bolli perci'plioii proper awA fentntmn proper. On tliii (iistiinlion, «cc below, l?"8sav II, > cli. xvi., and Ncic I) * — H. [.S3, .31] insentient being can have the least resem- blance to it. What we have said of pain may be applied to every other sensation. Some of them are agreeable, others uneasy, in various degrees. These being objects of desire or aversion, have some attention given to them ; but many are indifl'erent, and so little attended to that they have no name in any language. JMost operations of the mind that have names in common language, are complex in their nature, and made up of various ingredients, or more simple acts ; which, though conjoined in our constitution, must be disjoined by abstraction, in order to our having a distinct and scientific notion of the complex operation- [34] In such operations, sensation, for the most part, makes an in- gredient. Tliose who do not attend to the complex nature of such operations, are apt to resolve them into some one of the simple acts of which they are compounded, over- looking the others. And from this cause many disputes have been raised, and many errors have been occasioned with regard to the nature of such operations. The perception of external objects ia accompanied with some sensation corre- sponding to the object perceived, and such sensations have, in many cases, in all lan- guages, the same name with the external object which they always accompany. The difficulty of disjoining, by abstraction, things thus constantly conjoined in the course of nature, and things which have one and the same name in all languages, has likewise been frequently an occasion of errors in the philosophy of the mind. To avoid such errors, nothing is of more importance than to have a distinct notion of that simi)le act of the mind which we call sensation, and which we have endeavoured to describe. By this means, we shall find it more easy to distinguish it from every external ol)joct that it acsophical writings, be appropriated to signify this simi)le act of the mind, wiihout including anything more in its signification, or being applied to other ])urposes. I shall add an observation concerning the word frdiiifi. This word lias two meanings. First, it signifies tlie i)erci'pti(jns we have of external objects, by the sense of touch. When we speak of feeling a body to be hard or soft, rough or smooth, hot or cold, to feel these things is to ])erc(ive them by touch. They are external things, and tliat act of the niind by whicli we feel them is easily (listingnisliivl from the objfcts felt. Sciondlji, till! word fcflinr/ is wh'i\ to signify the same thing as fcnsnlii'ii. which we liavo 230 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay I. just now explained ; and, in this sense, it has no object ; the feeling and the thing felt are one and the same. [35j Perhaps betwixt feeling, taken in this last sense, and sensation, thei-e may be this small difference, that sensation is most com- monly used to signify those feelings which we have by our external senses and bodily appetites, and all our bodily pains and pleasures. But there are feelings of a nobler nature accompanying our affections, our moral judgments, and our determina- tions in matters of taste, to which the word sensation is less properly applied. I have premised these observations on the meaning of certain words that frequently occur in treating of this subject, for two reasons ; First, That I may be the better understood when I use them ; and, Secondly, That those who would make any progress in this branch of science, may accustom themselves to attend very carefully to the meaning of words that are used in it. They may be assured of this, that the ambiguity of words, and the vague and improper appli- cation of them, have thrown more darkness upon this subject than the subtilty and intricacy of thuigs. When we use common words, we ought to use them in the sense in which they are most commonly used by the best and purest writers in the language ; and, vi'hen we have occasion to enlarge or restrict the meaning of a common word, or give it more precision than it has in common language, the reader ought to have warning of this, otherwise we shall impose upon ourselves and upon him. A very respectable writer has given a good example of this kind, by explaining, in an Appendix to his •' Elements of Criti- cism," the terms he has occasion to use. In that Appendix, most of the words are explained on which I have been making observations ; and the explication I have given, I think, agrees, for the most part, with his. Other words that need explication, shall be explained as they occur. [3G] CHAPTER II. PRINCIPLES TAKEN FOR GRANTED. As there are words common to philosophers and to the vulgar, which need no explica- tion, so there are principles common to both, which need no proof, and which do not admit of direct proof. One who applies to any branch of science, must be come to years of understanding, and^ consequently, must have exercised his reason, and the other powers of his mind, in various ways. He must have formed farious opinions and princi]iles, by which he conducts himself in the affairs of life. Of those principles, some are common to all men, being evident in themselves, and so necessary in the conduct of life that a man cannot live and act according to the rules of common prudence without them. All men that have common understand- ing, agree in such principles ; and consider a man as lunatic or destitute of common sense, who deuies or calls them in question. Thus, if any man were found of so strange a turn as not to believe his own eyes, to put no trust in his senses, nor have the least regard to their testimony, would any man think it worth while to reason gravely with such a person, and, by argument, to convince him of his error ? Surely no wise man would. For, before men can reason together, they must agree in first principles ; and it is impossible to reason with a man who has no principles in common with you. There are, therefore, common principles, which are the foundation of all reasoning and of all science. Such common principles seldom admit of direct proof, nor do they need it. Men need not to be taught them ; for they are such as all men of [37] com- mon understanding know ; or such, at least, as they give a ready assent to, as soon as they are proposed and understood. Such principles, when we have occasion to use them in science, are called axioms. And, although it be not absolutely neces- sary, yet it may be of great use, to point out the principles or axioms on which a science is grounded. Thus, mathematicians, before they prove any of the propositions of mathematics, lay down certain axioms, or common princi- ples, upon which they build their reason- ings. And although those axioms be truths which every man knew before — such as, That the whole is greater than a part. That equal quantities added to equal quantities make equal sums ; yet, when we see no- thing assumed in the proof of mathematical propositions, but such self-evident axioms, the propositions appear more certain, and leave no room for doubt or dispute. In all other sciences, as well as in mathe- matics, it will be found that there are a few common principles, upon which all the reasonings in that science are grounded, and into which they may be resolved. If these were pointed out and considered, we should be better able to j udge what stress may be laid upon the conclusions in that science. If the principles be certain, the conclusions justly drawn from them must be certain. If the principles be only probable, the con- clusions can only be probable. If the prin- ciples be false, dubious, or obscure, the superstructure that is built upon them nmst partake of tlie weakness of the found- ation. [35-37] CHAP. II. I PRINCIPLES TAKEN FOR GRANTED. 231 Sir Isaac Newton, the greatest of na- tural philosophers, has given an example well worthy of imitation, by laying down the common principles or axioms, on which the reasonings in natural philosophy are built. Before this was done, the reason- ings of philosophers in that science were as vague and uncertain as they are in most others. Nothing was fixed ; all was dispute and controversy; [38] but, by this happy expedient, a solid foundation is laid in that science, and a noble super- structure is raised upon it, about which there is now no more dispute or con- troversy among men of knowledge, than there is about the conclusions of mathe- matics. It may, however be observed, that the first principles of natural philosophy are of a quite difterent nature from mathematical axioms : they have not the same kind of evidence, nor are they necessary truths, as mathematical axioms are. They are such as these : That similar effects proceed from the same or similar causes ; That we ought to admit of no other causes of natural effects, but such as are true^ and sufficient to ac- count for the effects. These are principles which, though tbey ha ve not the same kind of evidence that mathematical axioms have ; yet have such evidence that every man of common understanding readily assents to them, and finds it absolutely necessary to conduct his actions and opinions by them, in the ordinary affairs of life. Though it has not been usual, yet I con- ceive it may be useful, to point out some of those things which I shall take for granted, as first principles, in treating of the mind and its faculties. There is the more oc- casion for this ; because very ingenious men, such as Des Cartes, INIalebranche, Arnauld, Locke, and many others, have lost much labour, by not distinguishing things which require proof, from things which, though they may admit of illustra- tration, yet, being self-evident, do not admit of proof. When men attempt to deduce such self-evident principles from others more evident, they always fall into incon- clusive reasoning : and the consequence of this has been, that others, such as IJerkcley and Hume, finding the arguments brought to prove such first principles to be weak and inconclusive, have been tempted first to doubt of them, and afterwards to deny them. It is so irksome to reason with those who deny first principles, that wise men com- monly decline it. Yet it is not impossible, tJiat I'M] what is only a vulgar prejudice may be mistaken for a first princii)lc. Nor is it impossible tliut what is really a first principle may, by the enchantment of words, have HU<-h a mist thiown about it, as t'l liide its evidence, and to make a man of candour doubt of it. Such c;ises happen more frequently, perhaps, in this science than in any other ; but they are not alto- gether without remedy. There are ways by which the evidence of first principles may be made more apparent when they are brought into dispute ; but they require to be handled in a way peculiar to themselves. Their evidence is not demonstrative, but intuitive. They require not proof, but to be placed in a proper point of view. This will be shewn more fully in its proper place, and applied to those very principles which we now assume. In the meantime, when they are proposed as first principles, the reader is put on his guard, and warned to consider whether they have a just claim to that character. 1. First, then, I shall take it for granted, that I think, that I rrmember, that I Tea- son, and, in general, that I really perform all those operations of mind of which I am conscious. The operations of our minds are attended with consciousness ; and this consciousness is the evidence, the only evidence, which we have or can have of their existence. If a man should take it into his head to think or to say that his consciousness may de- ceive him, and to require proof that it can- not, I know of no proof that can be given him ; he must be left to himself, as a man that denies first principles, without which there can be no reasoning. Every man finds himself under a necessity of believing what consciousness testifies, and everything that hath this testimony is to be taken as a first principle.* 2. As by consciousness we know cer- tainly the existence of our ju'cscnt thoughts and passions ; so we know the past by re- membrancer And, when they are re- cent, and the remembrance of them fresh, [40] the knowledge of them, from such distinct remembrance, is, in its certainty and evidence, next to that of conscious- ness. 3. But it is to be observed that we are conscious of many things to which we give little or no at/ention. We can hardly at- tend to several things at the same time ; and our attention is commonly employed al)out that which is the otiject of our thought, and rarely about the thought it- self. Thus, when a man is angry, bis • To doubt that wc arc roniiciniis (pf this or that, is imi)OS>il)Ie. I'or the doubt mu-l at least piiNlulatc it«elf; but the doul)l is oidy a ilaluin of cmiscioug. nest; thereloie, in postulatuiK il» "wii reality, it ad. mits the truth of coiiseiouaiiesii, and consc tjueiitly anndiilatea iHcU. '•ee lielow, i>. .')'il>. <>'" t'"ii- «ciou8iiei.», In (he l)i»tory o»" psycliulOKyi «ee Note H. — H. + Remembranre caniinl be taken out of I on. «ciou«ni-ii» See No'i H.— )I 232 ON THE INTELLPXTUAL POWERS. |_ESSAV I. attention is turned to the injury done him, or the injurious person; and he gives very little attention to the passion of auger, al- though he is conscious of it. It is in our power, however, wlien we come to the years of understanding, to give attention to our own thoughts and passions, and tlie va- rious operations of our minds. And, wlien we make tliese the objects of our atten- tion, either while they are present or when they are recent and fresh in our me- mory, this act of the mind is called reflec- tion. We take it for granted, therefore, that, by attentive reflection, a man may have a clear and certain knowledge of the opera- tions of his own mind ; a knowledge no less clear and certain than that which he has of an external object when it is set before his eyes. This reflection is a kind of intuition, it gives a like conviction with regard to in- ternal objects, or things in the mind, as the faculty of seeing gives with regard to objects of sight, A man must, therefore, be convinced beyond possibility of doubt, of everything with regard to the opera- tions of his own mind, which he clearly and distinctly discerns by attentive reflec- tion. • 4. I take it for granted that all the ' thoughts I am conscious of, or remember, are the thoughts of one and the same ; thinking principle, which I call myself, or my mind. Every man has an immediate and irresistible conviction, not only of his present existence, but of his continued existence and identity, as far back as he can remember. If any man should think fit to demand [41] a proof that the thoughts he is successively conscious of, belong to one and the same thinking principle— if he should demand a proof that he is the same person to-day as he was yesterday, or a year ago — I know no proof that can be given him : he must be left to himself, either as a man that is lunatic, or as one who denies first principles, and is not to be reasoned with. Every man of a sound mind, finds liim- self under a necessity of believing his own identity, and continued existence. The conviction of tliis is immediate and irresist- able ; and, if he should lose this conviction, it would be a certain proof of insanity, which is not to be remedied by reasoning. '\ 6. I take it for granted, that there are i some things which cannot exist by them- ; selves, but must be in something else to ' which they belong, as qualities, or attributes. Thus, motion cannot exist, but in some- • See infra, pp. 60, 105, 581, where a similar, and pp. 324, 51lj, where a dijferent extension is given to Reflection. On Attention and Reflection, in the history of psychology, see Note 1— H. thing that is moved. And to suppose that there can be motion while everything is at rest, is a gross and palpable absurdity. In like manner, hardness and softness, sweet- ness and bitterness, are things which cannot exist by themselves ; they are qualities of something which is hard or soft, sweet or bitter. That thing, whatever it be, of which they are qualities, is called their sub- ject; and such qualities necessarily suppose a subject. Things which may exist by themselves, and do not necessarily suppose the exist- ence of anything else, are called substances ; and, with relation to the qualities or attri- butes that belong to them, they are called the subjects of such qualities or attributes. All the things which we immediately per- ceive by our senses, and all the things we are conscious of, are things which must be in something else, as their subject. Thus, by my senses, I perceive figure, colour, hardness, softness, motion, resistance, and such[42] likethings. But these are qualities, and must necessarily be in something that is figured, coloured, hard or soft, that moves, or resists. It is not to these qua- lities, but to that which is the subject of them, that we give the name of body. If any man should think fit to deny that these things are qualities, or that they require any subject, I leave him to enjoy his opinion as a man who denies first principles, and is not fit to be reasoned with. If he has common understanding, he will find that he cannot converse half an hour without say- ing things which imply the contrary of what he professes to believe. In like manner, the things I am conscious of, such as thought, reasoning, desire, ne- cessarily suppose something that thinks, that reasons, that desires. We do not give the name of mind to thought, reason, or desire ; but to that being which thinks, which reasons, and which desires. That every act or operation, therefore, supposes an agent, tiiat every quality sup- poses a subject, are things which I do not attempt to prove, but take for granted. Every man of common understanding dis- cerns this immediately, and cannot enter- tain the least doubt of it. In all languages, we find certain words which, by gramma- rians, are called adjectives. Such words denote attributes, and every adjective must have a substantive to which it belongs — that is, every attribute must have a subject. In all languages, we find active verbs which denote some action or operation ; and it is a fundamental rule in the grammar of all languages, that such a verb supposes a per- son — that is, in other words, that every action must have an agent. We take it, therefore, as a first principle, that goodness, wisdom, and virtue, can only be in some [41, 42] CHAP. U.] PRiNC irLES TAKEN FOR GRANTED. 233 being tliat is good, wise, and virtuous ; that thinking supposes a being that thinks ; and that every operation we are conscious of supposes an agent that operates, which we call mind. 6. I take it for granted, that, in most operations of the mind, there [tS] must be an object distinct from the optr.ition itself. I cannot see, without seeing sometliing. To see without having any object of sight is absurd. I cannot remember, without re- membering something. The thing remem- bered is past, while the remembrance of it is present ; and, therefore, tlie operation and the object of it must be distinct things. The operations of our mind are denoted, in all languages, by active transitive verbs, which, from their construction in grammar, require not only a person or agent, but likewise an object of the operation. Thus, the verb know, denotes an operation of mind. From the general structure of lan- guage, this verb requires a person — I know, you know, or he knows ; but it requires no less a noun in the accusative case, denoting the thing known ; for he that knows must know something ; and, to know, without having any object of knowledge, is an ab- surdity too gross to admit of reasoning * 7. We ought likewise to take for granted, as first principles, things wherein we find a 1 universal agreement, among the learned and unlearned, in the different nations and ages of the world. -f- A consent of ages and nations, of the learned and A'ulgar, ought, at least, to have great authority, unless we can shew some prejudice as universal as that consent is, which might be the cause of it. Truth is one, but error is infinite. There are many truths so obvious to the human faculties, that it may be ex- pected that men should universally agree in them. And this is actually found to be the case with regard to many truths, against which we find no dissent, unless perhaps that of a few sceptical philosophers, who may justly be suspected, in such cases, to ilifler from the rest of mankind, through pride, obstinacy, or some favourite passion. Wliere there is such universal consent in things not deep nor intricate, but which lie, as it were, on the surface, there is the greatest presumption that can be, that it is the natural result of the human faculties; and it must have great authority with every sober [44] mind that loves truth. Major eniin pais eo fere drferri solet quo a natura (leducitur.—Cir.. de Off. I. 41. Perhaps it may be thought that it is impossilile to collect the opinions of all men upon any point whatsoever ; and, there- fore, that this maxim can be of no use. Jiut there are many cases wherein it is ♦ Sec NoicB.— H. tSrcNote A— H. otherwise. Who can doubt, for instance, whether mankind have, in all ages, believed the existence of a material world, and that those things which they see and handle are real, and not mere ilUisions and appari- tions ? Who can doubt whether mankind have universally believed that everything that begins to exist, and every change that happens in nature, must have a cause ? Who can doubt whether mankind have been universally persuaded that there is a right and a wrong in human conduct ? — some things which, in certain circumstan- ces, they ought to do, and other things which they ought not to do ? The univers- ality of these opinions, and of many such that might be named, is sufficiently evi- dent, from the whole tenor of men's con- duct, as far as our acquaintance reaches, and from the records of history, in all ages and nations, that are transmitted to us. There are other opinions that appear to be universal, from what is commcm in the structure of all languages, ancient and mo- dern, polished and barbarous. Language is the express image and picture of human thoughts ; and, from the picture,we mayoften draw very certain conclusions with regard to the original. We find in all languages the same parts of speech — nouns substantive and adjective, verbs active and passive, varied according to the tenses of past, pre- sent, and future ; we find adverbs, preposi- tions, and conjunctions. There are general rules of syntax common to all languages. This uniformity in the structure of lan- guage shews a certain degree of uniformity in those notions upon which the structure of language is grounded. We find, in the structure of all lan- guages, the distinction of [45] acting and being acted upon, the distinction of action and agent, of quality and subject, and many others of the like kind ; which shews that these distinctions are founded ni the uni- versal sense of mankind. We shall have frequent occasion to argue from tlie sense of mankind expressed in the structure of language ; and therefore it was proper here to take notice of the force of argu- ments drawn from this topic. 8. I need hardly say that I shall also take for granted such facts as are attested to the conviction of all sober and roasoiuible men, either by our senses, by memory, or by human testimony. Aitliougli sonic; wri- ters on thi.s subject have (lis])uti'd the authority of the senses, of memory, and of every human faculty, vet we find that such persons, in the conduct of life, in i)urKuing their ends, or in avoiding dangers, pay the same regard to tlie autliority of tlieir scukcs and other faculties, as the rest of inaiikind. Hv this they give us just ground lo doulit vi 234 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay I. their candour in their professions of scep- ticism. This, indeed, has always been the fate of the few that have professed scepticism, that, when they have done what they can to discredit their senses, they find themselves, after all, under a necessity of trusting to them. Mr Hume has been so candid as to acknowledge this ; aud it is no less true of those who have not shewn the same can- dour ; for I never heard that any sceptic run his head against a post, or stepped into a kennel, because he did not believe his eyes. Upon the whole, I acknowledge that we ought to be cautious that we do not adopt opinions as first principles which are not entitled to that character. But there is surely the least danger of men's being im- posed upon in this way, when such prin- ciples openly lay claim to the character, and are thereby fairly exposed to the examina- tion of those who may dispute their au- thority. We do not pretend that those things that are laid down as first principles may not be examined, and that we ought not to [46] have our ears open to what may be pleaded against their being admit- ted as such. Let us deal with them as an upright judge does with a witness who has a fair character. He pays a regard to the testimony of such a witness while his cha- racter is unimpeached ; but, if it can be shewn that he is suborned, or that he is influenced by malice or partial favour, his testimony loses all its credit, and is justly rejected. CHAPTER III. OF HYPOTHESES. Every branch of human knowledge hath its proper principles, its proper foundation and method of reasoning ; and, if we en- deavour to buUd it upon any other found- ation, it will never stand firm and stable. Thus, the historian builds upon testimony, and rarely indulges conjecture ; the anti- quarian mixes conjecture with testimony, and the former often makes the larger ingredient ; the mathematician pays not the least regard either to testimony or conjec- ture, but deduces everything, by demon- strative reasoning, from his definitions and axioms. Indeed, whatever is built upon conjecture, is improperly called science ; for conjecture may beget opinion, but can- not produce knowledge. Natural philoso- phy must be built upon the phsenomena of the material system, discovered by observ- ation and experiment. When men first began to philosophize — tliat is, to carry their thoughts beyond the objects of sense, and to inquire into the causes of things, and the secret operations of nature — it was very natural for them to indulge conjecture ; nor was it to be ex- pected that, in many ages, they should dis- cover the proper and scientific way of pro- ceeding in philosophical disquisitions. Ac- cordingly, we find that the most ancient systems in every branch of philosophy were nothing but the conjectures of men famous for their wisdom, whose fame gave author- ity to their opinions. Thus, in early ages, [47] wise men conjectured that this earth is a vast plain, surrounded on all hands by a boundless ocean ; that, from this ocean, the sun, moon, and stars emerge at their rising, and plunge into it again at their setting. With regard to the mind, men in their rudest state are apt to conjecture that the principle of life in a man is his breath ; be- cause the most obvious distinction between a living and a dead man is, that the one breathes, and the other does not. To this it is owing that, in ancient languages, the word which denotes the soul, is that which properly signifies breath or air. As men advance in knowledge, their first conjectures appear silly and childish, and give place to others, which tally better with later observations and discoveries. Thus one system of philosophy succeeds another, without any claim to superior merit, but this — that it is a more ingenious system of conjectures, and accounts better for com- mon appearances. To omit many ancient systems of this kind, Des Cartes, about the middle of the last century, dissatisfied with the materia prima, the substantial forms, and the occult qualities of the Peripatetics, conjectured boldly, that the heavenly bodies of our sys- tem are carried round by a vortex or whirl- pool of subtile matter, just as straws and chaff are carried round in a tub of water. He conjectured, that the soul is seated in a small gland in the brain, called the pineal gland ; that there, as in her chamber of presence, she receives intelligence of every- thing that affects the senses, by means of a subtile fluid contained in the nerves, called the animal spirits ; and that she dispatches these animal spirits, as her messengers, to put in motion the several muscles of the laody, as there is occasion.* By such con- * It is not, however, to be supposed that Des Cartes allowed the soul to be seated by loral presence in any part of the body ; for the 6malle>t point of body is still extended, and mind is absolutely simple and in- capable of occupying-place. The pineal gland, in the Cartesian doctrine, is only analogically called theseat of the soul, inasmuch as this is viewed as the cen- tral point of the corporeal organism; but while through this point the mind and body are mutually connected, that connection is not one of a mere physical dependence, as they do not operate on each by direct and natural causation.— H. [ifi. 17] CHAP. III.] OF HYPOTHESES. 23i jectures as these, Des Cartes could account for everv phanionieuou in nature, in such a plausible manner as gave satisfaction to a great part of the learned world for more than half a century. [48] Such conjectures in philosophical matters have commonly got the name of hypotheses, or thturics.' And the invention of a hypo- thesis, founded on some slight probabilities, which accounts for many appearances of nature, hiis been considered as the highest attainment of a philosopher. If the hypo- thesis hangs well together, is embellished by a lively imagination, and serves to ac- count for common appearances, it is con- sidered by many as having all the qualities that should recommend it to our belief, and all that ought to be required in a philo- sophical system. There is such proneness in men of genius to invent hypotheses, and in others to acquiesce in them, as the utmost which the human faculties can attain in philosophy, that it is of the last consequence to the pro- gress of real knowledge, that men should have a clear and distinct understanding of the nature of hypotheses in philosophy, and of the regard that is due to them. Although some conjectures may have a considerable degree of probabihty, yet it is evidently in the nature of conjecture to be uncertain. In every case the assent ought to be proportioned to the evidence ; for to believe firmly what has but a small degree of probabihty, is a manifest abuse of our understanduig. Now, though we may, in miny cases, form very probable conjectures concerning the worlis of men, every conjec- ture we can form with regard to the works of God has as little probability as the con- jectures of a child with regard to the works of a man. The wisdom of God exceeds that of the wisest man, more than his wisdom exceeds that of a child. If a child were to conjec- ture how an army is to be formed in the day of battle — how a city is to be fortified, or a state governed — what chance has he to guess right ? As little chance has the wisest man when he pretends to conjecture how the planets move in their courses, how the sea ebbs and fiows, and how our minds act upon our bodies. [4y] If a thousand of the greatest wits that ever the w(jrld jiroiluced were, without any previous knowledge in anatomy, to sit down and contrive how, and by what internal organs, the various functions of the human body are carried on, how the blood is made to circulate and the jiniljs to move, they Would nf)t, in a tliousaud years, iiit upon any- tliing like the trutii. Of all the discoveries that have been [48-50] * Sop above, note *, p. jn, h — H. made concerning the inward structure of the human body, never one was made by conjecture. Accurate observations of ana- tomists have brought to light innumerable artifices of Nature in the contrivance of this machine of the human body, which we can- not but admire as excellently adapted to their several purposes. But the most saga- cious physiologist never dreamed of them till they were discovered. On the other hand, innumerable conjectures, formed in different ages, with regard to the structure of the body, have been confuted by obser- vation, and none ever confirmed. What we have said of the internal struc- ture of the human body, may be said, with justice, of every other part of the works of God, wherein any real discovery has been made. Such discoveries have always been made by patient observation, by accurate experiments, or by conclusions drawn by strict reasoning from observations and ex- periments ; and such discoveries have always tended to refute, but not to confirm, the theories and hypotheses which ingenious men have mvented. As this is a fact confirmed by the history of philosophy in all past ages, it ought to have taught men, long ago, to treat with just contempt hypotheses in every branch of philosophy, and to despair of ever ad- vancing real knowledge in that way. The Indian philosopher, being at a loss to know how the earth was supported, invented the hypothesis of a huge elephant ; and this elephant he supposed to stand upon the back of a huge tortoise. This hypothesis, however ridiculous it appears to us, might seem very reasonable [50] toother Indians, who knew no more than the inventor of it ; and the same will be the fate of all hypo- theses invented by men to account for the works of God. They may have a decent and plausible appearance to those who are not more knowing than the inventor ; but, when men come to be more enlightened, they will always appear ridiculous and childish. This has been the case with regard to hypotheses that have been revered by the most enlightened part of mankind for hun- dreds of years ; and it will always be tlie case to the end of the world. For, until the wisdom of men bear some proportion to the wisdom of (iod, their atti'm])ts to find out the structure of his works, by the force of their wit and genius, will Ije vain. The finest productions of human art are immensely sliort of the meanest works of Nature. The nicest .-irtlst cannot make a feather or the leaf of a tree. llinnan workmanship will never bear a comiiaiison with divine. Conjectures and liypollieseH arc the invention and the worknianship of men, and must bear projiortion to the capu- 236 OX THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay city and skill of the inventor ; .and, there- fore, will always be veiy unlike to the works of God, which it is the business of philosophy to discover. The world has been so long befooled by hypotheses in all parts of philosophy, that it is of the utmost consequence to every man who would make any progress in real knowledge, to treat them with just con- tempt, as the reveries of vain and fanciful men,whose pride makes them conceive them- selves able to unfold the mysteries of nature by the force of their genius. A learned man, in an epistle to Des Cartes, has the follow- ing observation, which very much deserved the attention of that philosopher, and of all that come after him : — " When men, sit- ting in their closet, and consulting only their books, attempt disquisitions into nature, they may, indeed, tell how they would have made the world, if God had given them that in commission ; tliat is, they may describe [51] chimeras, which correspond with the imbecility of their own minds, no less than the admirable beauty of the universe cor- responds with the infinite perfection of its Creator ; but without an understanding truly divine, they can never form such an idea to themselves as the Deity had in creating things." Let us, therefore, lay down this as a fundamental principle in our inquiries into the structure of the mind and its opera- tions — that no regard is due to the conjec- tures or hypotheses of philosophers, how- ever ancient, however generally received. Let us accustom ourselves to try every opinion by the touchstone of fact and ex- perience. What can fairly be deduced from facts duly observed or sufficiently at- tested, is genuine and pure ; it is the voice of God, and no fiction of human imagina- tion. The first rule of philosophising laid down by the great Newton, is this : — Causas re- rum naturalmm, non plurcs admitli debere, quam quce et verce sint, et earum phceno menis expUctindis svfficiant. " No more causes, nor any other causes of natural effects, ought to be admitted, but such as are both true, and are sufficient for ex- plaining their appearances.'' This is a golden rule ; it is the true and proper test, by which what is sound and solid in philoso- phy may be distinguished from what is hol- low and vain.* If a philosopher, therefore, pretends to shew us the cause of any natural effect, whether relating to matter or to mind, let us first consider whether there is sufficient • For this rule we are not indebted to Newton. It is only the old law of parcimony, and that ainbigu. (lusiy expressed. For, in their plain incaiiing, the « I irds"("/'i'c; leader. CHAPTER VI. OF THE DIFFICULTY OF ATTENDING TO THE OPERATIONS OF OUR OWN MINDS. The difficulty of attending to our mental operations, ought to be well understood, and justly estimated, by those who would make any progress in this science ; that they may neither, on the one hand, expect success without pains and application of thought ; nor, on the other, be discouraged, by con- ceiving that the obstacles that lie in the way are insuperable, and that there is no cer- tainty to be attained in it. I shall, there- fore, endeavour to point [G2] out the causes of this difficulty, and the effects that have arisen from it, that we may be able to form a true judgment of both. 1 . The number and quick succession of the operations of the mind, make it difficult to give due attention to them. It is well known that, if a great number of objects be presented in quick succession, even to the eye, they are confounded in the memory and imagination. We retain a confued notion of the whole, and a more confused one of the several parts, especially if they are objects to which we have never before given particular attention. No succession can be more quick tlian that of thought. The mind is busy while we are awake, con- tinually passing from one thought and one operation to another. The scene is con- stantly shifting. Every man will be sen- sible of this, who tries but for one minute to keep the same thought in his imagination, without addition or variation. He will find it impossible to keep the scene of his imagin- ation fixed. Other objects will intrude, without being called, and all he can do is to reject these intruders as quickly as possible, and return to his principal object. 2. In this exercise, we go contrary to liabits which have been early acquired, and confirmed by long unvaried practice. From infancy, we are accustomed to attend to objects of sense, and to them only ; and, when sensible objects have got such strong hold of the attention by confirmed habit, it is not easy to dispossess thern. When we grow up, a variety of external objects solicits our attention, excites our curiosity, engages our affections, or touches our pas- sions ; and the constant round of employ- ment, about external objects, draws off the mind from attending to itself; so that nothing is more just than the observation of Mr Locke, before mentioned, " That the understanding, like the eye, wliile it sur- veys all the objects around it, commonly takes no notice of itself." 3. The operations of the mind, from their very nature, lead the mind to give its atten- tion to some other object. Our sensations, [6.3] as will be shewn afterwards, are natu- ral signs, and turn our attention to the things signified by them ; so much thrit most of them, and those the most frequent and familiar, have no name in any language. In perception, memory, judgment, imagination, and reasoning, there is an object distinct from the operation itself ; and, whi'eweare led by a strong impulse to attend to the object, the operation escapes our notice. Our passions, affections, and all our active powers, have, in like manner, their objects which engross our attention, and divert it from the passion itself. 4. To this we may add a just observation made by Mr Hume, That, when the mind is agitated by any passion, as soon as we turn our attention from the object to the paRsion itself, the passion subsides or van- ishes, and, by that means, escapes our inquiry. This, indeed, is common to almost every operation of the mind. When it is exerted, we are conscious of it ; but then we do not attend to the operation, but to its object. When the mind is drawn off from the object to attend to its own opera- tion, that operation ceases, and escapes our notice. 5. As it is not sufficient to the discovery of mathematical truths, that a man be able to attend to mathematical figures, as it is necessary that he should have the ability to [69, 63] (HAP. VI.3 OPERATIONS OF THE MIND. 241 listinguish accurately things that differ, and to discern clearly the various relations of the quantities he compares — an ability which, though much greater in those who have the force of genius than in others, yet, even in them, requires exercise and habit to bring it to maturity — so, in order to discover the truth in what relates to the operations of the mind, it is not enough that ( a man be able to give attention to them : he must have the ability to distinguish ac- curately their minute differences ; to resolve and analyse complex operations into their simple ingredients ; to unfold the ambiguity of words, which in this science is greater than in any other, and to give them the same accuracy and precision that mathematical terms have ; for, indeed, the same precision in the use of words, the same cool attention to [64] the minute differences of things, the same talent for abstraction and analys- ing, which fit a man for the study of math- ematics, are no less necessary in this. But there is thisgreat difference between the two sciences — that the objects of mathematics being things external to the mind, it is much more easy to attend to them, and fix them steadily in the imagination. The difficulty attending our inquiries into the powers of the mind, serves to account for some events respecting this branch of philosophy, which deserve to be mentioned. While most branches of science have, either in ancient or in modern times, been highly cultivated, and brought to a con- siderable degree of perfection, this remains, to this day, in a very low state, and, as it were, in its infancy- Every science invented by men must have its beginning and its progress ; and, from various causes, it may happen that one science shall be brought to a great degree of maturity, while another is yet in ^ its infancy. The maturity of a science may be judged of by this — When it contains a system of principles, and conclusions drawn from them, which are so firmly established that, among thinking and intelligent men, there remains no doubt or dispute about them ; so that those who come after may raise the superstructure higher, but shall never be able to overturn what is already built, in order to begin on a new founda- tion. Geometry seems to have been in its in- fancy about the time of Thales and Pytha- goras ; liecausc many of tlie elementary propositions, on which the whole science is built, are ascribed to them as the inventors. Euclid's '' Elements," which were written some ages after Pythagoras, exiiibit a sys- tem of geometry which deserves the name of a science; and, tliough great additions have been made by ApoUoiiius, Archi- rci-tiG] modes. Pappus, and others among the an- cients, and still greater by the moderns ; yet what [65] was laid down in Euclid's " Elements" was never set aside. It re- mains as the firm foundation of all future superstructures in that science. Natural philosophy remained in its in- fant state near two thousand years after geometry had attained to its manly form : for natural philosophy seems not to have been built on a stable foundation, nor carried to any degree of maturity, till the last cen- turj'. The system of Des Cartes, which was all hypothesis, prevailed in the most enlight- eiied part of Europe till towards the end of last century. Sir Isaac Newton has the merit of giving the form of a science to this branch of ]ihilosophy ; and it need not ap- pear surprising, if the philosophy of the human mind should be a century or two later in being brought to maturity. It has received great accessions from the labours of several modern authors ; and perhaps wants little more to entitle it to the name of a science, but to be purged of cer- tain hypotheses, which have imposed on some of the most acute writers on this sub- ject, and led them into downright scepticism. What the ancients have delivered to us concerning the mind and its operations, is { almost entirely drawn, not from accurate reflection, but from some conceived analogy between body and mind. And, although the modern authors I formerly named have given more attention to the operations of their own minds, and by that means have made important discoveries, yet, by re- taining some of the ancient analogical no- tions, their discoveries have been less use- ful than they might have been, and have led to scepticism. It may happen in science, as in building, that an error in the foundation slwll weaken the whole ; and the farther the building is carried on, this weakness shall become the more apparent and the more threatening. Something of this kind seems to have hap- pened in our systems concerning the mind. The accession they [GG] have received by modern discoveries, though very important in itself, has thrown darkness and obscurity upon the whole, and has led men rather to scepticism than to knowledge. This must be owing to some fundamental errors that have not l)ccii observed ; and when these are corrected, it is to be hoped that the im- provements that have been made will have their due effect. The last effect I observe of the difficulty of inquiries into tiie jjowers of the mind, is, that there is no otlu.T jjart of liuman know- ledge in which ingenious authors liave been so apt to run into strange paradoxes, and even into gross absurdities. When we ('mil philosophers maintaining It 242 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. ^ESSAV that there is no heat in the fire, nor colour in tlie rainbow ;* when we find the gravest philosophers, from Des Cartes down to Bishop Berkeley, mustering up arguments to prove the existence of a material world, and unable to find any that will bear ex- amination ; when we find Bishop Berkeley and Mr Hume, the acutest metaphysicians of the age, maintaining that there is no such thing as matter in the universe — that sun, moon, and stars, the earth which we inhabit, our own bodies, and those of our friends, are only ideas in our minds, and have no exist- ence but in thought ; when we find the last maintaining that there is neither body nor mind — nothing in nature but ideas and impressions, without any substance on which they are impressed — that there is no cer- tainty, nor indeed probability, even in ma- thematical axioms : I say, when we consider such extravagancies of many of the most acute writers on this subject, we may be apt to think the whole to be only a dream of fanciful men, who have entangled them- selves in cobwebs spun out of their own brain. But we ought to consider that the more closely and ingeniously men reason from false principles, the more absurdities they will be led into ; aiid when such absur- dities help to bring to light the false prin- ciples from which ihey are drawn, they may he the more easily forgiven. [67] CHAPTER VIL DIVISION OF THE POWERS OF THE MIND. The powers of the mind are so many, so various, and so connected and complicated in most of its operations, that there never has been any division of them proposed which is not liable to considerable objec- tions. We shall, therefore, take that gene- ral division which is the most common, into the powers of understanding and those of wiU.-\ Under the will we comprehend our active powers, and all that lead to action, or influence the mind to act — such as appe- tites, passions, affections. The understand- ing comprehends our contemplative powers ; by which we perceive objects ; by which we conceive or remember them ; by which we analyse or compound them ; and by which we judge and reason concerning them. • A merely verbal dispute. See before, p. 2i 5, b, note.— H. t It would be out of place to enter on the exten. »i»e field of history and discussion relativp to the distribution of our menial |iowers. It is sufficient to say, that the vulgar division of the faculties, adopted by Reid, into those of the Understanding and those of the fVilL is to be traced to the classifi. cation, taken in the Aristotelic school, of the powers into e^wstic, or cognitive, and orectic, or appetent On this the reader may consult the admirablelicd l_7i, 75] to other powers which are thought to re- semble them. For these reasons, they claim to be first considered. The perception of external objects is one main link of that mysterious chain which connects the material world with the intel- lectual. We shall fiiul many things in this operation unaccountaitle ; sufficient to con- vince us that we know but little of our own frame; and that a perfect c 246 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [»^ SSAY II, which, by the laws of our nature, are fol- lowed by certain operations of mind. These two things are apt to be confounded ; but ought most carefully to be distinguished. Some philosophers, without good reason, have concluded, that the [76] impressions made on the body are the proper efficient cause of perception. Others, with as little reason, have concluded that impressions are made on the mind similar to those made on the body. From these mistakes many others have arisen. The wrong notions men have rashly taken up with regard to the senses, have led to wrong notions with regard to other powers which are conceived to resemble them. Many important powers of mind have, especially of late, been called internal senses, from a supposed resemblance to the external — such as, the sense of beauty, the sense of harmony, the moral sense.* And it is to be apprehended that errors, v^ith regard to the external, have, from analogy, led to similar errors with regard to the internal ; it is, therefore, of some conse- quence, even with regard to other branches of our subject, to have just notions concern- ing the external senses. In order to this, we shall begin with some observations on the organs of sense, and on the impressions which in perception are made upon them, and upon the nerves and brain. IVe perceive no external object but by means of certain bodily organs which God has given us for that purpose. The Su- preme Being who made us, and placed us in this world, hath given us such powers of mind as he saw to be suited to our state and rank in his creation. He has given us the power of perceiving many objects around us — the sun, moon, and stars, the earth and sea, and a variety of animals, vegetables, and inanimate bodies. But our power of perceiving these objects is limited in various ways, and particularly in this — that, with- out the organs of the several senses, we perceive no external object. We cannot see without eyes, nor hear without ears ; it is not only necessary that we should have these organs, but that they should be in a sound and natural state. There are many disorders of the eye that cause total blind- ness ; others that impair the powers of vi- sion, without destroying it altogether : and the same may be said of the organs of all the other senses. [77] AU this is so well known from experience, that it needs no proof; but it ought to be observed, that we know it from experience only. We can give no reason for it, but that such is the will of our Maker. No man can shew it to be impossible to the Supreme Being to have given us the power of • He rffers to Hutcheson.— H perceiving external objects without such or- gans.* We have reason to believe that, when we put off these bodies and all the organs belonging to them, our perceptive powers shall rather be improved than destroyed or impaired. We have reason to believe that the Supreme Being perceives everything in a much more perfect manner than we do, without bodily organs. We have reason to believe that there are other created beings endowed with powers of perception more perfect and more extensive than ours, with- out any such organs as we find necessary. We ought not, therefore, to conclude, that such bodily organs are, in their own nature, necessary to perception ; but rather that, by the will of God, our power of per- ceiving external objects is limited and cir- cumscribed by our organs of sense ; so that we perceive objects in a certain manner, and in certain circumstances, and in no other. -j- If a man was shut up in a dark room, so that he could see nothing but through one small hole in the shutter of a window, would he conclude that the hole was the cause of his seeing, and that it is impos- sible to see any other way ? Perhaps, if he had never in his life seen but in this way, he might be apt to think so; but the con- clusion is rash and groundless. He sees, because God has given him the power of seeing ; and he sees only through this small hole, because his power of seeing is circum- scribed by impediments on all other hands. Another necessary caution in this matter is, that we ought not to confound the or- gans of perception with the being that per- ceives. Perception must be the act of some being that perceives. The eye [78] is not that which sees ; it is only the organ by which we see.^: The ear is not that which hears, but the organ by which we hear ; and so of the rest. § A man cannot see the satellites of Jupiter but by a telescope. Does he conclude from tJiis, that it is the telescope that sees those stars ? By no means — such a conclusion would be absurd. It is no less absurd to * However astonishing, it is now proved beyond all rational doubt, that, in certain abnormal states of the nervous organism, perceptions are possible, through other than the ordinary channels of the senses. — H + The doctrine of Plato and of m.-iiiy other phi. lojophers. Reid ought, however, to have saiil, limited to, instead of " by our organs of sense :'• for, if the body be viewed as the prison of the soul, the senses must be viewed at least as partial outlets. — H. t ^1 e(p9aXfj.Sv, 'ii;t o(}6xXju.e7( , 8ay« Plato, followed by a host ot philosophers, comparing the tienscs to windows of the mind. — H. 5 ' I he mind fees," says Epicharmus — " the mind hears, all else is deaf and blind" — a saying alluded to a.^ proverbial by Aristotle, in a passage to the same effect, which cannot adequately lie translated :— - 'X.u^icOitaa, uiffOv.a-ii iiecvctxi, xtx.6aiT(( avxitrfiriTOf Tovov s^iff ua-ti^ Ei^trr^i to, Nv; o^oi^ x oti *i f i. X oi 11- This has escipc'd the commentaiors. — H. Seep. 87S,n. f7(;_78'| CHAP. II.] OF IMPRESSIOiNS ON THE ORGANS, &c. 247 conclude that it is the eye that sees, or the ear tliat hears. The telescope is an artificial organ of sight, but it sees not- The eye is a natural organ of sight, by which we see ; but the natural organ sees as little as the artificial. The eye is a machine nmet admirably contrived for refracting the rays of light, and forming a distinct picture of objects upon the retina ; but it sees neither the object nor the picture. It can form the picture after it is taken out of the head ; but no vision ensues. Even when it is in its proper place, and perfectly sound, it is well known that an obstruction in the optic nerve takes away vision, though the eye has performed all that bel'^ngs to ie. If anything more were necessary to be said on a point so evident, we might ob- serve that, if the faculty of seeing were in the eye, that of hearing in tlie ear, and so of the other se ses, the necessary conse- quence of this would be, that the thinking principle, which I call myself, is not one, but many. But this is contrary to the ir- resistible conviction of every man. When I say I see, I hear, I feel, I remember, this implies that it is one and the same self that performs all these operations ; and, as it would be absurd to say that my memory, another man's imagination, and a third man's reason, may make one individual intelligent being, it would be equally ab- surd to say that one piece of matter see- ing, another hearing, and a third feeling, may make one and the same percipient being. These sentiments are not new ; they have occurred to thinking men from early ages. Cicero, in his " Tusculan Questions," Book I., chap. 20, has expressed them very dis- tinctly. Those who choose may consult the passage," [79] CHAPTER II. OFTHE IMPRESSIONS ON THB ORGANS, NBRVKS, AND BRAINS. A SECOND law of our nature regarding perception is, Ihat tee perceive no object, vn'ess some impression is made upon the orjjan of sense, ei'hrr }iy the immediate application of the. oliject, or by some medium which passes between the object anil the orr/an. In two of our senses — to wit, tovch and t.iste — there must be an immediate applica- tion of the object to the organ. In tlie other three, the object is perceived at a dis- tance, but still by means of a medium, by • C'ircro «iiyB ni.thitiR on (hii lirad that had not been taid bcTore him by ilie Gicck iihllr'tojilicrt — H. [79, 80] which some impression is made upon the organ. * The effluvia of bodies drawn into the nostrils with the breath, are the medium of smell ; the undulations of the air are the medium of hearing ; and the rays of ligh passing from visible objects to the eye, ar the medium of sight. We see no object unless rays of light come from it to the eye. We hear not the sound of any body, unless the vibrations of some elastic medium, oc- casioned by the tremulous motion of the sounding body, reach our ear. We per- ceive no smell, unless the effluvia of the smelling body enter into the nostrils. We perceive no taste, unless the sapid body be applied to the tongue, or some part of the organ of taste. Nor do we perceive any tangible quality of a body, unless it touch the hands, or some part c« our bodies. These are facts known from experience to hold universally and invariably, both in men and brutes. By this law of our na- ture, our powers of perceiving external ob- jects, are farther limited and circumscribed. Nor can we give any other reason for this, than [80] that it is the will of our INIaker, who knows best what powers, and what degrees of them, are suited to our state. We were once in a state, I mean in the womb, wherein our powers of perception were more limited than in the present, and, in a future state, they may be more enlarged. It is likewise a law of our nature, that, in order to our perceiving objects, the im- pressions made upon the organs of sense must be communicated to the nerves, and by them to the brain. This is perfectly known to those who know anything of ana- tomy. The nerves are fine cords, which pass from the brain, or from the spinal marrow, which is a production of the brain, to all parts of the body, dividiiig into smaller branches as they proceed, until at last they escape our eyesight : and it is found by experience, that all the voluntary and in- voluntary motions of the body are performed by their means. When the nerves that serve any limb, are cut, or tied hard, we have then no more power to move that limb than if it was no part of the body. As there are nerves that serve the mus- cular motions, so there are others that serve the several senses ; and as without the for- mer we cannot move a limb, so without the latter we can liave no perception. • Thi« distinction of a mediate and ininicdialt olv )ect, or of an object and u niediuni, in iiercciJtion, ii inaccurate, and a source of sad confuson. \Ve per. ceivc. and can perceive, nothing but what is in rela- tioii to tlie or^-an, and notllln^: is in relation to tlio orfc.in that is nut prCKcnl to it. All Ihefciises are, in (act. modilicatii-m of touch, as Dcn^criiui of old tauxhl. We rench the distant reality, not I'y »cn»e. not by perception, but by inlerence. llciil, how. ever, in thii only follows liii prrdecciiort — ii. 248 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay II. This train of macliiuery the wisdom of God has made necessary to our perceiving objects. Various parts of tlie body concur to it, and each has its own function. First, The object, either immediately, or by some medium, must make an impression on the organ. The organ serves only as a medium by which an impression is made on the nerve ; and the nerve serves as a medium to make an impression upon the brain. Here the material part ends ; at least we can trace it no farther ; the rest is all in- tellectual." The proof of these impressions upon the nerves and brain in [81] perception is this, that, from many observations and experi- ments, it is found that, when the organ of any sense is perfectly sound, and has the impression made upon it by the object ever so strongly, yet, if the nerve which serves that organ be cut or tied hard, there is no perception ; and it is well known that dis- orders in the brain deprive us of the power of perception when both the organ and its nerve are sound. There is, therefore, sufficient reason to conclude that, in perception, the object pro- duces some change in the organ ; that the organ produces some change upon the nerve ; and that the nerve produces some change in the brain. And we give the name of an impression to those changes, because we have not a name more proper to express, in a general manner, any change produced in a body, by an external cause, without specifying the nature of that change. Whether it be pressure, or at- traction, or repulsion, or vibration, or some- thing unknown, for which we have no name, still it may be called an impression. But, with regard to the particular kind of this change or impression, philosophers have never heen able to discover anything at all. But, whatever be the nature of those im- pressions upon the organs, nerves, and brain, we perceive nothing without them. Experience informs that it is so ; but we cannot give a reason why it is so. In the constitution of man, perception, by fixed laws of nature, is connected with those im- pressions ; but we can discover no neces- sary connection. The Supreme Being has seen fit to limit our power of perception ; so that we perceive not without such impres- sions; and this is aU we know of the matter. This, however, we have reason to con- • There can be no doubt that the whole organism of the sense, from periphery to centre, must co-operate simultaneously in perception ; but there is no rea. son to place the mind at the central extremity alone, and to hold that not only a certain series of organic changes, but a sensation, must precede the mental cognition. This is mere hypothesis, and oppoaed to the testimony of cOiisciousness. — K. elude in general — that, as the impressions on the organs, nerves, and brain, correspond exactly to the nature and conditions of the objects by which they are made, so our perceptions and sensations correspond to those impressions, and vary in kind, and in degree, as they vary. [82] Without this exact correspondence, the information we receive by our senses would not only be imperfect, as it undoubtedly is, but would be fallacious, which we have no reason to think it is. CHAPTER in. HYPOTHESES CONCERNING THE NERVES AND BRAIN. We are informed by anatomists, that, al- though the two coats which inclose a nerve, and which it derives from the coats of the brain, are tough and elastic, yet the nerve itself has a very small degree of consistence, being almost like marrow. It has, how- ever, a fibrous texture, and may be divided and subdivided, till its fibres escape our senses ; and, as we know so very little about the texture of the nerves, there is great room left for those who choose to indulge themselves in conjecture. The ancients conjectured that the ner- vous fibres are fine tubes, filled with a very subtile spirit, or vapour, which they called animal spirits ; that the brain is a gland, by which the animal spirits are secreted from the finer part of tlie blood, and their continual waste repaired ; and that it is by these animal spirits that the nerves perform their functions. Des Cartes has shewn how, by these animal spirits, going and re- turning in the nerves, muscular motion, perception, memory, and imagination, are efiected. All this he has described as dis- tinctly as if he had been an eye-witness of all those operations. But it happens that the tubular structure of the nerves was never perceived by the human eye, nor shewn by the nicest injections ; and all that has been said about animal spirits, through more than fifteen centuries, is mere con- jecture. Dr Briggs, who was Sir Isaac Newton's master in anatomy, was the first, as far as I know, who advanced a new system concerning [83] the nerves." He conceived them to be solid filaments of prodigious " Briggs was not the first. The Jesuit, Hon'-, ratus Fabry, had before him denied the old hypothe- cs of spirits ; and the new hypothesis of cerebral fibres, and fibrils, by which he explains the phaeno. meiia of senie, imagination and memory, is not on'y the first, but perhaps the most ingenious of the class tliat has been proposed. Yet the very name of Fabry is wholly unnoticed by those historians of philosopliy who do not deem it superflucus to dwell on the tire some reveries of Briggs, Hartley, and Bonnet. — H. [81_S3] CHAP. III.] HYPOTHESES CONCERNING THE NERVES, &c. 249 tenuity ; and this opinion, as it accords bet- ter with observation, seems to have been more generally received since his time. As to the manner of performing their office, Dr Briggs thought that, like musical cords, they have vibrations differing according to their length and tension. They seem, how- ever, very unfit for this purpose, on account of their want of tanacity, their moisture, and being through their whole length in contact with moist substances ; so that, al- though Dr Briggs wrote a book upon this system, called Nova Visionis Theoria, it seems not to have been much followed. Sir Isaac Newton, in all his philosophical writings, took great care to distinguish his doctrines, which he pretended to prove by just induction, from his conjectures, which were to stand or fall according as future experiments and observations should esta- blish or refute them. His conjectures he has put in the form of queries, that they might not be received as truths, but be inquired into, and determined according to the evidence to be found for or against them. Those who mistake his queries for a part of his doctrine, do him great injus- tice, and degrade him to the rank of the common herd of philosophers, who have in all ages adulterated philosophy, by mixing conjecture with truth, and their own fancies with the oracles of Nature. Among other queries, this truly great philosopher pro- posed this, AVhether there may not be an elastic medium, or aether, immensely more rare than air, which pervades all bodies, and which is the cause of gravitation ; of the refraction and reflection of the rays of light ; of the transmission of heat, through spaces void of air ; and of many other phaa- nomena ? In the 23d query subjoined to his "Optics," he puts this question with regard to the impressions made on the nerves and brain in perception, Wliether vision is effected chiefly by the vibrations of this medium, excited in the bottom of the eye by the rays of light, and propagated along the solid, pellucid, and uniform capillaments of the optic nerve ? And whether liearing is effected [84] by the vibrations of this or some other medium, excited by the tremor of the air in the auditory nerves, and pro- pagated along the solid, pellucid, and uni- form capillaments of those nerves ? And so with regard to the other senses. What Newton only proposed as a matter to be inquired into, Dr Hartley conceived to have such evidence, that, in liis " Ob- servations on IVIan," he has deduced, in a mathematical form, a very ainjtle system concerning the faculties of the mind, from the doctrine of vibrations, joined with that of association. His notion of the vibrations exciterossions of external objects upon the machine of our bodies can be the real efficient cause of thought and perception. Passing this, ther(!tore, as a notion too absurd to admit of reasoning, another con- clusion very generally made by philoso- phers is, that, in i)ercei)tion, an impression is made upon the mind as woll as u]ion the organ, nerves, and brain. Aristotle, as was before observed, thought that the form or image of the object perceived, enters by * 'i'lip stoics are icprthended for such n duclrino hy liocthius: — •' Quondam porticua attulit Obscuros nmuuHi fients, Qui sensus ct imagines K corporihUH extunis C'reiiant meniihus impriini, Ut qui nclani eileri stylo Mos fst aquorc p»;,'inir Quae Miillas iMljeat iii>ta<, I'iciisas (igiTe liliraa." Iftc 'f\\c tiiliula rasa reniounta, howevir, to Ari«lollt — intleed to I'lalo— as an illu>liation — II. 254 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [kSSaY II. the organ of sense, and strikes upon the mind." Mr IJume gives the name of im- pressions to all our perceptions, to all our sensations, and even to the objects which we perceive. Mr Locke affirms very posi- tively, that the ideas of external objects are produced [96] in our minds by impulse, " that being the only way we can conceive bodies to operate in." It ought, however, to be observed, in justice to Mr Locke, that he retracted this notion in his first letter to the Bishop of Worcester, and promised, in the next edition of his Essay, to have that pas- sage rectified ; but, either from forgetlul- ness in the author, or negligence in the printer, the passage remains in all the sub- sequent editions 1 have seen. There is no prejudice more natural to man than to conceive of the mind as hav- ing some similitude to body in its opera- tions. Hence men have been prone to imagine that, as bodies are put ui motion by some impulse or impression made upon them by contiguous bodies, so the mind is made to think and to perceive by some im- pression made upon it, or some impulse given to it by contiguous objects. If we have such a notion of the mind as Homer had of his gods — who might be bruised or wounded with swords and spears — we may then understand what is meant by impres- sions made upon it by a body ; but, if we conceive the mind to be immaterial— of which I think we have very strong proofs — we shall find it difficult to affix a meaning to impressions made upon it. There is a figurative meaning of impres- sions on the mind which is well authorized, and of which we took notice in the observa- tions made on that word ; but this meaning applies only to objects that are interesting. To say that an object which I see with per- fect indifference makes an impression upon my mind, is not, as I apprehend, good Etiglish. If philosophers mean no more but that I see the object, why should they invent an improper phrase to express what every man knows how to express in plain English ? But it is evident, from the maimer in which this phrase is used by modern philo- sophers, that they mean, not barely to ex- press by it ray perceiving an object, but to explain the manner of perception. They think that the object perceived acts upon the mind in some way similar to that in which one body acts upon another, by making [97] an impression upon it. The impression upon the mind is conceived to be something wherein the mind is alto- gether passive, and has some effect pro- • A mere metaphor in Aristotle. (See Notes K and M.) At any rate, the impnssion was supposed to be made on the animated eensorj, am; nut on the intellect.— H. duced in it by the object. But this is a hypothesis which contradicts the common sense of mankind, and which ought not to be admitted without proof. When I look upon the wall of my room, the wall does not act at all, nor is capable of acting ; the perceiving it is an act or operation in me. That this is the common apprehension of mankind with regard to perception, is evident from the manner of expressing it in all languages. The vulgar give themselves no trouble how they perceive objects — they express what they are conscious of, and they express it with propriety ; but philosophers have an avidity to know how we perceive objects; and, conceiving some similitude between a body that is put in motion, and a mind that is made to perceive, they are led to think that, as the body must receive some impulse to make it move, so the mind must receive some impulse or impression to make it per- ceive. This analogy seems to be confirmed, by observing that we perceive objects only when they make some impression upon the organs of sense, and upon the nerves and brain ; but it ought to be observed, that such is the nature of body that it cannot change its state, but by some force impressed upon it. This is not the nature of mind. All that we know about it shews it to be in its nature living and active, and to have the power of perception in its constitution, but still within those limits to which it is confined by the laws of Nature. It appears, therefore, that this phrase of the mind's having impressions made upon it by corporeal objects in perception, ia either a phrase without any distuict mean- ing, and contrary to the propriety of the English language, or it is grounded upon an hypothesis which is destitute of proof. On that account, though we grant that in perception there is an impression made upon the organ of [98] sense, and upon the nerves and brain, we do not adn)it that the object makes any impression upon the mind. There is another conclusion drawn from the impressions made upon the brain in perception, which 1 conceive to have no solid foundation, though it has been adopted very generally by philosophers. It is, that, by the impressions made on the brain, images are formed of the object ])erceived ; and that the mind, being seated in the brain as its chamber of presence, immediately perceives those images only, and has no perception of the external object but by them. This notion of our perceiving ex- ternal olijects, not immediately, but in cer- tain images or species of them conveyed by the senses, seems to be the most ancient philosophical hypothesis we have on the subject of perception, and to have with 1^96-98] CHAP. IV.] FALSE CONCLUSIONS, &c. 255 small variations retained its authority to this day. Aristotle, as was before observed, main- tained, that the species, images, or forms of external objects, coming from the object, are impressed on the mind. The followers of Democritus and Epicurns held the same thing, with regard to slender films of sub- tile matter coming from the object, tliat Aristotle did with regard to his immaterial species or forms. Aristotle thought every object of human understanding enters at first by the senses ;* and that the notions got by them are by the powers of the mind refined and spirit- ualized, so as at last to become objects of the most sublime and abstracted science?. Plato, on the other hand, had a very mean opinion of all the knowledge we get by the senses. He thought it did not deserve tlie name of knowledge, and could not be the foundation of science ; because the objects of sense are individuals only, and are in a constant fluctuation. AH science, according to him, must be employed about those eternal and immutable ideas which existed before the objects of sense, and are not liable to any change. In this there was an essen- tial difference between the systems of these two philosophers. [99] The notion of eter- nal and immutable ideas, which Plato bor- rowed from the Pytliagorean school, was totally rejected by Aristotle, who held it as a maxim, that there is nothing in the intel- lect, which was not at first in the senses. But, notwithstanding this great difference in those two ancient systems, they might both agree as to 'the manner in which we perceive objects by our senses : and that they did so, I think, is probable ; because Aristotle, as far as I know, neither takes notice of any difference between himself and his master upon this point, nor lays claim to his theory of the manner of our perceiving objects as his own invention. It is still more probable, from the hints which Plato gives in the seventh book of his Republic, concerning the manner in w-hich we perceive the objects of sense ; which he compares to persons in a deep and dark cave, who see not externnl objects themselves but only their shadows, by a light let into the cave through a small opening. -f It seems, therefore, probable that tlic Py- thagoreans and Platonists agreed with the Peripatetics in this general theory of per- ception — to wit, that tile oljjects of sense * This is a very rtnubtful point, and has accord. inRly divided his followers. Texts can be quoted to prove, on the one side, that ArislotI ■ i'cri»ed all our notions, a posteriori, from the experience of s not an immanent 'or- niti"!! ; extLiii-ion and fu'ure are, in tli.it ait, \\»\ merely ►ug(;''''t' d coiiceptiuiiH ; and, an we are perci. pientol the iirin-i'go, and,cori8ii()Uitituereet on i. I are, ut per va.ios in corpoie motus varia; in n-ente cxcitenlur idea; et perceptioncs ; et vicissini, ut per varia< mentis volitione^, varii in corpore ixcilentur et producantur im tus ? H nc et pro varia alt( r. utrius partis di-positione alli'ra iiars variis moifis affici pote.-t. Hoc autem a Deo ita ordinatumet eHectum esfe, a posteriori, conlinua, cerlissim.i et clarissima experientia docet Testes irrelr.igaliiles omnique (xccptinne majirtg reciproci hujiis ccm. imrcii, operalioiiis mentis in corpus, et cori oris in meiitein, nee non cmiimunionis .status, sunt lensus omnes turn exlerni, tuin iulerni \ ut et oinnes ct singula; et conlinua; actiones mentis in corp «, dc quibus iiioilo fiiit actum. M quis vcro a pnpriela- ////u» mentis ad /)/«/)rii7(j/r» corporis prugniii velit, aut I xnrt/«>rtii«iariiin hariiiii .■.nlis'antiariim dc.luitreinotum m corpoce, ti percept iniies in ii onle, aut lios ell'ectus ut necessario lomiexoK spictaie ; na' is frustraerit, nihil intelligct, perveisissime i hi. 258 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. LESSAy II. CHAPTER V. OF PERCEPTION. In speaking of the impressions made on our organs in perception, we build upon facts borrowed from anatomy and physio- logy, for which we have the testimony of our senses. But, being now to speak of perception itself, which is solely an act of the mind, we must appeal to another authority. The operations of our minds are known, not by sense, but by conscious- ness, the authority of which is as certain and as irresistible as that of sense. In order, however, to our having a distinct notion of any of the operations of our own minds, it is not enough that we be conscious of them ; for all men have this consciousness. It is farther necessary that we attend to them while they are exerted, and reflect upon them with care, while they are recent and fresh in our memory. It is necessary that, by employing ourselves frequently in this way, we get the habit of this attention and reflec- tion ; and, therefore, for the proof of facts which I shall have occasion to mention upon this subject, I can only appeal to the reader's own thoughts, whether such facts are not agreeable to what he is conscious of in his own mind. [106] If, therefore, we attend to that act of our mind which we call the perception of an external object of sense, we shall find in it these three things : — First, Some con- ception or notion of the object perceived ; Secondly/, A strong and irresistible convic- tion and belief of its present existence ; and. Thirdly, That this conviction and belief are immediate, and not the effect of reasoning. " First, It is impossible to perceive an object without having some notion or con- ception of that which we perceive. We may, indeed, conceive an object which we do not perceive ; but, wlien we perceive the object, we must have some conception of it at the same time ; and we have commonly a more clear and steady notion of the object while we perceive it, than we have from memory or imagination when it is not per- ceived. Yet, even in perception, the notion which our senses give of the object may be more or less clear, more or less distinct, in all possible degrees. Thus we see more distinctly an object at a small than at a great distance. An object at a great distance is seen more distinctly in losophabitur nullamque hujus rei ideam habere po. terit. Si vero ad Deum t reatorem adscendamus, eumque vere agnoscamus, nihil hie erit obscuri, hunc effectum clari.'simeintelligemus, et quidem per eaujsam ejus primam ; quas perfectissima demum est scientia." — H. * See above, p. 183, a, note • : p. 128, b, note « ; and Note C H. a clear than in a foggy day. An object seen indistinctly with the naked eye, on account of its smallness, may be seen dis- tinctly with a microscope. The objects in this room will be seen by a person in the room less and less distinctly as the light of the day fails ; they pass through all the various degrees of distinctness according to the degrees of the light, and, at last, in total darkness they are not seen at all. What has been said of the objects of sight is so easily applied to the objects of the other senses, that the application may bo left to the reader. In a matter so obvious to every person capable of reflection, it is necessary only farther to observe, that the notion which we get of an object, merely by our external sense, ought not to be confounded with that more scientific notion which a man, come to the years of understanding, may have of the same object, by attending to its various attributes, or to its various parts, and their relation to each other, and to the whole. [107] Thus, the notion which a child has of a jack for roasting meat, will be acknowledged to be very different from that of a man who understands its construction, and perceives the relation of the parts to one another, and to the whole. The child sees the jack and every part of it as well as the man. The child, therefore, has all the notion of it which sight gives ; whatever there is more in the notion which the man forms of it, must be derived from otlier powers of the mind, which may afterwards be explained. This observation is made here only that we may not confound the operations of differ- ent powers of the mind, which by being always conjoined after we grow up to under- standing, are apt to pass for one and the same. Secondly, In perception we not only have a notion more or less distinct of the object perceived, but also an irresistible conviction and belief of its existence. This is always the case when we are certain that we per- ceive it. There may be a perception so faint and indistinct as to leave us in doubt whether we perceive the object or not. Thus, when a star begins to twinkle as the light of the sun withdraws, one maj', for a short time, think he sees it without being certain, until the perception acquire some strength and steadiness. When a ship just begins to appear in the utmost verge of the horizon, we may at first be dubious whether we perceive it or not ; but when the percep- tion is in any degree clear and steady, there remains no doubt of its reality ; and when the reality of the perception is ascertained, the existence of the object perceived can no longer be doubted.* • In this paragraph there is a confusion of that which is perceived and that which is inferred from the perception.— H. ri06, 1071 CHAP, v.] OF PERCEPTION. 259 By the laws of all nations, in the most solemn judicial trials, wherein men's for- tunes and lives are at stake, the sentence passes according to the testimony of eye or ear witnesses of good credit. An upright judge will give a fair hearing to every objec- tion that can be made to the integrity of a witness, and allow it to be possible that he may be corrupted ; but no judge will ever suppose that witnesses maybe imposed upon by trusting to their eyes and ears. And if a sceptical counsel should plead against the testimony of the witnesses, that they had no other evidence for what they [108] de- clared but the testimony of their eyes and ears, and that we ought not to put so much faith in our senses as to deprive men of life or fortune upon their testimony, surely no upright judge would admit a plea of this kind. I believe no counsel, however scep- tical, ever dared to offer such an argument ; and, if it was offered, it would be rejected with disdain. Can any stronger proof be given that it is the universal judgment of mankind that the evidence of sense ijs a kind of evidence which we may securely rest upon in the most momentous concerns of mankind ; that it is a kind of evidence against which we ought not to admit any reasoning ; and, therefore, that to reason either for or against it is an insult to common sense ? The whole conduct of mankind in the daily occurrences of life, as well as the so- lemn procedure of judicatories in the trial of causes civil and criminal, demonstrates this. I know only of two exceptions that may be offered against this being the uni- versal belief of mankind. The first exception is that of some luna- tics who have been persuaded of things that seem to contradict the clear testimony of their senses. It is said there have been lunatics and hypochondriacal persons, who seriously believed themselves to be made of glass ; and, in consequence of this, lived in continual terror of having their brittle frame shivered into pieces. All I have to say to this is, that our minds, in our present state, are, as well as our bodies, lialile to strange disorders ; and, as we do not judge of the natural constitu- tion of the Ijody from the disorders or dis- eases to whicli it is subject from accidents, 80 neither ought we to judge of the natural powers of the mind from its disorders, but from its sound state. It is natural to man, and conmion to the Kjiccies, to liave two hands and two feet ; yet I have seen a man, and a very ingenious one, wlio was born without cither hands or feet. [lOI*) It is natural to man to have faculties superior to those of brutes ; yet wo see some indivi- duals whose faculties are not equal to those of many brutes ; and the wisest man may, [108-110] by various accidents, be reduced to this state. General rules that regard those whose intellects are sound are not over- thrown by instances of men whose intellects are hurt by any constitutional or accidental disorder. The other exception that may be made to the principle we have laid down is that of some philosophers who have maintained that the testimony of sense is fallacious, and therefore ought never to be trusted. Perhaps it might be a sufficient answer to this to say, that there is nothing so absurd which some philosophers have not main- tained.* It is one thing to profess a doc- trine of this kind, another seriously to be- lieve it, and to be governed by it in the conduct of life. It is evident that a man who did not believe his senses could not keep out of harm's way an hour of his life ; yet, in all the history of philosophy, we never read of any sceptic that ever stepped into fire or water because he did not believe his senses, or that shewed in the conduct of life less trust in his senses than other men have.-f- This gives us just ground to appre- hend that philosophy was never able to conquer that natural belief which men have m their senses ; and that all their subtile reasonings against this belief were never able to persuade themselves. It appears, therefore, that the clear and distinct testimony of our senses carrie? irresistible conviction along with it to everj man in his right judgment. I observed. Thirdly, That this conviction is not only irresistible, but it is immediate ; that is, it is not by a train of reasoning and argumentation that we come to be convinced of the existence of what we perceive ; we ask no argument for the existence of the object, but that we per- ceive it ; perception conmiands our belief upon its own authority, and disdains to rest its authority upon any reasoning what- soever.:}: [110] The conviction of a trutli may be irre- sistible, and yet not immediate. Thus, my conviction that the three angles of every plain triangle are equal to two right angles, is irresistible, but it is not innnediate ; I am convinced of it by demonstrative rea- soning. Thcro are other truths in mathe- matics of wliich we have not only an irre- sistible but an immediate conviction. Such are the axioms. Our belief of tin; axioms in mathematics is not grounded upon argii- • A saying of Varro — H. t All this we read, however, in Laijrtiiiii, of F'yrrhoj and on the authority of Antigomn Carystlui, the Ktcat sceptic's contemporary. Whether we arc to believe the narrative is aimtlier qiiei a'so wre!itt'al share of ili eel. bntv.— II. 266 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay II trary extreme, to make everything almost to be a sensation or feeling in our minds. It is obvious that the system of Male- branche leaves no evidence of the existence of a material world, from what we perceive by our senses ; for the divine ideas, which are the objects immediately perceived, were the same before the world was created. Malebranche was too acute not to discern this consequence of his system, and too can- did not to acknowledge it. [123] He fairly owns it, and endeavours to make advantage of it, resting the complete evidence we have of the existence of matter upon the author- ity of revelation. He shews that the argu- ments brought by Des Cartes to prove the existence of a material world, though as good as any that reason could furnish, are not perfectly conclusive ; and, though he acknowledges with Des Cartes that we feel a strong propensity to believe the existence of a material world, yet he thinks this is not sufficient ; and that to yield to such propensities without evidence, is to expose ourselves to perpetual delusion. He thinks, therefore, that the only convincing evidence we have of the existence of a material world is, that we are assured by revelation that God created the heavens and the earth, and that the Word was made flesh. He is sensible of the ridicule to which so strange an opinion may expose him among those who are guided by prejudice ; but, for the sake of truth, he is willing to bear it. But no author, not even Bishop Berkeley, hath shewn more clearly, that, either upon his own system, or upon the common principles of philosophers with regard to ideas, we have no evidence left, either from reason or from our senses, of the existence of a material world. It is no more than justice to Father Malebranche, to acknowledge that Bishop Berkeley's arguments are to be found in him in their whole force. Mr Norris, an English divine, espoused the system of Malebranche, in his " Essay towards the Theory of the Ideal or Intel- lectual World," published in two volumes 8°, anno I70I. This author has made a feeble effort to supply a defect which is to be found not in Malebranche only, but in almost all the authors who have treated of ideas — I mean, to prove their existence.* He has employed a whole chapter to prove that material things cannot be an immediate object of perception. His arguments are these : Is/, They are without the mind, and, therefore there can be no union between the object and the perception. 2dly, They are disproportioned to the mind, and removed * This is incorrect. In almost every system of the Aristotelico-scholastic philosophy, the attempt is made to prove the existence of Species ; nor is Reid's ;isseition true even of ideas in the Cartesian philoso- phy. In fact, Norris's arguments are all old and commonplace. — H. from it by the whole diameter of being. 3rf^//, Because, if material objects were immediate objects of perception, there could be no physical science; things necessary and immutable being the only objects of science. [124] 4/A/y, If material things were perceived by themselves, they would be a true light to our minds, as being the intel- ligible form of our understandings, and con- sequently perfective of them, and, indeed, superior to them. Malebranche's system was adopted by many devout people in France of both sexes ; but it seems to have had no great currency in other countries, Mr Locke wrote a small tract against it, which is found among his posthumous works :* but, whether it was written in haste, or after the vigour of his understanding was im- paired by age, there is less of strength and solidity in it than in most of his writings. The most formidable antagonist Male- branche met with was in his own country — Antony Arnauld, doctor of the Sorbonne, and one of the acutest writers the Jansenists have to boast of, though that sect has pro- duced many. Malebranche was a Jesuit, and the antipathy between the Jesuits and Jansenists left him no room to expect quarter from his learned antagonist.-)- Those who choose to see this system attacked on the one hand, and defended on the other, with subtilty of argument and elegance of expression,^! and on the part of Arnauld with much wit and humour, may find satis- faction by reading Malebranche's " Enquiry after Truth ;" Arnauld's book " Of True and False Ideas ;" Malebranche's " Defence ;" and some subsequent replies and defences. In controversies of this kind, the assailant commonly has the advantage, if they are not unequally matched ; for it is easier to overturn all the theories of philosophers upon this subject, than to defend any one of them. Mr Bayle makes a very just re- mark upon this controversy — that the argu- ments of Mr Arnauld against the system of Malebranche, were often unanswerable, but • In answer to Locke's*' Examination of P. Male* branche's Opinion," Leibnitz wrote " Remarks," which are to be found among his posthumous works, publislied by Raspc. — H. + Malebranche was not a Jesuit, but a Priest of the Oratory; and so little was he either a favourer or favourite of the Jesuits, that, by the Pere de Valois, he was accused ot heresy, by the Fere Hardouin, of Atheism. The endeavours of the Jesuits in France to prohibit the introduction of every form of the Carte- sian dot-trine into the public seminaries of education, are well known. Malebranche and Arnauld were therefore not opposed as Jesuit and Jansenist, and it should likewise be remembered that they were both Cartesians. — H. t Independently of his principal hypothesis alto- gether, the works of Malebranche deserve the most attentive study, both on account of the m.nny ad. mirable thoughts and observations with which they abound, and because they are among the few con- summate models of philoscphical eloquence— H. ri23, 124] CHAP, viii.] OF THE THEORY OF PERCEPTION, &c. 267 they were capable of being retorted against his owTi system ; and his ingenious antag- onist knew well how to use this defence. L 125] CHAPTER VIII. OP THE COMMON' THEORY OF PERCEPTION, AND OF THE SENTIMENTS OF THE PERIPA- TETICS, AND OF DES CARTES. This theory, in general, is, that we per- ceive external objects only by certain images which are in our minds, or in the sensorium to which the mind is immediately present. Philosophers in different ages have differed both in the names they have given to those images, and in their notions concerning them. It would be a laborious task to enumerate all their variations, and per- haps would not requite the lal^our. I shall only give a sketch of the principal dif- ferences with regard to their names and their nature. By Aristotle and the Peripatetics, the images presented to our senses were called sensible species or forms ; those presented to the memory or imagination were called phantasvis ; and those presented to the intellect were called intelligible species ; and tliey thought that there can be no perception, no imagination, no intellection, without species or phantasms,* What the ancient philosophers called species, sensible and intelligible, and phantasms, in later times, and especially since the time of Des Cartes, came to be called by the common name of ideas.-\' The Cartesians divided our ideas into three classes — those of sensa- tion, oi imagination, and oi pure intellection. Of the objects of sensation and imagination, they thought the images are in the brain ; J but of objects that are incorporeal the images are in the understanding or pure intellect. JMr Locke, taking the word idea in the same sense as Des Cartes had done before him, to signify whatever is meant by phan- tasm, notion, or species, divides ideas into those of sensation, and those of reflection ; meaning by the first, the ideas of all corpo- real oljjects, whether perceived, remem- bered, or imagined ; by the second, the ideas of the powers and operations of our minds. [12(>] What Mr Locke calls ideas, Mr Hume divides into two distinct kinds, impressions and ideas, 'i'ho diHcrcnce be- twixt these, he says, consists in the degrees of force and liveliness with which they strike upon the mind. Under im/iressions he com- preiicnds all our sensations, passions, and • Ste Ni te M H. 1 N ot intrely rspeciiilly, but inly »lncc the time of I)i» C^rtus, ice Nolp (i.— l\. t Incorrect. Sec Note N.— H. [ \'^r,, i?fi] emotions, as they make their first appear- ance in the soul. By ideas, he means the faint images of these in thinking and rea- soning. Dr Hartley gives the same meaning to ideas as Mr Hume does, and what Mr Hume calls impressions he calls sensations ; conceiving our sensations to be occasioned by vibrations of the infinitesimal particles of the brain, and ideas by miniature vibra- tions or vibratiuncles. Such dift'erences we find among philosophers, with regard to the name of those internal images of objects of sense which they hold to be the imme- diate objects of perception." We shall next give a short detail of the sentiments of the Peripatetics and Carte- sians, of Locke, Berkeley, and Hume, con- cerning them. Aristotle seems to have thought that the soul consists of two parts, or rather that we have two souls — the animal and the ra- tional ; or, as he calls them, the soul and the intellect. -|- To the first, belong the senses, memory, and imagination ; to the last, judgment, opinion, belief, and reason- ing. The first we have in common with brute animals ; the last is peculiar to man. The animal soul he held to be a certain form of the body, which is inseparable from it, and perishes at death- To this soul the senses belong ; and he defines a sense to be that which is capable of receiving the sensi- ble forms or species of objects, without any of the matter of them ; as wax receives the form of the seal without any of the matter of it. The forms of sound, of colour, of * Heid, 1 may ohserve in general, does not dis- tinguish, as it especially lichoved him to do, between wliat were held by philosophers to be the proximate causes of our mental representations, and those representations themselves as'the ubjfcts of cognition — i. e , between what are known in the schools as \hc spfcies itnpesste, ami the specitsexprt's>ir. 'i'he former, to wliich the name of species, image, idea, was otteti given, in common with the latter, was held on all hands to be unknown lo consciousness, and generally supposed to lie merely certain occult motions in the organism. 'Jhe latter, the result deurmincd by the former, is tlie meiit.';! repieseiilalion, and the immediate or proper object in perception, (ireat confusion, to those who do i.ut bear this distinction in mind, is, hoivevir, the consequence of the verbal ambiguity; and Keid's misrepresentations of the dnctrine of the philosophers in, in a great measure, to be traced to this source. — H. f This not correct. Inste.id nl two, XhcanimnI and raliunal, Aristotle gave to the soul three gt neric lunctions, the vegetable, the animal or tensnat, anil the rational; but whether he sii|.|'oes these to constitute three coiicciilric potences, three se|.arate iiarts, or three distinct kiuIs, has divided his disciples. He also deliiies the soul in general, and not, (ih Heid supposes, the mere' rtnim'il soul,' lo be the lorin or (►T(Aix.\* rt KfUTTtt ri mt if x{uTro» kk'i itrifii/itu i/TOii TA>,f flief i — II. 268 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. £essay II. taste, and of other sensible qualities, are, in manner, received by the senses. • [ 127 ] It seems to be a necessary consequence of Aristotle's doctrine, that bodies are con- stantly sending forth, in all directions, as many different kinds of forms without matter as they have different sensible qua- lities ; for the forms of colour must enter by the eye, the forms of sound by the ear, and so of the other senses. This, accord- ingly, was mamtained by the followers of Aristotle, though not, as far as I know, expressly mentioned by himself. + They disputed concerning the nature of those forms of species, whether they were real beings or nonentities ;J and some held them to be of an intermediate nature be- tween the two. The whole doctrine of the Peripatetics and schoolmen concerning forms, substantial and accidental, and con- cerning the transmission of sensible species from objects of sense to the mind, if it be at all intelligible, is so far above my com- prehension that I should perhaps do it in- justice, by entering into it more minutely. Malebranche, in his " Recherche de la Verite," has employed a chapter to shew that material objects do not send forth sensible species of their several sensible qualities. The great revolution which Des Cartes produced in philosophy, was the effect of a superiority of genius, aided by the circum- stances of the times. Men had, for more than a thousand years, looked up to Ari- stotle as an oracle in philosophy. His authority was the test of truth. The small remains of the Platonic system were con- fined to a few mystics, whose principles and manner of life drew little attention. The feeble attempts of Ramus, and of some others, to make improvements in the sys- tem, had little effect. The Peripatetic doctrines were so interwoven with the whole system of scholastic theology, that to dissent from Aristotle was to alarm the Church. The most useful and intelligible parts, even of Aristotle's writings, were neglected, and philosophy was become an art of speak- ing learnedly, and disputing subtilely, with- out producing any invention of use in human life. It was fruitful of words, but barren of works, and admirably contrived for drawing a veil over human ignorance, and « See Note M.— H. t Nor is there valid ground for supposing that such an opinion was even implicitly held by the Stagirite. It was also explicitly npuiilated by many of his fol. lowers. See Note M. — H. X The question in the schools, between those who admitted species, was not, whether species, in gene, ral, were real beings or nonentilt>'s (which would have been, did they exist or not,) but whether sen. si le species were material, immaterial, or of a nature between body and spirit — a problem, it must b ' allowed, sufficiently futile, but not, like the other, self.contradictovy, — n. putting a stop to the progress of knowledge, by filling men with a conceit that they knew everything. [128] It was very fruitful also in controversies ; but, for the most part, they were controversies about words, or about things of no moment, or things above the reach of the human faculties. And the issue of them was what might be expected — that the contending parties fought, without gaining or losing an inch of ground, till they were weary of the dispute, or their atten- tion was called off to some other subject.* Such was the philosophy of the schools of Europe, during many ages of darkness and barbarism that succeeded the decline of the Roman empire; so that there was great need of a reformation in philosophy as well as in religion. The light began to dawn at last ; a spirit of inquiry sprang up, and men got the courage to doubt of the dogmas of Aristotle, as well as of the decrees of Popes. The most important step in the reformation of religion, was to destroy the claim of infallibility, which hindered men from using their judgment in matters of religion ; and the most important step in the reformation of philosophy, was to destroy the authority of which Aristotle had so long had peaceable possession. The last had been attempted by Lord Bacon and others, with no less zeal than the first by Luther ai!d Calvin, Des Cartes knew well the defects of the prevailing system, which had begun to lose its authority. His genius enabled him, and his spirit prompted him, to attempt a new one. He had applied much to the mathe- matical sciences, and had made considerable improvement in them. He wished to in- troduce that perspicuity and evidence into other branches of philosophy which he found in them. Being sensible how apt we are to be led astray by prejudices of education, he thought the only way to avoid error was to resolve to doubt of everything, and hold everything to be uncertain, even those things which he had been taught to hold as most certain, until he had such clear and cogent evidence as compelled his assent. [129] In this state of universal doubt, that which first appeared to him to be clear and certain, was his own existence. Of this he was certain, because he was conscious that he thought, that he reasoned, and that he doubted. He used this argument, there- fore, to prove his own existence, Cocjito, ergo sum. This he conceived to be the first of all truths, the foundation-stone upon which the whole fabric of human knowledge * This is the vulgar opinion in regard to the scholastic pliilosophy. The few are, however, now aware that the human mind, though partially, was never more powerfully developed than during the middle ages.— f I. [127-129] CHAP. VIII.] OF THE THEORY OF PERCEPTION & «c. 2ove a century ago, incidentally speaks of this doc. trine as an offiihoot of Spinozisni, and under the [i.io, i:n] but may be trusted, when a proper use is made of them. The system of Des Cartes is, with great perspicuity and acuteness, explained by himself in his writings, which ought to be consulted by those who would understand it. The merit of Des Cartes cannot be easily conceived by those who have not some notion of the Peripatetic system, in which he was educated. To throw oft" the preju- dices of education, and to create a system of nature, totally difterent from that which had subdued the understanding of mankind, and kept it in subjection for so many cen- turies, required an uncommon force of mind. The world which Des Cartes exhibits to our view, is not only in its structure very different from that of the Peripatetics, but is, as we may say, composed of dilierent materials. In the old system, everything was, by a kind of metaphysical sublimation, resolved into principles so mysterious that it may be a question whether they were words with- out meaning, or were notions too refined for liuman understanding. All that we observe in nature is, accord- ing to Aristotle, a constant succession of the operations of generation and corruption. [131 ] The principles of generation are mat- ter and form. The principle of corruption is privation. All natural things are produced or generated by the union of matter and form ; matter being, as it were, the mother, and form the father. As to matter, or the first matter, as it is called, it is neither substance nor accident ; it has no quality or property ; it is nothing actually, but everything potentially. It has so strong an appetite for form, that it is no sooner divested of one form than it is clothed with another, and is equally susceptibie of all forms successively. It has no nature, but only the capacity of having any one. This is the account which the Peripate- tics give of the first matter. The other jirinciple of generation is, form, act, ptrfer- liiin ; for these three words signify the same thing. But we must not conceive form to consist in the figure, size, arrangement, or motion of the parts of matter. These, in- deed, are accidental forms, by which things Mime o( Ei;omisme. But Father Buflier, about the same time, and, be it noted, in a work publishtnl sonic ten years before Hume's " 1 riatise of Human Na- tuie," talks of it, on hearsay, :is the speculation ol a Scotch phdosopher:—" Unccrivain I cossoisapublii', dit on. 111! ouvtageiKiur prouver (ju'il n'avolt nuiunc Evidence de I'txistence d'aucun etre i|uedelui; ct encoie de lui, en taiH iju' esprit; n'aiant aucune .\fii ; to which however, I inntt reler the reader, as I have not thai journal at baud. — Hut more of this below, niiuvf p 1«7.— II. 270 ON THE rNTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay artificial are formed : but every production of Nature has a substantial form," which, joined to matter, makes it to be what it is. The substantial form is a kind of informing soul, which gives the thing its specific na- ture, and all its qualities, powers, and activity. Thus the substantial form of heavy bodies, is that which makes them descend ; of light bodies, that which makes them ascend. The substantial form of gold, is that which gives it its ductility, its fusibility, its weight, its colour, and all its qualities ; and the same is to be understood of every natural production. A change in the accidental form of any body, is alteration only ; but a change in the substantial form is generation and corruption : it is corrup- tion with respect to the substantial form, of which the body is deprived ; it is genera- tion with respect to the substantial form that succeeds. Thus, when a horse dies and turns to dust, the philosophical account of the phcenomenon is this : — A certain por- tion of the materia prima, which was joined to the substantial form of a horse, is de- prived of it by privation, and in the same instant is invested with the substantial form of earth. [132] As every substance must have a substantial form, there are some of those forms inanimate, some vegetative, some animal, and some rational. The three former kinds can only subsist in matter ; but the last, according to the schoolmen, is immediately created by God, and infused into the body, making one substance with it, while they are united; yet capable of being disjoined from the body, and of sub- sisting by itself. Such are the principles of natural things in the Peripatetic system. It retains so much of the ancient Pythagorean doctrine, that we cannot ascribe the invention of it solely to Aristotle, although he, no doubt, made considerable alterations in it. The first matter was probably the same in both sys- tems, and was in both held to be eternal. They differed more about form. The Py- thagoreans and Platonists held forms or ideas, as they called them, to be eternal, immutable, and self-existent. Aristotle maintained that they were not eternal, nor self-existent. On the other hand, he did not allow them to be produced, but educed from matter ; yet he held them not to be actually in the matter from which they are educed, but potentially only. But these two systems differed less from one another, than that of Des Cartes did from both. In the world of Des Cartes we meet with two kinds of beings only — to wit, body and mind ; the first the object of our senses, • It is not, however, to be supposed that the scholastic doctrine of Substantial Forms receives any countenance from the authority of Aristotle, if we lav aside his language touching the soul. — H. the other of consciousness ; both of thera things of which we have a distinct appre- hension, if the human mind be capable of distinct apprehension at all. To the first, no qualities are ascribed but extension, figure, and motion ; to the last, nothing but thought, and its various modifications, of which we are conscious." He could ob- serve no common attribute, no resembling feature, in the attributes of body and mind, and therefore concluded them to be distinct substances, and totally of a different nature ; and that body, from its very nature, is in- animate and inert, incapable of any kind of thought or sensation, or of producing any change or alteration in itself. [133] Des Cartes must be allowed the honour of being the first who drew a distinct line between the material and intellectual world, which, in all the old systems, were so blended together that it was impossible to say where the one ends and the other be- gins. -j- How much this distinction hath contributed to the improvements of modern times, in the philosophy both of body and of mind, is not easy to say. One obvious consequence of this distinc- tion was, that accurate reflection on the operations of our own mind is the only way to make any progress in the knowledge of it. Malebranche, Locke, Berkeley, and Hume, were taught this lesson by Des Cartes ; and to it we owe their most va- luable discoveries in this branch of philo- sophy. The analogical way of reasoning concerning the powers of the mind from the properties of body, which is the source of almost all the errors on this subject, and which is so natural to the bulk of mankind, was as contrary to the principles of Des Cartes, as it was agreeable to the princi- ples of the old philosophy. We may there- fore truly say, that, in that part of philoso- phy which relates to the mind, Des Cartes laid the foundation, and put us into that tract which all wise men now acknowledge to be the only one in which we can expect success. Witli regard to physics, or the philosophy of body, if Des Cartes had not the merit of leading men into the right tract, we must allow him that of bringing them out of a wrong one. The Peripatetics, by assigning to every species of body a particular sub- stantial form, which produces, in an un- kno\vn manner, all the effects we observe in it, put a stop to all improvement in this branch of philosophy. Gravity and levity, fluidity and hardness, heat and cold, were qualities arising from the substantial form of the bodies to which they belonged. Gen- • In the Cartesian language, the term thought in. eluded all of which we are conscious — H. f This assertion is true in general ; but some in. dividual exceptions might betaken. — H. ,ri32, 133] (HAP. Via.] OF THE THEORY OF PERCEPTION, & :c. 271 eration and corruption, substantial forms and occult qualities, were always at hand, to resolve every phfenomeuon. This phi- losophy, therefore, instead of accounting for any of the phaenomena of Nature, con- trived only to give learned names to their unknown causes, and fed men with the husks of barbarous terms, instead of the fruit of real knowledge. [ 1 34 ] By the spreading of the Cartesian system, materia prima, substantial forms, and oc- cult qualities, with all the jargon of the Aristotelian pliysics, fell into utter disgrace, and were never mentioned by the followers of the new system, but as a subject of ridi- cule. Men became sensible that their un- derstanding had been hoodwinked by those hard terms. They were now accustomed to explain the phtenomena of nature, by the figure, size, and motion of the particles of matter, things perfectly level to human understanding, and could relish nothing in philosophy that was dark and unintelligible. Aristotle, after a reign of more than a thousand years, was now exposed as an object of derision even to the vulgar, arrayed in the mock majesty of his substantial forms and occult qualities. The ladies became fond of a philosophy which waseasilylearned, and required no words too harsh for their delicate organs. Queens and princesses, the most distinguished personages of the age, courted the conversation of Des Cartes, and became adepts in his philosophy. Wit- ness Christina, Queen of Sweden, and Elizabeth, daughter of Frederick, King of Bohemia, the mother of our Royal Family. The last, though very young when Des Cartes wrote his " Principia," he declares to be the only person he knew, who per- fectly understood not only all his philoso- phical writings, but the most abstruse of his mathematical works. That men should rush with violence from one extreme, without going more or less into the contrary extreme, is not to be ex- pected from the weakness of human nature. Des Cartes and liis followers were not ex- empted from this weakness ; they thought that extension, figure, and motion, were sufficient to resolve all the phtenomena of the material system. To admit other qua- lities, whose cause is unknown, was to return to Egypt, from which they had been fio happily delivered. Ll-*-'^! WJieii Sir Isaac Newton's doctrine of gravitation was published, the great objec- tion to it, which hindered its general recep- tion in Euro])e for half a century, was, that gravitation seemed to be an occult quality, as it could not be accounted for by exten- sion, figure, and motion, the known attri- butes of liody. 'J'liey who delendeil him found it diffi(!ult to answer tliis objection to the satisfaction of tliose who iiad Itccn [1.34-l.'}(il initLited in the principles of the Cartesian system. But, by degrees, men came to be sensible that, in revolting from Ari- stotle, the Cartesians had gone into the oppo- site extreme ; experience convinced theni that there are qualities in the material world, whose existence is certain though their cause be occult. To acknowledge this, is only a candid confession of human ignor- ance, than which there is nothing more be- coming a philosophei*. As all that we can know of the mind must be derived from a careful observation of its operations in ourselves ; so all that we can know of the material system must be derived from what can be discovered by our senses. Des Cartes was not ignorant of this ; nor was his system so unfriendly to observation and experiment as the old system was.* He made many experiments, and called earnestly upon all lovers of truth to aidliini in this way ; but, believing that all the pluBuomena of the material world are the result of extension, figure, and motion, and that the Deity always combines these, so as to produce the phenomena in the sinipk'st manner possible, he thought that, from .a few experiments, he might be able to dis- cover the simplest way in which the obvious pha'uomcna of nature can be produced by matter and motion only ; and that this must be the way in which they are actually pro- duced. His conjectures were ingenious, upon the principles he had adopted ; but they are found to be so far from the truth, that they ought for ever to discourage philosophers from trusting to conjecture in the operations of nature. L^-^^J] The vortices or whirlpools of subtile matter by which Des Cartes endeavoured to account for the phienomena of the ma- terial world, are now found to be fictions, no less than the sensible species of Ari- stotle. -f- It was reserved for Sir Isaac Newton to point out clearly the road to the knowledge of nature's works. Taught by Lord Bacon to despise liypothoses as the fictions of hu- man fancy, he laid it down as a rule of philosophising, that no causes of natural things ought to be assigned but such as can be proved to have a real existence. Jle saw that all the length men can go in ac- counting for pluunomena, is to discover the laws of nature according to which they arc produced; and, therefore, that the true method of philoso])liising is this : From real facts, ascertaineil by observation and experiment, to collect by just induction tho • 'J'hat is, the Ariitotclic. But Ari>tn(!e liimsclf waR as (lerliin-(l ati advocate of cxpiTiniont n» any pliilo8ii|iht'r ; and it is not to lie iinpnicd lo liini that his aiilhrinly had Milin(|ni'Mily tho rllict of imiu'ii. ii)((, by liiiriK held to «ii|icriic-(lc', ol scrvalion — II t Head " tlic n'n-iblc ►i>Cfii'» of the »choolnu'ii ." Sec Nolo M — II. 272 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [^ESSAY II. laws of Nature, and to apply the laws so discovered, to account for the phseuomena of Nature. Thus, the natural philosopher has the rules of his art fixed with no less precision than the mathematician, and may be no less certain when he keeps within them, and when he deviates from them. And, though the evidence of a law of nature from induc- tion is not demonstrative, it is the only kind of evidence on which all the most import- ant affairs of human life must rest. Pursuinij this road without deviation, Newton discovered the laws of our planet- ary system, and of the rays of light ; and gave the first and the noblest examples of that chaste induction which Lord Bacon could only delineate in theory. How strange is it that the human mind should have wandered for so many ages, without falling into this tract ! How much more strange, that, after it has been clearly discovered, and a happy progress made in it, many choose rather to wander in the fairy regions of hypothesis ! [137] To return to Des Cartes's notions of the manner of our perceiving external objects, from which a concern to do justice to the merit of that great reformer in philosophy has led me to digress, he took it for granted, as the old philosophers had done, that what we immediately perceive must be either in the mind itself, or in the brain, to which the mind is immediately present. The im- pressions made upon our organs, nerves, and brain could be nothing, according to his philosophy, but various modifications of extension, figure, and motion. There could be nothing in the brain like sound or colour, taste or smell, heat or cold ; these are sens- ations in the mind, which, by the laws of the union of soul and body, are raised on occasion of certain traces in the brain ; and although he gives the name of ideas to those traces in the brain, he does not think it necessary that they should be perfectly like to the things which they represent, any more than that words or signs should resemble the things they signify. But, says he, that we may follow tne received opinion as far as is possible, we may allow a slight resemblance. Thus we know that a print in a book may represent houses, tem])les, and groves ; and so far is it from being necessary that the print should be perfectly like the thing it represents, that its perfection often requires the contrary : for a circle must often be represented by an ellipse, a square by a rhombus, and so of other things. • • But be it observed that Des Cartes did not allow, far less hold, that the mind had any cognizance of these organic motions — of these material ideas They were merely the antecedents, established by the law of union, of the mental idea; which mental idea was no- The perceptions of sense, he thought, are to be referred solely to the union of soul and body. They commonly exhibit to us only what may hurt or jirofit our bodies ; and rarely, atid by accident only, exhibit things as they are in themselves. It is by observing this, that we must learn to throw off" the prejudices of sense, and to attend with our intellect to the ideas which are hy nature implanted in it. By this means we shall understand that the nature of matter does not consist in tliose things that affect our senses, such as colour, or smell, or taste ; but only in this, that it is something ex- tended in length, breadth, and depth. [138] The writings of Des Cartes have, in ge- neral, a remarkable degree of perspicuity ; and he undoubtedly intended that, in this particular, his philosophy should be a per- feet contrast to that of Aristotle ; yet, in what he has said, in different parts of his writings, of our perceptions of external objects, there seems to be some obscurity, and even inconsistency ; whether owing to his having had different opinions on the sub- ject at different times, or to the difficulty he found in it, I will not pretend to say. There are two points, in particular, wherein I cannot reconcile him to himself ; the first, regarding the place of the ideas or images of external objects, which are the immediate objects of perception ; the second. with regard to the veracity of our externai senses. As to the first, he sometimes places the ideas of material objects in the brain, not only when they are perceived, but when they are remembered or imagined ; and this has always been held to be the Car- tesian doctrine;* yet he sometimes says, that we are not to conceive the images or traces in the brain to be perceived, as if there were eyes in the brain ; these traces are only occasions on which, by the laws of the union of soul and body, ideas are ex- cited in the mind ; and, therefore, it is not necessary that there should be an exact resemblance between the traces and the things represented by them, any more than that words or signs should be exactly like the things signified by them.-f- These two opinions, I think, cannot be reconciled. For, if the images or traces in the brain are perceived,^: they must be the thing more than a modification of the mind itself — H. * But not in Rcid's exclusive sense of the word Idea.— H. t The non. negation, in this instance, of all re- semblance between the material Ideas, or orRauic motions in (he brain, and the external reality, is OTie of the occasional instances of Di's Cartes's reticence of his subordinate doctrines, in order to avoid all useless tilting against prevalent opinions. Another is his sometimes giving to these motions the name of Spe. cies. — H. X Which, in Des Cartes' doctrine, they are not.— H. [137, 138] CHAP, viii.] OF THE THEORY OF PERCEPTION, &c. 273 objects of perception, and not the occasions of it only. On the other liand, if they are only the occasions of our perceiving, they are not perceived at all. Des Cartes seems to have hesitated between the two opinions, or to have passed from the one to the other." Mr Locke seems, in like manner, to have wavered between the two ; some- times representing the ideas of material things as being in the brain, but more fre- quently as in the mind itself -f- [li5!*] Neither Des Cartes nor Mr Locke could, consistently with themselves, attribute any other qualities to images in the brain but extension, figure, material world without us ; because tha mind, according to that doctrine, perceives nothing but a world of ideas in itself. Not only Des Cartes, but Malebranche, Arnaukl, and Norris, had perceived this diificulty, and attempted to remove it with little suc- cess. Mr Locke attempts the same thing ; but his arguments are feeble. He even seems to be conscious of this ; for he con- cludes his reasoning with this observation — " That we have evidence sufficient to direct us in attaining the good and avoiding the evil, caused by external objects, and that this is the important concern we have in being made acquainted with them." This, indeed, is saying no more than will l)o granted by those who deny the existence of a mati'riai world. As tiiere is no material difference between ♦ To praiic l>ocke for precision, ii rather miicli — ll. [14t, ivr,'] too • r,o<-kc niny be s.iid to Imvp flmf nafiiraliziV. •'" wyrd in IJixlisli pliilos<)|>liiriil laiiKUiKi', ill it« Caitc- ■i»li cxlcinioii. — tl. t2 276 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay II. l4. Locke and Des Cartes with regard to the perceptioil of objects by the senses, there is the less occasion, in tliis place, to take notice of all their differences in other points- They differed about the origin of our ideas. Des Cartes thought some of them were innate ; the other maintained that there are no innate ideas, and that they are all derived from two sources — to wit, sensalion and reflection ; meaning, by sensation, the operations of our exterilal senses ; and, by reflection, that attention which we are capable of giving to the operations of our own minds. [146] They differed with regard to the essence both of matter and of mind : the British philosopher holding that the real essence of both is beyond the reach of human know- ledge ; the other conceiving that the very essence of mind consists in thought, and that of matter in extension, by which he made matter and space not to differ in reality, and no part of space to be void of matter. Mr Locke explained, more distinctly than had been done before, the operations of the mind in classing the various objects of thought, and reducing them to genera and species. He was the first, I think, who distinguished in substances what he calls the nominal essence — which is only the notion we form of a genus or species, and which we express by a definition — from the real essence or internal constitution of the thing, which makes it to be what it is.* Without this distinction, the subtile dis- putes which tortured the schoolmen for so many ages, in the controversy between the nominalists and realists, could never be brought to an issue. He shews distinctly how we form abstract and general notions, and the use and necessity of them in rea- soning. And as (according to the received principles of philosophers) every notion of our mind must have for its object an idea in the mind itself, -j- he thinks that we form abstract ideas by leaving out of the idea of n individual everything wherein it differs from other individuals of the same species or genus ; and that this power of forming abstract ideas, is that which chiefly dis- tinguishes us from brute animals, in whom he could see no evidence of any abstract ideas. Since the time of Des Cartes, philoso- phers have differed much with regard to the share they ascribe to the mind itself, in the fabrication of those representative bemgs called ideas, and the manner in which this work is carried on. * Locke has no originality in this respect. — H. •t Notion is here used for the apprehension of the idea, or representative reality, which Reid supposed that all philosophers viewed as snmething more than the mere act of knowledge, considered in relation to what was, through it, known or represented.— H. Of the authors I have met with, Dr Robert Hook is the most explicit. He was one of the most ingenious and active mem- bers of the Royal Society of London at its first institution ; and frequently read lec- tures to the Society, which were published among his posthumous works. [147] In his " Lectures upon Light," § 1, he makes ideas to be material substances ; and thinks that the brain is furnished with a proper kind of matter for fabricating the ideas of each sense. The ideas of sight, he thinks, are formed of a kind of matter resembling the Bononian stone, or some kind of phos- phorus ; that the ideas of sound are formed of some matter resembluig the chords or glasses which take a sound from the vibra- tions of the air ; and so of the rest. The soul, he thinks, may fabricate some hundreds of those ideas in a day ; and that, as they are formed, they are pushed farther off from the centre of the brain where the soul resides. By this means they make a con- tinued chain of ideas, coyled up in the brain ; the first end of which is farthest removed from the centre or seat of the soul, and the other end is always at the centre, being the last idea formed, which is always present the moment when considered ; and, there- fore, according as there is a greater number of ideas between the present sensation or thought in the centre and any other, the soul is apprehensive of a larger portion of time interposed. Mr Locke has not entered into so minute a detaQ of this manufacture of ideas ; but he ascribes to the mind a very considerable hand in forming its own ideas. With re- gard to our sensations, the mind is passive, " they being produced in us, only by dif- ferent degrees and modes of motion in our animal spirits, variously agitated by ex- ternal objects." These, however, cease to be as soon as they cease to be perceived ; but, by the faculties of memory and imagin- ation, " the mind has an ability, when it wills, to revive them again, and, as it were, to paint them anew upon itself, though some with more, some with less difficulty." As to the ideas of reflection, he ascribes them to no other cause but to that attention which the mind is capable of giving to its own operations. These, therefore, are formedby the mind itself. [148] He ascribes likewise to the mind the power of com- pounding its simple ideas into complex ones of various forms ; of repeating them, and adding the repetitions together ; of dividing and classing them ; of comparing them, and, from that comparison, of forming the ideas of their relation ; nay, of forming a general idea of a specie's or genus, by taking from the idea of an individual everything by which it is distinguished from other in- dividuals of the kind, till at last it becomes [146-148] CHAP. IX.J OF THE SENTIMENTS OF MR LOCKE. 277 an abstract general idea, common to all the individuals of the kind. These, I think, are the powers which Mr Locke ascribes to the mind itself in the fabrication of its ideas. Bishop Berkeley, as we shall see afterwards, abridged them considerably, and Mr Hume much more. The ideas we have of the various quali- ties of bodies are not all, as Mr Locke thinks, of the same kind. Some of them are images or resemblances of what is really in the body ; others are not. There are certain qualities inseparable from matter ; such as extension, solidity, figure, mobility. Our ideas of these are real resemblances of the qualities in the body ; and these he calls primary qualities. But colour, sound, taste, smell, heat, and cold, he calls second- ary qualities, and thinks that they are only powers in bodies of producing cer- tain sensations in us ; which sensations have nothing resembling them, though they are commonlj' thought to be exact resem- blances of something in the body. " Thus," says he, " the idea of heat or light, which we receive, by our eye or touch, from the sun, are commonly thought real qualities existing in the sun, and something more than mere powers in it." The names of primary and secondary qualities were, I believe, first used by Mr Locke ; but the distinction which they ex- press, was well understood by Des Cartes, and is explained by him in his " Principia," Part I., § 69, 70, 71. [149] Although no author has more merit than Mr Locke, in pointing out the ambiguity of words, and resolving, by that means, many knotty questions, which had tortured the wits of the schoolmen, yet, I apprehend, he has been soinetimes misled by the ambi- guity of the word idea, which he uses so often almost in every page of his essay. In the explication given of this word, we took notice of two meanings given to it — a popular and a philosophical. In the popu- lar meaning, to have an idea of anything, signifies nothing more than to think of it. Althougli the operations of the mind are most properly and naturally, and indeed most commonly in all vulgar languages, ex- pressed by active verbs, there is another way of expressing them, less common, but equally well understood. To think of a thing, and to have a thought of it ; to be- lieve a thing, and to have a belief of it ; to see a thing, and iiave a sight of it ; to con- ceive a thing, and to have a conception, notion, or idea of it — are phrases perfectly synonymous. In these phrases, the thought means nothing but tfje act of thinking ; the belief, the act of believing ; and tlie con- ception, notion, or idea, tlie act of conceiv- ing. 'JV> have a clear and distinct idea is, in tliis Ken.se, nothing elae but to conceive ■"Uy, 1501 the thing clearly and distinctly. .When the word idea is taken in this popular sense, there can be no doubt of our having ideas in our minds. To think without ide;\s would be to think without thought, which is a manifest contradiction." But there is another meaning of the word idea peculiar to philosophers, and grounded upon a philosophical theory, which the vul- gar never think of. Philosophers, ancient and modern, have maintained that the operations of the mind, like the tools of an artificer, can only be employed upon objects that are present in the mind, or in the brain, where the mind is supposed to reside. [150] Therefore, objects that are distant in time or place must have a representative in the mind, or in the brain — some image or picture of them, which is the object that the mind contemplates. This representative image was, in the old philosophy, called a species or phantasm. Since the time of Des Cartes, it has more commonly been called an idea ; and every thought is con- ceived to have an idea of its object. As this has been a common opinion among philosophers, as far back as we can trace phi- losophy, it is the less to be wondered at that they should be apt to confound the opera- tion of the mind in thinking with the idea or object of thought, whicli is supposed to be its inseparable concomitant.' If we pay any regard to the common sense of mankind, thought and the object of thought are different things, and ought to be distinguished. It is true, thought cannot be without an object — for every man who thinks must think of something ; but the object he thinks of is one thing, his thought of that object is another thing. They are distinguished in all languages, even by the \'ulgar ; and many things may be affirmed of thought — that is, of the opera- tion of the mind in thinking — which cannot, without error, and even absurdity, be af- firmed of the object of that operation." From this, I think, it is evident that, if the word idea, in a work where it occurs in every paragraph, is used without any inti- mation of the ambiguity of the word, some- times to signify thought, or the operation of the mind in thinking, sometimes to sig- nify those internal objects of thought which philosophers suppose, this must occasion confusion in the thoughts both of the au- thor and of the readers. I take this to be the greatest blemish in the " Es.say on Hu- man Understanding." I api>reliond this is tlie true source of several paradoxical opin- ions in that excellent work, which I sliall have occasion to take notice of. Hero it is very natural to su^k, Whether it was Mr Locke's opinion, that ideas are V • See Nolo C— II. 278 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay ii. the only objects of thought ? or, Whether it is not possible for men to think of things which are not ideas in the mind ?* [151] To this question it is not easy to give a direct answer. On the one hand, he says often, in distinct and studied expressions, that the term idea stands for whatever is the object of the understanding when a man thinks, or whatever it is which the mind can be employed about in thinking : that the mind perceives nothing but its own ideas : that all knowledge consists in the perception of the agreement or disagree- 1/ ment of our ideas : that we can have no knowledge farther than we have ideas. These, and many other expressions of the like import, evidently imply that every object of thought must be an idea, and can be nothing else. On the other hand, I am persuaded that Mr Locke would have acknowledged that we may think of Alexander the Great, or of the planet Jupiter, and of numberless things which he would have owned are not ideas in the mind, but objects which exist independent of the mind that thinks of them.-f- How shall we reconcile the two parts of this apparent contradiction ? All I am able to say, upon Mr Locke's principles, to recon- cile them, is this, That we cannot think of Alexander, or of the planet Jupiter, unless we have in our minds an idea — that is, an image or picture of those objects. The idea of Alexander is an image, or picture, or representation of that hero in my mind ; * It is to be remembered that Keid means, by Ideas, representative entities different from the cog. nitive modifications of the mind itself —H. t On the confusion of this and the fouisubseouent paragraphs, see Note C— Whatever is the immediate object of thought, of that we are necessarily conscious. But of Alexander, for example, as existing, we are necessa'ily not conscious. Alexander, as existing, cannot, therefore, possibly be an immediate object of thought; consequently, if we can be said to think of Alexander at all, we can only be said to think of him mediately, in and through a representation of which we are coiiscious ; and that representation is the ira. mediate object of thought. It nr.akes no difference whether this immediate object be viewed as a lertium quid, distinct from the existing reality and from the conscious mind; or whether as a mere modality of the conscious mind itself — as tne mere act of thought considered in its relation to something beyond the sphere of consciousness. In neither case, can we be said (be it in the imagination of a possible or the reciUcction of a past existence) to know a thing as existing— that is, immediately ; and, therefore, if in these operations we be said to know aught out the mind at all, we can only be said to know it me. diately — in other words, as a mediate object. The whole perplexity arises from the ambiguity of the term object, that term being used both fortheexter. nal reality of which we are here not conscious, and cannot therefore know in itself, and for the mental representation which we know in itself, but which is known only as relativeto the other. Reid chaoses to abolish the former signification, on the supposition that it only applies to a representative entity differ. ent from the act of thought, in this suppos.tioii, however, he is wrong ; nor does he obtain an imme- diate knowledge, even In perception, by merely deny. W\ecrude hyjOthesis of representaiion — H. and this idea is the immediate object of my thought when I think of Alexander. That this was Locke's opinion, and that it has been generally the opinion of philosophers, there can be no doubt. But, instead of giving light to the ques- tion proposed, it seems to involve it in greater darkness. When I think of Alexander, I am told there is an image or idea of Alexander in my mind, which is the immediate object of this thought. The necessary consequence of this seems to be, that there are two ob- jects of this thought — the idea, which is in the mind, and the person represented by that idea ; the first, the immediate object of the thought, the last, the object of the same thought, but not the immediate object. [162] This is a hard saying; for it makes every thought of things external to have a double object. Every man is conscious of his thoughts, and yet, upon attentive reflec- tion, he perceives no such duplicity in the object he thinks about. Sometimes men see objects double, but they always know when they do so : and I know of no philo- sopher who has expressly owned this dupli- city in the object of thought, though it fol- lows necessarily from maintaining that, in the same thought, there is one object that is immediate and in the mind itself, and another object which is not immediate, and which is not in the mind.* Besides this, it seems very hard, or rather impossible, to understand what is meant by an object of thought that is not an imme- diate object of thought, A body in motion may move another that was at rest, by the medium of a third body that is interposed. This is easily understood ; but we are unable to conceive any medium interposed between a mind and the thought of that mind ; and, to think of any object by a medium, seems to be words without any meaning. There is a sense in which a thing may be said to be perceived by a medium. Thus any kind of sign may be said to be the medium by which I perceive or understand the thing signified. The sign by custom, or compact, or perhaps by nature, introduces the thought of the thing signified. But here the thing signified, when it is introduced to the thought, is an object of thought no less immediate than the sign was before. And there are here two objects of thought, one succeeding another, which we have shewn is not the case with respect to an idea, and the object it represents. • 'I'hat is, if by object was meant the same thing, when the term is applied to the external reality, and to its mental representation. Even under the Scholastic theory of repeesentation, it was generally maintained that Wm^pecit's itself is not an object of perception, but the external r ality through it ; a mode of speaking justly reprihended by the acuter schoolmen. But in this lespect Reid is equally to blame. See Note C — H. ri51 "521 cuAP. IX.] OF THE SENTIMENTS OF MR LOCKE. 279 I apprehend, therefore, that, if philoso- phers will maintain that ideas in the mind ^ are the only immediate objects of thought, they will be forced to grant that they are the Bole objects of thought, and that it is im- possible for men to think of anything else. [153] Yet, surely, Mr Locke believed that we can think of many things that are not ideas in the mind ; but he seems not to have perceived, that the maintainmg that ideas in the mind are the only immediate objects of thought, must necessarily draw this con- sequence along with it. The consequence, however, was seen by Bishop Berkeley and Mr Hume, who rather chose to admit the consequence than to give up the principle from which it follows. Perhaps it was unfortunate for Mr Locke that he used the word idea so very fre- 'jueutly as to make it very difficult to give the attention necessary to put it always to the same meanuig. And it appears evident that, in many places, he means nothing more by it but the notion or conception we have of any object of thought ; that is, the act of the mind in conceiving it, and not the object conceived.* In explaining this word, he says tliat he uses it for whatever is meant by phantasm, notion, species. Here are three synonyraes to the word idea. The first and last are very proper to express the philosophical meaning of the word, being terms of art in the Peripatetic philosophy, and signifying images of external things in the mind, which, according to that philosophy, are objects of thought. But the word notion is a word in common language, whose meaning agrees exactly with the popular meaning of * When wecontemplafea triangle, we may consider it eiiher as a complement of three i-ides or of tlirec angles ; not that the three sides and the tliree angles are possible except through each otiier, but because we may in thought view the figure— ^ua triangle, in re.ility one and indivisible— in difTerent reUitions. Ill like manner, we may coniider a representative act of knowledge in tworelaliotis— l^.as an act riprcscn- tative of somelhiiig, and, i" as an act cognitive of that represeniation, although, 111 truth, these arc both only one indivisible encrjiy — the representation only existing as known, the cognition being only possible in a representation. 'Ihus ^e- '" ""•' imagination of a Centaur — the Centaur represented is the Centaur known, the Centaur known is the Centaur repre- ienicd. It is one act under two relations— a relation to the sulijcct ki owing — a relation to the object re. presented. Kut to a cognitive act considered in these •evcral relations we may give either diderent names, or we may confound thcin under one, or we may do both; and this is actually done j some words express, ing only one relation, others both or either, and others properly the one but abusively also the other. Thus Iriea properly deiiolesaii act of thought con. •idered in relation tn an external something beyond the sphere of consciousness— a representation; but »ofne philoiophem, as i.ocke, abuse it to comprehend the thought also, viewed a« cognitive of this reiiresen- tatioii. Again, pfrcr/jtiun, riolion, cimcrpliun, &c. {concept IS, unfortunately, obsolete) coniprehcnd both, or may be u>ed to denote eiiher of tlie rela- tions; and it is only by the context that we can ever vaguely discover in which application they are in- tended, 'ihis is unfoilunate ; but so it ii— H. [L53-15,5] the word idea, but not with the pliilosophi- cal. When tliese two different meanings o< the word idea are confounded in a studiei' explication of it, there is little reason to expect that they should be carefully dis- tinguished in the frequent use of it. There are many passages in the Essay m whidh, to make them intelligible, the word idea must be taken in one of those senses, and many others in which it must be taken in the other. It seems probable that the author, not attending to this ambiguity of the word, used it in the one sense or the other, as the subject-matter required ; and the far greater part of his readers have done the same. [154] There is a third sense, in wliich he uses the word not unfrcquently, to signify objects of thought that are not in th'e mind, but external. Of this he seems to be sensible, and somewhere makes an apology for it. When he affirms, as he does in innumerable places, that all human Imowledge consists in the perception of the agreement or dis- agreement of our ideas, it is impossible to put a meaning upon this, consistent with his principles, unless he means by ideas every object of human thought, whether mediate or immediate ; everything, in a word, that can be signified by the subject, or predicate of a proposition. Thus, we see that the word idea has three different meanings in the essay; and the author seems to have used it sometimes in one, sometimes in another, without being aware of any change in the meaning. The reader slides easily into the same fallacy, that meaning occurring most readily to his mind wliich gives the best sense to what he reads. I have met with persons professhig no slight acquaintance with the " Essay on Human Understanding," who maintained that the word idea, wherever it occurs, means nothing more than tliought ; and tliat, where he speaks of ideas as images in the mind, and as objects of thought, he is not to be understood as speaking properly, but figuratively or analogically. And, indeed, I aiiprohend that it would be no small •advantage to many passages in the book, if they could admit of this interprt'tation. It is not the fault of this philo.'^dpher alone to have given too little attentioH to the distinction between the operations of the mind and the objects of thost: ojicra- tions. Although this distinction be raniiliar to the vulgar, andiuiiiid in the structiirc of all languages, philoso|ihcrH, when they speak of ideas, often confound [155] the two to- gether ; and their tlieory concerning ideas has led them to do so ; for ideas, being siippo.sed to be a shailowy kind of beings, internipdiate between the thought and tlio object of thought, sometiiiies Beeni to cca- 280 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 1_ESSAY II lesce with the thought, sometmies witli tlie object of thought, iiiul sometimes to have a distinct existence of their own. Tlie same philosophical theory of ideas has led philosophers to confound tlie differ- ent operations of the understanding, and to call them all by the name of perception.* Mr Locke, though not free from this fault, is not so often chargeable with it as some who came after him. The vulgar give the name of perception to that immediate know- ledge of external objects which we have by our external senses. + This is its proper meaning in our language, though sometimes it may be applied to other things metaphori- cally or analogically.^: When I think of anything that does not exist, as of the republic of Oceana, I do not perceive it — I only conceive or imagine it.§ When I think of what happened to me yesterday, I do not perceive but remember it.|| When I am pained with the gout, it is not proper to say I perceive the pain ; I feel it, or am conscious of it : it is not an object of per- ception, but of sensation and of conscious- ness.^ So far, the vulgar distinguish very properly the different operations of the mind, and never confound the names of things so different in their nature. But the theory of ideas leads philosophers to conceive all those operations to be of one nature, and to give them one name. They are all, according to that theory, the per- ception of ideas in the mind. Perceiving, remembering, imagining, being conscious, are all perceiving ideas in the mind, and are called perceptiuiis. Hence it is that philosophers speak of the perceptions of memory, and the perceptions of imagina- • No more than by calling^ them all by the name of Cugniiioiis, or Acts of Consciouness. There was no reason, either from etymology or usage, whyper- ccption should not signify the energy of immediately ai>|)rehendinp, in general ; and until Reid limited the word to our apprehension of an external world, it was, in fact, employed by philosophers, as tanta- mount to an act ot consciousness. We were in need of a word to express our sensitive cognitions as dis- tinct from our sensitive feelings, (for the terra sens. ation involved both,) and, therefore, Reid's restric- tion, though contrary to all precedent, miy be ad- mitted ; but his criticism of (ther philosophers for their employment of the term, in a wider meaning, is wholly groundless. — H. t Bui not exclusively.— H. X This is not correct — H. § And why ? Simply bccau.oe we do not, by such an act, know, or apprehend such an object to exist ; we merely represent it. But perception was only used lor such an apprehension. We could say, how- ever, that we perceived (as we could say that we were conscious of) the republic of Oceana, as imagined by us, after Harrii:{;ton. — H. II And this, for the same reason. What is remem- bered is not and can not be immediately known ; nought but the present mental representaiion is so known ; and this we could properly say that we perceived. — H. II Beciu'e the feeling of pain, though only possible through consciousness, is not an act of knowledge. Bi t it could be properly said, / perceive a feeling of pain. At any rate, theexpres.sinn 1 perceive a pain, ii IS correct as 1 am conscious of a /ain.—H. tion. They make sensation to be a percep- tion ; and everything we perceive by our senses to be an idea of sensation. Some- times they say that they are conscious of the ideas in their own minds, sometimes that they perceive them.* [ISG] However improbable it may appear that ])hilosophers wlio have taken pains to study the operations of their own minds, should express them less properly and less dis- tinctly than the vulgar, it seems really to be the case ; and the only account that can be given of this strange phtenomenou, I take to be this : that the vulgar seek no theory to account for the operations of their minds ; they know that they see, and hear, and re- member, and imagine; and those who think distinctly will express these operations dis- tinctly, as their consciousness represents them to the mind ; but philosophers think they ought to Icnow not only that there are such operations, but how they are per- formed ; how they see, and hear, and re- member, and imagine; and, having invented a theory to explain these operations, by ideas or images in the mind, they suit their expressions to their theory ; and, as a false comment throws a cloud upon the text, so a false theory darkens the phsenomeua which it attempts to explain. We shall examine this theory afterwards. Here I would only observe that, if it is not true, it may be expected that it should lead ingenious men who adopt it to confound the operations of the mind with their objects, and with one another, even where the com- mon language of the unlearned clearly dis- tinguishes them. One that trusts to a false guide is in greater danger of being led astray, than he who trusts his own eyes, though he should be but indifferently ac- quainted with the road. CHAPTER X. OF THE SENTIMENTS OF BISHOP BERKELEY. George Berkeley, afterwards Bishop of Cloyne, published his " New Theory of Vision," in 1709; his "Treatise concern- ing the Principles of Human Knowledge," in 1710 ; and his "Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous," in 1713 ; being then a Fel- low of Trinity College, Dublin. [157] He is acknowledged universally to have great merit, as an excellent writer, and a very acute and clear reasoner on the most ab- stract subjects, not to speak of his virtues as a man, which were very conspicuous : yet the doctrine chiefly held forth in the treatises above mentioned, especially in the • The connection of the wider signification of the term perception, with the more complex theory of representation, has no foundauon — ti. [156, 157"! cuAP. X.] OF THE SEJ^TIMENTS OF BISHOP BERKELEY. 281 two last, has generally been thought so very absurd, that few can be brought to think that he either believed it himself, or that he seriously meant to persuade others of its truth. He maintains, and thinks he has demon- strated, by a variety of arguments, ground- ed on principles of philosophy universally received, that there is no such thing as matter in the universe ; that i9 ': great importance for the improvement of human knowledge, and especially for the defence of religion. Dial. Pref. " If the principles which I here endeavour to pro- pagate, are admitted for true, the conse- quences which I think evidently flow from thence are, that atheism and scepticism will be utterly destroyed, many intricate points made plain, great difficulties solved, several useless parts of science retrenched, speculation referred to practice, and men reduced from paradoxes to common sense." In the " Theory of Vision," he goes no farther than to assert that the objects of sight are nothing but ideas in the mind, granting, or at least not denying, that there is a tangible world, which is really external, and which exists whether we perceive it or not. Whetherthereasonof thiswas,that his system had not, at that time, wholly opened to his own mind, or whether he thought it prudent to let it enter into the minds of his readers by degrees, I cannot say. I think he insinuates the last as the reason, in the " Principles of Human Knowledge." [159] The " Theory of Vision," however, taken by itself, and without relation to the main branch of his system, contains very important discoveries, and marks of great genius. He distinguishes more accurately than any that went before him, between the immediate objects of sight, and those of the other senses which are early associated with them. He shews that distance, of itself and imme- diately, is not seen ; but that we learn to judge of it by certain sensations and per- ceptions which are connected with it. This is a very important observation ; and, I believe, was first made by this author." It gives much new light to the operations of our senses, and serves to account for many phsenomena in optics, of which the greatest adepts in that science had always either given a false account, or acknow- ledged that they could j^ive none at all. We may observe, by the way, that the ingenious author seems not to have attended to a distinction by which his general asser- tion ought to have been limited. It is true that the distance of an object from the eye is not immediately seen ; but there is a certain kind of distance of one object from another which we see immediately. The author acknowledges that there is a visible exten- sion, and visible figures, which are proper objects of sight ; there must therefore be a visible distance. Astronomers call it an- gular distance ; and, although they measure sliould he even waver in repard (o any one priii'.iplc of his doctrine ; a doctrine, the speculative result of whicli lelt him, as he < onCesses, without even a ce^ taiiity oC his own existence. (See ahove, p. li/!), note ♦.) It is Varro who speaks ol the crcdula p/ii!()scip/ii> um niiliii : hut this is to he crediiloui even in increilulity. — II. • This last statement !• Inaccurnle. — II 282 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWDERS. [^ESSAY H. V it by the angle, which is made by two lines drawn from the eye to the two distant ob- jects, yet it is immediately perceived by Bight, even by those who never thought of that angle. He led the way in shewing how we learn to perceive the distance of an object from the eye, though this speculation was carried farther by others who came after him. He made the distinction between that extension and figure which we perceive by sight only, land that which we perceive by touch ; call- ing the first, visible, the last, tangible ex- tension and figure. He shewed, likewise, that tangible extension, and not visible, is the object of geometry, although mathema- ticians commonly use visible diagrams in their demonstrations.* [160] The notion of extension and figure which we get from sight only, and that which we get from touch, have been so constantly conjoined from our infancy in all the judg- ments we form of the objects of sense, that it required great abilities to distin- guish them accurately, and to assign to each sense what truly belongs to it ; " so diflBeult a thing it is," as Berkeley justly observes, " to dissolve an union so early begun, and confirmed by so long a habit." This point he has laboured, through the whole of the essay on vision, with that uncommon penetration and judgment which he possessed, and with as great success as could be expected in a first attempt upon 80 abstruse a subject. He concludes this essay, by shewing, in no less than seven sections, the notions which an intelligent being, endowed with sight, without the sense of touch, might form of the objects of sense. This specu- lation, to shallow thinkers, may appear to be egregious trifling, f To Bishop Ber- keley it appeared in another light, and will do so to those who are capable of entering into it, and who know the importance of it, in solvmg many of the phtenomena of vision. He seems, indeed, to have exerted more force of genius in this than in the main branch of his system. In the new philosophy, the pillars by which the existence of a material world was supported, were so feeble that it did not re mire the force of a Samson to bring them • Properly speak np, it is neither tangible nor visible extension which is the obj. ct of geometry, but intelligible, pure, or a pri'or/'oxtcnsion — H. f This, I have no doubt, s in allusion lo Priestley. That writer had, not very courteously, said, in his " Examination of Reiil"s Inquiry" '' I do not re- member to ha»e seen a more egrrgious piece of so. Itmn trifling than the chapter which our author calls the' Geometry of Visible^,' and his acc"Unt of the ' Idomenians,'ss he terms thi se imaginary liciiigs who Had no ide^s ol suhitance but from sight." — In a note upon that L-hapter of " Tli' Inquiry,'' I stated that the thought of a Geometry of Visibles was original to Berkeley, and I h.->d then no recollection of Reid'a ■cknowledgnent in tlic present paragraph.— H. down ; and in this we have not so much reason to admire the strength of Berkeley's genius, as his boldness in publishing to the world an opinion which the unlearned would be apt to interpret as the sign of a crazy intellect. A man who was firmly persuaded of the doctrine universally received by phi- losophers concerning ideas, if he could but take courage to call in question the exist- ence of a material world, would easily find unanswerable arguments in that doctrine. [IGl] " Some truths there are," says Berke- ley, " so near and obvious to the mind, that a man need only open his eyes to see them. Such," he adds, " I take this important one to be, that all the choir of heaven, and fur- niture of the earth — in a word, all those bodies which compose the mighty frame of the world — have not any subsistence without a mind." Princ. § 6. The principle from which this important conclusion is obviously deduced, is laid down in the first sentence of his principles of knowledge, as evident ; and, indeed, it has always been acknowledged by philosophers. " It is evident," says he, " to any one who takes a survey of the objects of human knowledge, that they are either ideas ac- tually imprinted on the senses, or else such as are perceived, by attending to the pas- sions and operations of the mind ; or, lastly, ideas formed by help of memory and imagin- ation, either compounding, dividing, or barely representing those originally per- ceived in the foresaid ways." This is the foundation on which the whole system rests. If this be true, then, indeed, the existence of a material world must be a dream that has imposed upon all mankind from the beginning of the world. The foundation on which such a fabric rests ought to be very solid and well esta- blished ; yet Berkeley says nothing more for it than that it is evident. If he means that it is self-evident, this indeed might be a good reason for not offering any direct argu- ment in proof of it. But I apprehend this cannot justly be said. Self-evident propo- sitions are those which appear evident to every man of sound understanding who ap- prehends the meaning of them distinctly, and attends to them without prejudice. Can this be said of this proposition. That all the objects of our knowledge are ideas in our own minds ?" I believe that, to any man • To the Idealist, it is of perfect indifference whether this proposition, in Keid's sense of the expression Ideas, be admitted, or whether it be held that we are conscious of nothing but of the modifications of our own minds. For, on the supi'osition that we can know the non-ego only in and through the ego, it follows, (since we can know nothing immediately of which we are not conscious, and it being allowed that we are conscious only of mind,) that it is con. tradiciory to suppiss aught, as known, {i.e., any ob- ject of knowledge,) to be known otherwise than as u phxnomenon ol mind. — H. 160, 161] [1 ;uAP. X.J OF THE SENTIMENTS OF BISHOP BERKELEY. 283 uninstructed in philosophy, this proposition will appear very improloable, if not absurd. [1C2] However scanty his knowledge may be, he considers the sun and moon, the earth and sea, as objects of it; and it will be difficult to persuade him that those objects of his knowledge are ideas in his own mind, and have no existence when he does not think of them. If I may presume to speak my own sentiments, I once believed this doc- trine of ideas so firmly as to embrace the whole of Berkeley's system in consequence of it ; till, finding other consequences to follow from it, which gave me more unea- siness than the want of a material world, it came into my mind, more than forty years ago, to put the question, AVhat e\'i- dence have I for this doctrine, that all the objects of my knowledge are ideas in my own mind ? From that time to the pre- sent I have been candidly and impartially, as I think, seeking for the evidence of this principle, but can find none, excepting the authority of philosophers. We shall have occasion to examine its evidence afterwards. I would at present only observe, that all the arguments brought by Berkeley against the existence of a ma- terial world are grounded upon it ; and that he has not attempted to give any evidence for it, but takes it for granted, as other philosophers had done before him. But, supposing this principle to be true, Berkeley's system is impregnable. No demonstration can be more evident than his reasoning from it. Whatever is per- ceived is an idea, and an idea can only exist in a mind. It has no existence when it is not perceived ; nor can there be any- thing like an idea, but an idea. So sensible he was that it required no laborious reasoning to deduce his system from the principle laid down, that he was afraid of being thought needlessly prolix in handling the subject, and makes an apology for it. Princ. § 22. " To what purjjosc is it," says he, " to dilate upon that wliich may be demonstrated, witli the utmost e^•i- dence, in a line or two, to any one who is capable of the least reflection ?" [1G3] But, though his demonstration might have been comprehended in a line or two, he very pru- dently tliought that an opinion which the world would be apt to look upon as a mon- ster of absurdity, would not Ije able to make its way at once, even by the force of a n:ikeil demonstration. He observes, justly. Dial. 2, " That, thf)ugh a demonstration be never BO well grounded and fairly ])ro])osed, yet if there is, withal, a strain of prejudice, or a wrong bias on the understanding, can it be expected to perceive cleacly, and adliero firmly to the truth ? No ; there is need of time and jmiiLS ; the attention nm.4t bo %wakened and detained, by a frequent re- petition of the same thing, placed often in the same, often in different lights." It was, therefore, necessary to dwell upon it, and turn it on all sides, till it became familiar ; to consider all its consequences, and to obviate every prejudice and pre- possession that might hinder its admittance. It was even a matter of some difficulty to fit it to common language, so far as to enable men to speak and reason about it intelligibly. Those who have entered se- riously into Berkeley's system, have found, after all the assistance which his writings give, that time and practice are necessary to acquire the habit of speaking and think- ing distinctly upon it. Berkeley foresaw the opposition that would be made to his system, from two diff'erent quarters : first, from the philos- ophers ; and, secuuilly, from the vulgar, who are led by the plain dictates of nature. The first he had the courage to oppose openly and avowedly ; the second, he dreaded much more, and, therefore, takes a great deal of pains, and, I think, uses some art, to court into his party. This is particularly observable in his " Dia- logues." He sets out with a declaration, Dial. 1, " That, of late, he had quitted several of the sublime notions he had got in the schools of the philosophers, for vul- gar opinions," and assures Hylas, his fel- low-dialogist, " That, since this revolt from metaphysical notions to the plain dictates of nature and common sense, he found his understanding strangely enlightened ; so that he could now easily comprehend a great many things, which before were all mvs- tery and riddle." [1G4] Pref. to Dial. " If his principles are admitted for true, men will be reduced from paradoxes to common sense." At the same time, he acknowledges, " That they carry with them a great opposi- tion to the prejudices of philosophers, which have so far prevailed against the common sense and natural notions of mankind." When Hylas objects to him, Dial. 3, " You can never persuade me, Philonous, that the denying of matter or corporeal substance is not repugnant to the universal sense of mankind" — he answers, " I wish both our opinions were fairly stated, and submitted to the judgment of men who had plain conmion sense, without the prejudices of a learned education. Let mc be repre- sented as one who trusts his senses, who thinks he knows the things he sees and feels, and entertains no doubt of their ex- istence If by material substance is meant only sensible body, that which is seen and felt, (and the unphilosophical part of the world, I dare say, moan no more,) then I am more certain of matter's existence than you or any other |ibil()so]>hcr pretend to be. If there l>o aiiytliing which makes tho 284 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay II. generality of mankind averse from the notions I espouse, it is a misapprehension that I deny the reahty of sensible things : but, as it is you who are guilty of that, and not I, it follows, that, in truth, their aversion is against youv notions, and not mine. I am content to appeal to the common sense of the world for the truth of my notion. I am of a vulgar cast, simple enough to believe my senses, and to leave things as I find them. I cannot, for my life, help thinking that snow is white and fire hot." When Hylas is at last entirely converted, he observes to Philonous, " After all, the controversy about matter, in the striot acceptation of it, lies altogether between you and the philosophers, whose principles, I acknowledge, are not near so natural, or so agreeable to the common sense of man- kind, and Holy Scripture, as yours." [1C5] Philonous observes, in the end, " That he does not pretend to be a setter up of new notions ; his endeavours tend only to unite, and to place in a clearer light, that truth which was before shared between the vul- gar and the philosophers ; the former being of opinion, that those things they im- mediately perceive are the real things ; and the latter, that the things immediately perceived, are ideas which exist only in the mind ; which two things put together do, in effect, constitute the substance of what lie advances." And he concludes by ob- serving, " That those principles which at first view lead to scepticism, pursued to a certain point, bring men back to common sense." These passages shew sufficiently the author's concern to reconcile his system to the plain dictates of nature and common sense, while he expresses no concern to reconcile it to the received doctrines of philosophers. He is fond to take part with the vulgar against the philosophers, and to vindicate common sense against their inno- vations. What pity is it that he did not carry this suspicion of the doctrine of philo- sophers so far as to doubt of that philoso- phical tenet on which his whole system is built — to wit, that the things immediately perceived by the senses are ideas which exist only in the mind ! After all, it seems no easy matter to make the vulgar opinion and that of Berkeley to meet. And, to accomplish this, he seen;s to me to draw each out of its line towards the other, not without some straining. The vulgar opinion he reduces to this, that the very things which we perceive by our senses do really exist. This he grants ;* for these things, says he, are ideas in our minds, or complexions of ideas, to which * This is one of the passages that may be broiifjht prove ihat Ucid did allow to the ego an ;rara'.'diate aiid real knowledge of the non-ego. — H. we give one name, and consider as one thing ; these are the immediate objects of sense, and these do really exist. As to the notion that those things have an absolute external existence, independent of being perceived by any mind, he thinks [ 1(J6] that this is no notion of the vulgar, but a refine- ment of philosophers ; and that the notion of material substance, as Si substratum, or sup- port of that collection of sensible qualities to which we give the name of an apple or a melon, is likewise an invention of philoso- phers, and is not found with the vulgar till they are instructed by philosophers. The substance not being an object of sense, the vulgar never think of it ; or, if they are taught the use of the word, they mean no more by it but that collection of sensible qualities which they, from finding them con- jomed in nature, have been accustomed to call by one name, and to consider as one thing. . Thus he draws the vulgar opinion near to his own ; and, that he may meet it half way, he acknowledges that material things have a real existence out of the mind of this or that person ; but the question, says he, between the materialist and me, is. Whether they have an absolute existence distinct from their being perceived by God, and exterior to all minds ? This, indeed, he f^ays, some heathens and philosophers have affirmed ; but whoever entertains no- tions of the Deity, suitable to the Holy Scripture, will be of another opinion. But here an objection occurs, which it required all his ingenuity to answer. It is this : The ideas in my mind cannot be the same with the ideas of any other mind ; therefore, if the objects I perceive be only ideas, it is impossible that the objects I per- ceive can exist anywhere, when I do not perceive them ; and it is impossible that two or more minds can perceive the same object. To this Berlceley answers, that this ob- jection presses no less the opinion of the materiaUst philosopher than his. But the difficulty is to make his opinion coincide with the notions of the vulgar, who are firmly persuaded that the very identical objects which they perceive, continue to exist when they do not perceive them ; and who are no less firmly persuaded that, when ten men look at the sun or the moon, they all see the same individual object.* [107] To reconcile this repugnancy, he observes, Dial. 3_" That, if the term same be taken in the vulgar acceptation, it is certain (and not at all repugnant to the principles he maintains) that different persons may per- ceive the same thing ; or the same thing or idea exist in different minds. Words are S,c the last note. — il. [165-167] CHAP. X.] OF THE SENTIMENTS OF BISHOP BERKELEY. 285 of arbitrary imposition ; and, since men are used to apply the word same, where no dis- tinction or variety is perceived, and he does not pretend to alter their perceptions, it follows that, as men have said before, several saw the same thirig, so they may, upon like occasions, still continue to use the same phrase, without any deviation, either from pnipriety of language, or the truth of things ; but, if the term same be used in the acceptation of philosophers, who pretend to an abstracted notion of identity, then, according to their sundry definitions of this term, (for it is not yet agreed wherein that philosophic identity consists,) it may or may not be possible for divers persons to perceive the same thing ; but whether phi- losophers shall think fit to call a thing the same or no is, I conceive, of small import- ance. Men may dispute about identity and diversity, without any real difference in their thoughts and opuiions, abstracted from names." Upon the whole, I apprehend that Berk- eley has carried this attempt to reconcile his system to the vulgar opinion farther than reason supports him ; and he was no doubt tempted to do so, from a just appre- hension that, in a controversy of this kind, the common sense of mankind is the most formidable antagonist. Berkeley has employed much pains and ingenuity to shew that his system, if re- ceived and believed, would not be attended with those bad consequences in the conduct of life, which superficial thinkers may be apt to impute to it. His system does not take away or make any alteration upon our plea- sures or our pains : our sensations, whether agreeable or disagreable, are the;same upon his system as upon any other. These are real things, and the only things that interest us. [ IGii] They are produced in us according to certain laws of nature, by which our con- duct will be directed in attaining the one, and avoiding the other ; and it is of no moment to us, whether they are produced immediately by the operation of some power- ful intelligent being upon our minds ; or by the mediation of some inanimate being which we call matter. The evidence of an all-governmg mind, so far from being weakened, seems to appear even in a more striking liglit upon his hypothesis, than upon the common one. The powers which inanimate matter is sup- posed to possess, have always been the stronghold of atheists, to which they had recourse in defence of their system. This fortress of atheism nuist be most efiectually overturned, if there is no such thing as matter in the universe. In all tlii.s the Bishop reasons justly and acutely. But there is one uncomfortable consequence of his Kvatem, which beseems not to have at- flG8, 169] tended to, and from which it will be found difficult, if at all possible, to guard it. The consequence I mean is this — that, although it leaves us sufficient evidence of a supreme intelligent mind, it seems to take away all the evidence we have of other intelligent beings like ourselves. "Wliat I call a father, a brother, or a frieud, is only a parcel of ideas in my own mmd ; and, being ideas in my mind, they cannot possibly have that relation to another mind which they have to mine, any more than the pain felt by me can be the uidividual pain felt by another. I can find no principle in Berkeley's system, which affords me even probable ground to conclude that there are other intelligent beings, like myself, in the relations of father, brother, friend, or fellow-citizen. I am left alone, as the only creature of God in the universe, in that forlorn state of efjoisrn into which it is said some of the disciples of Des Cartes were brought by his philo- sophy.* [1C9] Of all the opinions that have ever been advanced by philosophers, this of Bishop Berkeley, that there is no material worki, seems the strangest, and the most apt to bring philosophy into ridicule with plain men whoare guided by the dictates of nature and common sense. And, it will not, I ap- prehend, be improper to trace this progeny of the doctrine of ideas from its origin, and to observe its gradual progress, till it acquired such strength that a pious and learned bishop had the boldness to usher it into the world, as demonstrable from the principles of philosophy universally received, and as an admirable expedient for the advance- ment of knowledge and for the defence of religion. During the reign of the Peripatetic phi- losophy, men were little disposed to doubt, and much to dogmatize. The existence of the objects of sense was held as a first prin- ciple ; and the received doctrine was, that the sensible species or idea is the very form of the external object, just separated from the matter of it, and sent into tlie mind that perceives it ; so that we find no appearance of scepticism about the existence of mat- ter under that philosophy. -f- Dcs Cartes taught men to doubt even of those things that had been taken for first principles. He rejected:!: the doctrine of » In which the soul, like the unhappy nido — ^— " eompcrquc relinqin Solasibi, temper longain itiiomilata vUlclur Ire viiiin." — H. + 'Ihi is not the rase. It roiild easily be shewn that, in tlie schools of the niidd'eaKcs, the argumenfi in favour of Ideali-sm were fully undirstood ; and they would certainly have obtidned numerous jiHrti. sans, had it not leeii seen that such » pliilii>o|ihicjil opinion involved a theological heresy touchiiig the euchatist. This was even lecuHUircd by St Auruii> tii.e— H , ,. J Altermany of the Peripatetics themsclvci — H. 286 ON THE INTELLECIUAL POWERS. Lessay II. species or ideas coming from objects ; but still maintained that what we immediately perceive, is not the external object, but an idea or image of it in our mind. This led some of his disciples into Egoism, and to dis- believe the existence of every creature in the universe but themselves and their own ideas. * But Des Cartes himself — either from dread of the censure of the church, which he took great care not to provoke ; or to shun the ridicule of the world, which might have crushed his system at once, as it did that of the Egoists ;* or, perhaps, from inward conviction — was resolved to support the ex- istence of matter. To do this consistently with his principles, he found himself obliged to have recourse to arguments that are far- fetched, and not very cogent. Sometimes he argues that our senses ai-e given us by God, who is no deceiver ; and, therefore, we ought to believe their testimony. [170] But this argument is weak ; because, accord- ing to his principles, our senses testify no more but that we have certain ideas : and, if we draw conclusions from this testimony, which the premises will not support, we deceive ourselves. To give more force to this weak argument, he sometimes adds, that we have by nature a strong propensity to believe that there is an external world corresponding to our ideas. "f JVIalebranche thought that this strong propensity is not a sufficient reason for be- lieving the existence of matter ; and that it is to be received as an article of faith, not certainly discoverable by reason. He is aware that faith comes by hearing ; and that it may be said that prophets, apostles, and miracles are only ideas in our minds. But to this he answers, that, though these things are only ideas, yet faith turns them into realities ; and this answer, he hopes, will satisfy those who are not too morose. It may perhaps seem strange that Locke, who wrote .so nmch about ideas, should not see those consequences which Berkeley thought so obviously deducible from that doctrine. Air Locke surely was not willing that the doctrine of ideas should be thought to be loaded with such consequences. He acknowledges that the existence of a mate- rial world is not to be received as a first principle— nor is it demonstrable ; but he otters the best arguments for it he can ; and supplies the weakness of his arguments by this observation — that we have such evi- ♦ See above, p. 269, note h ; and below, under p. 1S7.— H ' I We are only by nature led to believe in the exist- ence ot'rn outif world, because we are by nature led to Relieve that we have an immodiate knowledge of 1' as existing. Now, Des Cartes -ndthe philosophers itigeniral (is Rcid an exception?) hold that we are deluded in the latter belief; and yet they argue, on the authority of the former, that an external world exi>ts — H. dence as is sufficient to direct us in pur- suing the good and avoiding the ill we may receive from external things, beyond which we have no concern. There is, indeed, a single passage in Locke's essay, which may lead one to con- jecture that he had a glimpse of that sys- tem which Berkeley afterwards advanced, but thought proper to suppress it within his own breast. [171] The passage is in Book 4, c. 10, where, having proved the existence of an eternal intelligent mind, he comes to answer those who conceive that matter also must be eternal, because we cannot conceive how it could be made out of nothing ; and having observed that the creation of mind requires no less power than the creation of matter, he adds what fol- lows : — " Nay, possibly, if we could eman- cipate ourselves from vulgar notions, and raise our thoughts, as far as they would reach, to a closer contemplation of things, we might be able to aim at some dim and seeming conception, how matter might at first be made and begin to exist, by the power of that eternal first Being ; but to give beginning and being to a spirit, would be found a more inconceivable effect of om- nipotent power. But this being what would perhaps lead us too far from the notions on which the philosophy now in the world is built, it would not be pardonable to deviate so far from them, or to inquire, so far as grammar itself would authorize, if the com- mon settled opinion opposes it ; especially in this place, where the received doctrine serves well enough to our present purpose.* It appears from this passage — First, That Mr Locke had some system in his mind, perhaps not fully digested, to which we might be led, by raising our thoughts to a closer contemplation of things, and emanci- pating them from vulgar notions ; Secondly, That this system would lead so far from the notions on which the philosophy now in the world is built, that he thought proper to keep it within his own breast ; Thirdly, That it might be doubted whether this sys- tem differed so far from the common settled opinion in reality, as it seemed to do in words ; Fourthly, By this system, we might possibly be enabled to aim at some dim and seeming conception how matter might at first be made and begin to exist ; but it would give no aid in conceiving how a spirit might be made. These are the cha- racteristics of that system which Mr Locke had in his mind, and thought it prudent to suppress. May they not lead to a probable conjecture, that it was the same, or some- thing similar to that of Bishop Berkeley ? * Mr Stewart plausibly supposes that thi.s passage contains rather an anticipation of Boscovich's Theory of- Matter, than of Berke'ey's Theory of Idealism. Philosophical Essas/s, p. 61. But see note F. — H. fliO, 171] CHAP. X.J OF THE SENTIMENTS OF BISHOP BERKELEY. 287 According to Berkeley's system, God'screat- ing the material world at sucli a time, means no more but that he decreed from that time, to produce ideas in the minds of finite spirits, in that order and according to those rules which we call the laws of Nature. [172] This, indeed, removes all difficulty, in con- ceiving how matter was created ; and Berkeley does not faU to take notice of the advantage of his system on that account. But his system gives no aid in conceiving how a spirit may be made. It appears, therefore, that every particular Mr Locke has hinted, with regard to that system which he had in his mind, but thought it prudent to suppress, tallies exactly with the system of Berkelev. If we add to this, that Berkeley's system follows from Mr Locke's, by very obvious consequence, it seems rea- sonable to conjecture, from the passage now quoted, that he was not unaware of that consequence, but left it to those who should come after him to carry his principles their full length, when they should by time be better established, and able to bear the shock of their opposition to vulgar notions. Mr Norris, in his " Essay towards the Theory of the Ideal or Intelligible World," pub- lished in 1701, observes, that the material world is not an object of sense ; because sensation is within us, and has no object. Its existence, therefore, he says, is a collec- tion of reason, and not a very evident one. From this detail we may learn that the doctrine of ideas, as it was new-modelled by Des Cartes, looked with an unfriendly aspect upon the material world ; and, al- though philosophers were very unwilling to give up either, they found it a very difficult task to reconcile them to each other. In this state of things, Berkeley, I think, is reputed the first who had the daring reso- lution to give up the material world alto- gether, as a sacrifice to the received phi- losophy of ideas. But we ought not, in this historical sketch, to omit an author of far inferior name, Arthur Collier, Rector of Langford Magna, near Sarum. lie published a book in 17L5, which he calls " Clavis Universalis ; or, a New Inquiry after Truth ; being a demon- stration of the non-existence or impossibility of an external world." His arguments arc the same in substance with Berkeley's; and he appears to understand the whole strength of his cause. [IT.i] Though ho is not deficient in metaphysical acuteness, his style is dis- agreeable, being full of conceits, of new- coined words, scholastic terms, and per- plexed sentences. He appears to be well acquainted with Des Cartes, Malebranclie, and Norris, as well as with Aristotle and the schoolmen. But, what is very strange, it docs not ayipear that he had ever heard of Locke's Essay, which hail been j)ub- [172-174] lished twenty-four years, or of Berkeley's " Principles of Knowledge," which had been published three years. He says he had been ten years firmly convinced of the non-existence of an ex- ternal world, before he ventured to publish his book. He is far from thinking, as Ber- keley does, that the vulgar are of his opi- nion. If his book should make any con- verts to his system, (of which he expresses little hope, though he has supported it by nine demonstrations,) he takes pains to shew that his disciples, notwithstanding their opinion, may, with the unenlightened, speak of material things in the common style. He himself had scruples of con- science about this for some time ; and, if he had not got over them, he must have shut his lips for ever ; but he considered that God himself has used this style in speaking to men in the Holy Scripture, and has thereby sanctified it to all the faithful ; and that to the pure all things are pure. He thinks his opinion may be of great use, especially in religion ; and applies it, in particular, to put an end to the con- troversy about Christ's presence in the sacrament. I have taken the liberty to give this short account of Collier's book, because I believe it is rare, and little known. I have only seen one copy of it, which is in the University library of Glasgow.* [174] CHAPTER XI BISHOP Berkeley's sentiments of the NATURE OF IDEAS. I PASS over the sentiments of Bishop Berkeley, with respect to abstract ideas, and with respect to space and time, as things which may more properly be consi- dered in another place. But I must take notice of one part of his system, wherein he • This work, thougli of extreme rarity, and long absolutely unknown to (he philosophers ot Ihiscoun. try, had excited, troin the first, the attention of the rieriiiaii raeta|)liysicians. A long analysis ot it was given III the " Aeta Eruditorum ; " it is found quitcd hy Uilfingcr, and other Lcbnitzians; and was sub. sequently translaleil into (icrman, with coiitrover. sial notes by Professor Kschenbach of l.'ostoek, in his " Colleetioii of the principal writers who deny tlie Healityof theirown Hody and of the whole Corporeal World," nSfi. 'I he late learned Or I'arr had long the uiteiition of publishing the woik 01 (.(jlhcr along with some other rare U'.etaphysical treat ses. He did not, however, aeenniplish his purpose; Vvhich in. volved, likewi-e, an introductorydis(]iiisiti'in by him. self; but a coinjilete impression ot the" ('lavi^ Univer. Kalis" and four other tracts, was found, alter his death ; : ml this having been purchased hy iMi l.uiii- ley, tiHS by him, been recently publisliKl, under the fille— " Mitaphysieal 1 raits, bv English I'liilnso. pliers of the Kighteenth (eiilury," \c. I.ondon : I8:)7. A very small eilition of the " Clavis" had been printed in Kdinbur b, by priviite subscription, in lh» previous year. \ Life of Collier liai likewise i" ceiitly ap|iearcd — II. 288 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [kssay II. seema to have deviated from the eomnion opinion about ideas. Tlu>uf;h he sets out in his principles of knowledge, by telling us that it is evident the objects of human knowledge are ideas, and builds his whole system upon this prin- ciple ; yet, in the progress of it, he finds that there arc certain objects of human knowledge that are not ideas, but things which have a permanent existence. The objects of knowledge, of which we have no ideas, are our own minds, and their various operations, other finite minds, and the Supreme Mind. The reason why there can be no ideas of spirits and their opera- tions, the author informs us is this, That ideas are jiassive, inert, unthinking beings ;* they cannot, therefore, be the image or likeness of things that have thought, and will, and active power ; we have notions of minds, and of their operations, but not ideas. We know what we mean by think- ing, willing, and perceiving ; we can rea- son about beings endowed with those powers, but we have no ideas of them. A spirit or mind is the only substance or support wherein the unthinking beings or ideas can exist ; but that this substance which supports or perceives ideas, should itself be an idea, or like an idea, is evidently absurd. He observes, farther, Princip. sect. 142, that " all relations, including an act of the mind, we cannot properly be said to have an idea, but rather a notion of the relations or habitudes between things. [175] But if, in the modern way, the word idea is extended to spirits, and relations, and acts, this is, after all, an affair of verbal con- cern ; yet it conduces to clearness and pro- priety, that we distinguish things very dif- ferent by different names." This is an important part of Berkeley's system, and deserves attention. We are led by it to divide the objects of human knowledge into two kinds. The first is ideas, which we have by our five senses ; they have no existence when they are not per- ceived, and exist only in the minds of those who perceive them. The second kind of objects comprehends spirits, their acts, and the relations and habitudes of things. Of these we have notions, but no ideas. No idea can represent them, or have any simi- litude to them : yet we understand what they mean, and we can speak with under- standing, and reason about them, without ideas. This account of ideas is very different from that which Locke has given. In his system, we have no knowledge where we have no ideas. Every thought must have • Herkeley is one of tlie philosophers who rea'ly htld the tloclrine of ideas, erroneously, by Reid, at- tiibuteU to all.— H. an idea for its immediate object. In Ber- keley's, the most important objects are known without ideas. In Locke's system, there are two sources of our ideas, sen.sa- tion and reflection. In Berkeley's, sensa- tion is the only source, because of the objects of reflection there can be no ideas. We know them without ideas. Locke divides our ideas into those of substances, modes, and relations. In Berkeley's system, there are no ideas of substances, or of relations ; but notions only. And even in the class of modes, the operations of our own minds are things of which we have distinct notions ; but no ideas. We ought to do the justice to Malebranche to acknowledge that, in this point, as well as in many others, his system comes nearer to Berkeley's than the latter seems willing to own. That author tells us that there are four different ways in which we come to the knowledge of things. To know things by their ideas, is only one of the four. [176] He affirms that we have no idea of our own mind, or any of its modifications : that we know these things by consciousness, without ideas. Whether these two acute philosophers foresaw the consequences that may be drawn from the system of ideas, taken in its full extent, and w^hich were after- wards drawn by Mr Hume, I cannot pre- tend to say. If they did, their regard to religion was too great to permit them to ad- mit those consequences, or the principles with which they were necessarily connected. However tliis may be, if there be so many things that may be apprehended and known without ideas, this very naturally suggests a scruple with regard to those that are left : for it may be said. If we can apprehend and reason about the world of spirits, with- out ideas. Is it not possible that we may apprehend and reason about a material world, without ideas ? If consciousness and reflection furnish us with notions of spirits and of their attributes, without idea-s, may not our senses furnish us with notions of bodies and their attributes, without ideas ? Berkeley foresaw this objection to his system, and puts it in the mouth of Hylas, in the following words : — Dial. 3, Hylas. " If you can conceive the mind of God, without having an idea of it, why may not I be allowed to conceive the existence of matter, notwithstanding that I have no idea of it ?" The answer of Philonous is — " You neither perceive matter objectively, as you do an inactive being or idea, nor know it, as you do yourself, by a reflex act, neither do you immediately apprehend it by similitude of the one or the other, nor yet collect it by reasoning from that which you know immediately ; all which makes the case of matter widely different from that of the Deity." ri75. 176"! cuAP. XI.] BISHOP BEUKELEYS SENTIMENTS OF IDEAS. 280 Though Hylas declares himself satisfied with this answer, I confess I am not : be- cause, if I may trust the faculties that God has given me, I do perceive matter objec- tively — that is, something which is extended and solid, which may be measured anles," Herkcley ex- pressly calls extcnsiim and Jhjiiir sensations. Hut it is a fundamental principle of HeidV philosophy, not onlv thai neither exlensi n nur linure, l)ut that none of the prini.iry qualities, aic sensations. I" make a finnlc quotation— "M'heyic/jiian/ qualities," he says, " are. mitlier sensiUiims, nor are they the retcmblanccs of sensations."— /'l/id, p y:is. — II. 290 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [_ESSAY II. tion much more distinct and accurate than Locke's, who thought that the primary quahties of body are resemblances of our sensations,* but that the secondary are not, Tliat we have many sensations by means of our external senses, there can be no doubt ; and, if he is pleased to call those ideas, there ought to be no dispute about the meaning of a word. But, says Bishop Berkeley, by our senses, we have the know- ledge .only of our sensations or ideas, call them which you will. I allow him to call them which he will ; but I would have the wordoratyin this sentence to be well weighed, because a great deal depends upon it. For, if it be true that, by our senses, we have the knowledge of our sensations only, then his system must be admitted, and the existence of a material world must be given up as a dream. No demonstration can be more invincible than this. If we have any knowledge of a material world, it must be by the senses : but, by the senses, we have no knowledge but of our sensations only ; and our sensations have no resemblance of anything that can be in a material world, f The only proposition in this demonstration which admits of doubt is, that, by our senses, we have the knowledge of our sensations only, and of nothing else. If there are ob- jects of the senses which are not sensations, his arguments do not touch them : they may be things which do not exist in the mind, as all sensations do ; they may be things of which, by our senses, we have notions, though no ideas ; just as, i)y consciousness and reflection, we have notions of spirits and of their oper- ations, without ideas or sensations. + [180] Shall we say, then, that, by our senses, we have the knowledge of our sensations only ; and that they give us no notion of anything but of our sensations ? Perhaps this has been the doctrine of philosophers, and not of Bishop Berkeley alone, otherwise he would have supported it by arguments. Mr Locke calls all the notions we have by our senses, ideas of sensation ; and in this has been very generally followed. Hence it seems a very natural inference, that ideas * Here again we have a criticism which proceeds on the erroneous implication, that Locke meant by sensation what Ueid himself did. If for sensation we substitute perception, (and by sensation Locke denoted both sensation proper and perception proper,) there rem.-iins nothing to censure ; for Keid main- tains that " our senses give us a direct and a distinct notion of the j>r/war(/ qualities, and inform us uhal they are in themselves " (infra, p. -i'^ ;) which is only Locke's m -aning in other words, 'i he same observa- tion applies to many of the following passages — H. 'l See the last note. — H. t But, unless that be admitted, which the ratural conviction of mankind certifies, that we have an immediate perception— a consciousne.-.s — ot ''Xternal and extended existences, it makes no differtnce, in regard to the conclusion of the Idealist, whether ■n'hat we are conscious of in perception be supposed an entity in the mind, (an idea in Reid s meaning,) or a modification of the mind, (a notion or concep- tion.) See above, p. 128, noies ».— H. of sensation are sensations. But philoso- phers may err : let us hear the dictates of common sense upon this point. Suppose I am pricked with a pin, I ask, Is the pain 1 feel, a sensation ? Undoubtedly it is. There can be nothing that resembles pain in any inanimate being. But I ask again. Is the pin a sensation ? To this question I find myself under a necessity of answering, that the pin is not a sensation, nor can have the least resemblance to any sensation. The pin has length and thick- ness, and figure and weight. A sensation can have none of those qualities. I am not more certain that the pain I feel is a sensa- tion, than that the pin is not a sensation ; yet the pin is an object of sense ; and I am as certain that I perceive its figure and hardness by my senses, as that I feel pain when pricked by it.* Having said so much of the ideas of sense in Berkeley's system, we are next to con- sider the account he gives of the ideas of imagination. Of these he says. Principles, § 28 — " I find I can excite ideas in my mind at pleasure, and vary and shift the scene as oft as I think fit. It is no more than willing ; and straightway this or that idea arises in my fancy ; and by the same power it is obliterated, and makes way for another. This making and unmaking of ideas, doth very properly denominate the mind active. Thus much is certain, and grounded on experience. Our sensations," he says, " are called real things ; the ideas of imagination are more properly termed ideas, or images of things ;"t that is, as I apprehend, they are the images of our sensations. [181] It might surely be expected that we should be well acquainted with the ideas of imagin- ation, as they are of our making ; yet, after all the Bishop has said about them, I am at a loss to know what they are. I would observe, in the first place, with regard to these ideas of imagination — that they are not sensations ; for surely sensation is the work of the senses, and not of imagin- ation ; and, though pain be a sensation, the thought of pain, when I am not pained, is no sensation. I observe, in the second place — that I can find no distinction between ideas of imagin- ation and notions, which the author says are not ideas. I can easily distinguish be- » This illustration is taken from Des Cartes. In this paragraph, the term sensation is again not used in the .extension given to it by the philosophers in question — H. f Berkeley's real words are — " 'I he ideas imprint, ed.on the Senses by the Author of Nature are called real things, and those excited in the Imagination being less regular, vivid and constant, are iriore pro- perly termed ji/oa* -or images of things, which they copy and represent. But then our Sensations, be they never so vivid and, dist net, are nevertheless ideas— that is, they exist in the mind, or are perceived by it, as truly as the ideas of its own framing."' Sect, xxxiii. — H. ri8o, i8i:i CHAP. XI. 1 BISHOP RSRKELEY'S SENTIMENTS OF IDEAS. 291 tween a notion and a sensation. It is one thing to say, I liave the sensation of pain. It is another thing to say, I have a notion of pain. The last expression signifies no more tliau that I understand what is meant by the word pai/t. The first signifies that I really feel pain. But I can find no distinction between the notion of pain and the imagin- ation of it, or indeed between the notion of anything else, and the imagination of it. I can, therefore, give no account of the distinction which Berkeley makes between ideas of imagination and notions, which, he says, are not ideas. They seem to me per- fectly to coincide.* He seems, indeed, to say, that the ideas of imagination differ not in kind from those of the senses, but only in the degree of their regularity, vivacity, and constancy, " They are," says he, " less regular, vivid, and con- stant." This doctrine was afterwards greed- ily embraced by Mr Hume, and makes a main pillar of his system ; but it cannot be reconciled to common sense, to which Bishop Berkeley professes a great regard. For, according to this doctrine, if we compare the state of a man racked with the gout, with his state when, being at perfect ease, he relates what he has suffered, the difference of these two states is only this — that, in the last, the pain is less regular, vivid, and con- stant, than in the first. [182] We cannot possibly assent to this. Every man knows that he can relate the pain he suffered, not only without pain, but with pleasure ; and that to suffer pain, and to think of it, are things wliich totally differ in kind, and not in degree only.-f- We see, therefore, upon the whole, that, according to this system, of the most im- portant objects of knowledge — that is, of * Yet the distinction of iilca.i, strictly so called, and notions, is one of the most common and important in Ihephilosophy of Uiind. Nor do we owe it, as has been asserted, to Berkeley. It was virtually taken by Ues Cartes and the Cartesians, in their discrimination of ideas of imapination and ide s.of intelligence; it was in terms vindicated apainst I.ocke, by .--erjeaiit, Stil. lingfleet,,Norris, Z. Mayiie, bishop Brown, and others; lionnet signalized it; and, under the con- trast i)f Ainchmnitiiii-n 'and Jiiyrijfi; it has long been ari» established and classical discrimination with the philosophers of Germany. Nay, Reid himself sug. gests it in the distinction he requires between ima- ginntum and conccjitkin, a'dislinction which he uiifor. tunately did not. carry out, and which Mr Stewart still more unhappily again perverted. See below, p. 371 The terms iiotion-nnA conci'pt.ion. (or more cor- rectly (vz/kv/// in this) sense, I sliould- be reserved tf»expres8 wh it we comprehend but cannot picture in imagination, such as a relation, a general term, ttc. 'Ihe word' /(/(■«, as one prostituted lo all mean, iiigs, it were perhaps better altogether to discard. A»for t!ic represi Illations of. imagination or phan- tasy, I would employ the Urmt imdijf or pkanln.sin , it being distinctly understood* that ttiese terms are ap- plied to denote the ri:]ircxi-)ttatiim.i, not ol our visible perceptions merely, a8 the terms taken literally would indicate, but o( our lensible perceptions in general. — 1 There is here a confusion between pain ^-onsidcred as a /edhitj, and as the idi/nitioti of a fiim should ni^t have been exiilicitly )itoniiilt;a'cd liclore liclite, (whose iloctriiie, however, i» not the same;) hut 1 have, as \ef, seen no satisfactory Kroumis on which it can be slivun that this had actua Iv been done — 11. + Sec Notes H and ( . — fl. 294 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay II. It is pleasant to observe that, while philo- sophers, for more than a century, have been hiliouring, by means of ideas, to explain perception and the other operations of the mind, those ideas have by degrees usurped the place of perception, object, and even of the mind itself, and have supplanted those very things they were brought to explain. Des Cartes reduced all the operations of the understanding to perception ; and what can be more natural to those who believe that they are only different modes of perceiving ideas in our own minds ? Locke confounds ideas sometimes with the perception of an external object, sometimes with the external object itself. In Berkeley's system, the idea is the only object, and yet is often con- founded with the perception of it. But, in Hume's, the idea or the impression, which is only a more lively idea, is mind, percep- tion, and object, all in one : so that, by the term perception, in Mr Hume's system, we must understand the mind itself, all its operations, both of understanding and will, and all the objects of these operations. Per- ception taken in this sense he divides into our more lively perceptions, which he calls impressions,* and the less lively, which he calls ideas. To prevent repetition, I must here refer the reader to some remarks made upon this division, Essay I. chap. 1, in the explication there given of the words, prr- ceive, object, impression, [pp. 222, 223, 220.] Philosophers have differed very much with regard to the origin of our ideas, or the sources whence they are derived. The Peripatetics held that all knowledge is de- rived originally from the senses ;-\- and this ancient doctrine seems to be revived by some late French philosophers, and by Dr Hartley and Dr Priestley among the Brit- ish. [189] Des Cartes maintained, that many of our ideas are innate. Locke op- posed the doctrine of innate ideas with much zeal, and employs the whole first book of his Essay against it. But he ad- mits two different sources of ideas . the operations of our external senses, which he calls sensation, by which we get all our ideas of body, and its attributes ; and re- Jlection upon the operations of our minds, by which we get the ideas of everything be- • Mr Stewart {Ehin. III. Addenda to vol I. p. 43) seems to think that thp word impression was first introduced as a technical ierm, into (he philo. Bophy of mind, by Hume. This is not altogether correct. For, besides the instances which Mr Stewart himself adduces, of the illustration attempted, of the phenomena of Ticmory from the analogy of an im. press and a booc, words corresponding to impression wcreamoijg the ancients familiarly applied to thepro- cessescf external perception, imagination, &c.,in the Atomistic, the Platonic, the Aristotelian, and the Stoical philosophies ; while, amongmodern psycholo. gists, (as Df s Cartes and Gassendi,; the term was like- wise in common use — H. t This is an incorrect, at K-ast a too unqualified, itatcment. — H. longing to the mind. The main design of the second book of Locke's " Essay," is to shew, that all our simple ideas, without exception, are derived from the one or the other, or both of these sources. In doing this, the author i^ led into some paradoxes, although, in general, he is not fond of para- doxes : And had he foreseen all the con- sequences that may be drawn from his ac- count of the origin of our ideas, he would probably have examined it more carefully." Mr Hume adopts Locke's account of the origin of our ideas ; and from that principle infers, that we have no idea of substance, corporeal or spiritual, no idea of power, no other idea of a cause, but that it is something antecedent, and ctmstantly conjoined to that which we call its effect ; and, in a word, that we can have no idea of anything but our sensations, and the operations of mind we are conscious of. This author leaves no power to the mind in framing its ideas and impressions ; and, no wonder, since he holds that we have no idea of power ; and the mind is nothing but that succession of impressions and ideas of which we are intimately conscious. He thinks, therefore, that our impressions arise from unknown causes, and that the impressions are the causes of their corre- sponding ideas. By this he means no more but that they always go before the ideas ; for this is all that is necessary to constitute the relation of cause and effect. [190] As to the order and succession of our ideas, he holds it to be determined by three laws of attraction or association, which he takes to be original properties of the ideas, by which they attract, as it were, or asso- ciate themselves with other ideas which either resemble them, or which have been contiguous to them in time and place, or to which they have the relations of cause and effect. We may here observe, by the way, that the last of these three laws seems to be in- cluded in the second, since causation, ac- cording to him, implies no more than con- tiguity in time and place. -j- • At any rate, according to I.ocke, all our know- ledge is a derivation from experience. — H . + Mr Hume says—" I do not find that any philo. sopher has attempted to enumerate or class all the principles of Association ; a subject, however, that seems to me very woithy of curiosity. To me there appears to be only three principles of connection among ideas: Resemblance — Contiguity in time or place — Cause and Effect." — E.isai/s, yo\. ii., p. 24. — Aristotle, and, after him, many other philosophers, had, however, done this, and with even greater success th.iii Hume himself. Aristotle's reduction is to the four following heads : — I'roximity in time — Conti. guity in place — Resemblance — Contrast. This is more correct than Hume's; for Hume's second head ought to be divided into two; while our connecting any particular events in the relation of cause and eft'tct, is itself the result of their otiserved proximity in liine and contiguity in place; nay, to custom and this en pirical coniiectio.i (as observed by Keid) iocs riS9, 190] CHAP. XIII.] OF THE SENTIMENTS OF ANTHONY ARNAULD. 295 It is not my design at present to shew how Mr Hume, upon the principles he has borrowed from Locke and Berlieley, has, with great acuteness, reared a system of absolute sceptii-ism, wliich leaves no rational ground to believe any one proposition, rather than its contrary : my intention in this pl;ice being only to give a detail of the sentiments of philosophers concerning ideas since they became an object of speculation, and concerning the manner of our perceiv- ing external objects by their means. CHAPTER XIII. OF THE SENTIMENTS OF ANTHONY ARNAULD. In this sketch of the opinions of philoso- phers concerning ideas, we must not omit Anthony Arnauld, doctor of the Sorbonne, who, in the year 1683, published his book " Of True and False Ideas," in opposition to the system of Malebranche before men- tioned. It is only about ten years since I could find this book, and I believe it is rare.' [191] Though Arnauld wrote before Locke, Berkeley, and Hume, I liave reserved to the last place some account of his senti- ments, because it seems difficult to deter- mine whether he adopted the common theory of ideas, or whether he is singular in reject- ing it altogether as a fiction of philoso- phers. The controversy between Malebranche and Arnauld necessarily led them to con- sider what kind of things ideas are — a point upon which other philosophers had very generally been silent. Both of them pro- fessed the doctrine universally received : that we perceive not material things imme- diately — that it is their ideas that are the immediate objects of our thought — and that it is in the idea of everything that we per- ceive its properties. It is necessary to premise that both these autliors use the word perception, as Des Cartes had done before them, to sig- nify every operation of the understand- ing. -f " To think, to know, to perceive, are the same thing," says Mr Arnauld, chap. V. def. 2. It is likewise to be observed, that the various operations of the mind are l)y both called moilijicatinns of the mind. Perhaps they were led into this plirase by the Cartesian doctrine, that the essence of tlic mind consists in thinking, as that of body consists in extension. I apjjrehend, Hume him«clf endeavour to reduce the principle of Causality altogfthcr.—H. See Notes !)• ' andl)***. • J he treatises of Arnauld in liia coritrover>y with Malebraijche, are to he found in the lliirti/.cidlith Vfilume of his collected works in Ito, 11. t Kvery ajijtrehi-miie, or strictly axjnitive opera- tw.n of the understanding. — H. [l!)l,192] therefore, that, when they make sensation, perception, memory, and imagination, to be various modifications of the mind, they mean no more but that these are things which can only exist in the mind as their subject. We express the same thing, by calling them various modes of thinking, or various operations of the mind." The things which the mind perceives, says Malebranche, are of two kinds. They are either in the mind itself, or they are external to it. The things in the mind, are all its diff'erent modifications, its sensa- tions, its imaginations, its pure intellec- tions, its passions and affections. These are immediately perceived ; we are con- scious of them, and have no need of ideas to represent them to us. [192] Tilings external to the mind, are either corporeal or spiritual. With regard to the last, he thinks it possible that, in another state, spirits may be an immediate object of our understandings, and so be perceived without ideas ; that there may be such an union of spirits as that they may imme- diately perceive each other, and communi- cate their thoughts mutually, without signs and without ideas. But, leaving this as a problematical point, he holds it to be undeniable, that material things cannot be perceived immediately, but only by the mediation of ideas. He thought it likewise undeniable, that the idea must be immediately present to the mind, that it must touch the soul as it were, and modify its perception of the object. From these principles we must neces- sarily conclude, either that the idea is some modification of the human mind, or that it must be an idea in the Divine Mind, which is always intimately present with our minds. The matter being brought to this alternative, Malebranche considers first all the possible ways such a modifica- tion may be produced in our mind as that we call an idea of a material object, taking it for granted always, that it nmst be an object perceived, and something different from the act of the mind in perceiving it. He finds insuperable objections against every hypothesis of such ideas being pro- duced in our minds ; and therefore con- cludes, that the inmicdiate objects of per- ception are the ideas of the Divine Mind. Against this system Arnauld wrote his book " Of True and False Ideas." He does not object to the alternative men- tioned by Malebranche ; but lio maintains, that ideas are modifications of our minds. And, finding no other modification of tho * Modes, or iiiotli/h-nliiiiis of mind, in the Cartetian lichoiil, mean nicrelv what some recent pliilnsopherj express liy stales of mind and iik lucle .liotli thu (ieHveani\ ;y('.v.v/(ipha'nonicna iif the ciiiimioui snli- jeot. I lie terms were ukcd by I)c» Cartes as well »ii by hisdiiciplei.— H. 290 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POU'EKS. [kSSAV II human iniiul which can be called the idea of an external ol)jcct, he says it is only another word for pcrcoiilion. Chap, v., def. '.i. I iy;{] " 1 take the idea of an object, and the perception of an object, to be the same thing. I do not say whether there may be otlier things to which the name of idea may be given. But it is certain that there are ideas taken in this sense, and th:it these ideas are either attributes or modifi- cations of (lur minds."" This, I think, indeed, was to attack the system of 3Ialcbranche upon its weak side, and where, at the same time, an attack was least expected. I'hilosophers had been so unanimous in maintaining that we do not perceive external objects immediately,-f- but by certain representative images of them called uleas^^ that Malebranche might well think his system secure upon that quarter, and that the-only question to be determined was, in wliat subject those ideas are placed, whether in the human or in I he divine mind ? But, says Mr Arnauld, those ideas are mere chimeras — fictions of philosophers ; there are no such beings in nature ; and, therefore, it is to no purpose to inquire whether they are in the divine or in the hu- man mind. The only true and real ideas are our perceptions, which§ are acknow- ledged by all philosophers, and by INIale- branche himself, to be acts or modifications of our own minds. He does not say that tl;e fictitious ideas were a fiction of Male- branche. He acknowledges that they had been very generally maintained by the scholastic philosophers, II and points out, very judiciously, the prejudices that had led them into the belief of such ideas. Of all the powers of our mind, the • Arnauld did not allow that perceptions and ideas are rcaUij or numerrcallijA\i\.\n%u\ihettween the reality perceived and the percipient mind. — H. X Idea was not the word by which representative images, distinct from the percipient act, had been commonly called ; nor werephilo-ophcrs at a 1 unani- mous in the adniissinn of such vicarious objects..— See Notes G, L, M, N, O, &c.— H. ^ '1 hat is, Perccptiuns, (thecognitive acts,) but not ^7t•a.f,^the immediate objects ot those acts.) 'I'he latter weie not acknowledged tiy .Malebranche and all phi. loophers to be mere acts or modificati. ns oi our own tniiiils. — H. li lint by a d'.ttereiit n.im? H external seiises are thought to be the best understood, and their objects are the most familiar. Hence we measure otlier powers by them, and transfer to other powers the language which properly be- longs to them. The objects of sense must be present to the sense, or within its sphere, in order to their being perceived. Hence, by analogy, we are led to say of everything when we think of it, that it is present to the mind, or in the mind. [194] But this presence is metaphorical, or ana- logical only ; and Arnauld calls it objec- tive presence, to distinguish it from that local presence which is required in objects that are perceived by sense. But both being called by the same name, they are confounded together, and those things that belong only to real or local presence, are attributed to the metaphorical. We are likewise accustomed to see objects by their images in a mirror, or in water ; and hence are led, by analogy, to think that objects may be presented to the memory or imagination in some similar manner, by images, which^philosopher have called ideas. By such prejudices and analogies, Arnauld conceives, men have been led to believe that the objects of memory and imagination must be presented to the mind by images or ideas ; and the philosophers have been more carried away by these prejudices than even the vulgar, because the use made of this theory was to explain and account for the various operations of the mind — a matter in which the vulgar take no concern. He thinks, however, that Des Cartes had got the better of these prejudices, and that he uses the word idea as signifying the same thing with perception,* and is, therefore, surprised that a disciple of Des Cartes, and one who was so great an admirer of him as Malebranche was, should be carric d away by them. It is strange, indeed, that the two most eminent disciples of Des Cartes and his contemporaries should difJ'er so essentially with regard to his doctrine con- cerning ideas.-]- I shall not attempt to give the reader an account of the continuation of this contro- versy between those two acute philosopliers, in the subsequent defences and replies; be- cause I have not access to see them. After much reasoning, and some animosity, each • 1 am convinced that in this interpretation of Des Cartes' doctrine, Arnauld is right; for Des Carres defines mental ideas — those, to wit, of which %cc arc. conscious — to be " Cotjilaliones prout sunt tanquam imagines — that is, tnoiights considered in their repre- sent ative capacity ; iioristhereany passage to be found in the writings or this philosopher, which, if properly uiulerstO' d, warrants I he conclusion, that, by ideas ?« tliemind, he meant auglit distinct fr.>m th*- cognitive act. '1 he double use of the term idea by Des Cartes has, however, ltd Ueid and others into a miscuii- cept'.oii on thi- point. See Note N. — H. t Keiri'sown dictr ne is far more ambigums. — H. [19.'^, 1911 tiiAP. XIII.] OF THE SENTIMENTS OF ANTHONY ARNAULD. 297 continued in his own opinion, and left his antagonist where l;e found him. [195] !Malebranche's opinion of our seeing all things in God, soon died away of itself ; and Arnauld's notion of ideas seems to have been less regarded than it deserved, by the philosophers that came after him ;• per- haps for this reason, among others, that it seemed to be, in some sort, given up by himself, in his attempting to reconcile it to the common doctrine concerning ideas. From the account I have given, one would be apt to conclude that Arnauld totally denied the existence of ideas, in the philosophical sense of that word, and that he adopted the notion of the vulgar, who acknowledge no object of perception but the external object. But he seems very un- willing to deviate so far from the common track, and, what he had given up with one hand, he takes back with the other. For, firstf Having defined ideas to be the same thing with perceptions, he adds this qualification to his definition : — " I do not here consider whether there are other things that may be called ideas ; but it is certain there are ideas taken in this sense. -f- I believe, indeed, there is no philosopher who does not, on some occasions, use the word idea in this popular sense. » The opinion of Arnauld in regard to the nature of ideas was by no means overiociked by subsequent philoso])hers. It is found fully detailed in almost every systematic course or compend ol philoso|hy, which appeared for a long time alter \U first promul. gation, and in many of tliese it is the dcctrine re. lommenileri as the true. Arnauld's was indeed the opinion which latterly prevailed in the Cartesian tchool. I'rom this It passed into other schools. Leib- nitz, like Arnauld, repaided lileas. Notions, Kepre- »entalions, as mere raodilications of the mind, (what by his disciples, were called matovo/ ideas, like the cerebral ideas of l)es ( artes, are out oftheques'ion,) and no cruder opinion than this has ever subse- quently found a looting in any of the German hy.stems. " 1 dnn't know," says .Mr Stewart, " of any author wlio, prior to I)r Heid, has txpressid himself on this fuliject with somiuli j stness aiid precision as I'ather liuther, in the following passage of his treatise on • First Truths :' — " • If we confine ourselves to what is intelligible in cur observations on /'(/raj, we "i'l say, they are no- thing, l)ut mere modifications of the mind as a thiiik- \nii beiiiK. The\ are called itkii.i with regard to the object represented ; and perrejiliotis with regard lo the faculty representing. It is manifest that our Ideas, considered in this sense, are not more distin- guished than motion is from a body moved.' — (F. 'Ml , Ett'iUsh Translation.y — i l.m. lii. Add. lo vol. i. p. 10. In this passapc, HuffiT only repeats the drctriiic of Arnauld, in Arnauld's own words. Ur Thomas lirown, on the other hand, has en- deavoured to shew that th s doctiine, (which he identifies with Iteid's,) had been long the catholic opinion ; and thai Keid, in his atlack on the Ide.il gy^lein, only reluted what had been already almost universally exploiieil. In this alt inpt he is, how- ever, gingulaily unfortunate; for, wiih the excep- tion of I'rou.saz, all the examples he ad'luccs to cv iice the prevalence of /■. rnauld's docirii eare only ku many mistakes, 6» many instances in lact, which might be alleged in coiilirmation of the very opposite rriiiclusioii. t^cv JMiiilnityli Hiviiw, viA. hi., p. ISl- I'Jfi-II. + Sec following note.— II. [ \<)r,, lOflJ Secondly, He supports this popular sense of the word by the authority of Des Cartes, who, in liis demotistratiou of the existence of God, from the idea of liim in our minds, dei'ines an idea thus : — " By the word idea, I understand that form of any thought, by the immediate perception of which I am conscious of that thought ; so that I can ex- press nothing by words, with understanding, without being certain that there is in mymind the idea of that which is ex]iressed by the words." This definition seems, indeed, to be of the same import with tliat which is given by Arnauld. But Des Cartes adds a qualification to it, which Arnauld, in quoting it, omits ; and which shews that Des Cartes meant to limit his definition to the idea then treated of — that is, to the idea of the Deity ; and that there are other ideas to which this definiJion does not apply. [!!)(>] For he adds: — " And thus I give the name of idea, not solely to the images painted in the phantasy ; nay, in this place, I do not at all give the name of ideas to those images, in so far as they are painted in the corporeal phantasy that is in some part of the brain, but only in so far as they inform the mind, turning its attention to that part of the brain."* Thirdly, Arnauld has employed the whole of his sixth chapter, to shew that these ways of speaking, common among philosophers — to wit, that ice perceive not things imme- diately ; that it is their ideas that ore the immediale ohjccts of our thovghts; that it is in the idea of everything that'we perceive i!s pioperties — are not to be rejected, but are true when rightly understood. He labours to reconcile these expressions to his own definition of ideas, by observing, that every perception and every thought is necessarily conscious of itself, and reilects upon itself ; and that, by this consciousness and reflec- tion, it is its own immediate object. Whence he uifers, that the idea — that is, the percep- tion — is the immediate object of perception. This looks like a weak attempt to recon- cile two inconsistent doctrines by one who wishes to hold both.-f- It is true, thatcou- .•iciousness always goes along with ]ieree]i- tion ; but they are ditlVrent operations of the mind, and they have their ditferent objects. Consciousness is not perception, nor is tlie object of consciousness the object of pereet'tion.J The same may be sa d of » Des Cartes here refers to the other meaning which he gives to the term idea — that in, to denote the materi.il motion, the organic .id'ection of the biain, ot whiih the mind is not conscious. On Ileid's mis. apprehension ot the ("aitesian doctrine touching thin matter, sec Note N — M ■(■ Arnauld's altemiit is nether weak nor inconsist. cut. He had, in lact, a clc.irer view of the coiidi. tuns ot the pro''leni llian Held himstlf, who has. In fact.conlbundi d two upponitcdoctiineii. Sec Note C, — H. X On Reid's error in rcdiicins ronFclousiicss to n special liiculiy.see Note H. — H. 298 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay II. every operation of mind that has an object. Thus, injury is the object of resentment. When I resent an injury, I am conscious of my resentment — that is, my resentment is the immediate and the only object of my consciousness ; but it would be absurd to infer from this, that my resentment is the immediate object of my resentment. [197] Upon the whole, if Arnauld — in conse- quence of his doctrine, that ideas, taken for representative images of external ob- jects, are a mere fiction of the philosophers — had rejected boldly the doctrine of Des Cartes, as well as of the other philosophers, concerning those fictitious beings, and all the ways of speaking that imply their ex- istence, I should have thought him more consistent with himself, and his doctrine concerning ideas more rational and more intelligible than that of any other author of my acquaintance who has treated of the subject.* CHAPTER XIV. REFLECTIONS ON THE COMMON THEORY OP IDEAS. After so long a detail of the sentiments of philosophers, ancient and modern, con- cerning ideas, it may seem presumptuous to call in question their existence. But no philosophical opinion, however ancient, however generally received, ought to rest upon authority. There is no presumption in requiring evidence for it, or in regulat- ing our belief by the evidence we can find. To prevent mistakes, the reader must again be reminded, that if by ideas are meant only the acts or operations of our minds in perceiving, remembering, or ima- gining objects, I am far from calling in question the existence of those acts ; we are conscious of them every day and every hour of life ; and I believe no man of a sound mind ever doubted of the real exist- ence of the operations of mind, of which he is conscious. Nor is it to be doubted that, by the faculties which God has given us, we can conceive things that are absent, as well as perceive those that are within the reach of our senses ; and that such concep- tions may be more or less distinct, and • Reids discontent with Arnauld i opinion — an opinio 1 which is stated with great perej) cuity hy its author— may be used as an argum nt to shew that his own doctrine is, however ambiguous, that of intui. live or immediate perce|)tion. (See XoteC ) Arnauld'e thfory is identical with the finer form-nf rcprtseiita- tive or mediate perception, and the difficulties of yiat doctrme were not overlooked by his great antagonist. Arnauld well objected that, when we see a horse, ac- cording to Malebranehe, what we see is in reality Godt himself; hut Malebranehe well rejoined, that, when we see a horse, according to Arnauld, what we Mte IS, in reality, only a modification of ourselves. — H. more or less lively and strong. We have reason to ascribe to the all-knowing and all-perfect Being distinct conceptions of all things existent and possible, and of all their relations ; and if these conceptions are called his eternal ideas, there ought to be no dis- pute among philosophers about a word. [198] The ideas, of whose existence I require the proof, are not the operations of any mind, but supposed objects of those operations. They are not perception, re- membrance, or conception, but things that are said to be perceived, or remembered, or imagined. Nor do I dispute the existence of what the vulgar call the objects of perception. These, by all who acknowledge their exist- ence, are called real things, not ideas. But philosophers maintain that, besides these, there are immediate objects of perception in the mind itself : that, for instance, we do not see the sun immediately, but an idea ; or, as Mr Hume calls it, an impres- sion in our own minds. This idea is said to be the image, the resemblance, the re- presentative of the -sun, if there be a sun. It is from the existence of the idea that we must infer the existence of the sun. But the idea, being immediately perceived, there can be no doubt, as philosophers think, of its existence. In like manner, when I remember, or when I imagine anything, all men acknow- ledge that there must be something that is remembered, or that is imagined ; that is, some object of those operations. The object remembered must be something that did exist in time past : the object imagined may be something that never existed.* But, say the philosophers, besides these objects which all men acknowledge, there is a more immediate object which really exists in the mind at the same time we remember or imagine. This object is an idea or image of the thing remembered or imagined. The first reflection I would make on this philosophical opinion is, that it is directly contrary to the universal sense of men who have not been instructed in philosophy. When we see the sun or moon, we have no doubt that the very objects which we im- mediately see are very far distant from us, and from one another. We have not the least doubt that this is the sun and moon which God created some thousands of years ago, and which have continued to perform their revolutions in the heavens ever since. [199] But how are we astonished when the philosopher informs us that we are mis- taken in all this ; that the sun and moon which we see are not, as we imagine, many miles distant from us, and from each other, • See Note B.— H [197-199] CHAP, XIV.] REFLECTIONS ON THE THEORY OF IDEAS. 299 but that they are in our own mind ; that they liad no existence before we saw them, and will have none when we cease to per- ceive and to think of them ; because the objects we perceive are only ideas in our own minds, which can have no existence a moment longer than we think of them ! * If a plain man, uninstructed in philoso- phy, has faith to receive these mysteries, how great must be his astonishment ! He is brought into a new world, where every- thing he sees, tastes, or touches, is an idea — a fleeting kind of being which he can con- jure into existence, or can anniliilate in the twinkling of an eye. After his mind is somewhat composed, it will be natural for him to ask his philoso- phical instructor, Pray, sir, are there then no substantial and permanent beings called the sun and moon, which continue to exist whether we think of them or not ? Here the philosophers differ. ]\Ir Locke, and those that were before him, will answer to this question, that it is very true there are substantial and permanent beings called the sun and moon ; but they never appear to us in their own person, but by their re- presentatives, the ideas in our own minds, and we know nothing of them but what we can gather from those ideas. Bishop Berkeley and Mr Hume would give a different answer to the question pro- posed. They would assure the querist that it is a vulgar error, a mere prejudice of the ignorant and unlearned, to think that there are any permanent and substantial beings called the sun and moon ; that the heavenly bodies, our own bodies, and all bodies what- soever, are nothing but ideas in our minds ; and that there can be nothing like the ideas of one mind, but the ideas of another mind. [200] There is nothing in nature but minds and ideas, says the Bishop; — nay, says Mr Hume, there is nothing in nature but ideas only ; for what we call a mind is nothing but a train of ideas connected by certain relations between themselves. In this representation of the theory of ideas, there is nothing exaggerated or mis- represented,»as far as I am able to judge ; and surely nothing farther is necessary to shew that, to the uninstructed in philoso- phy, it must appear extravagant and vision- ary, and most contrary to the dictates of common understanding. There is tiie less need of any farther proof of thLs, tliat it is very amply acknow- • Whether Rcid himself do not virtually liold tlii'* latt o|)iiiion, see Note C. At any rate, it is very in- correi t to say i hat the .v»n, moon, Stc , arc, or can he. perceivcd.tiy ud as existent, and m their real dis. tance in the heavens; all that we can he coRnisant of (»upno«inK that wc are immnUntcli/ |ier(i|>iint of the iiun-efio) \» i lie rayn of .light einanatiiiK trcpin Iheni, aliid itkcoutact and relation wiili our oreaii of siuhi. -M. ^ lodged by Mr Hume in his Essay on the Academical or Sceptical Philosophy. " It seems evident," says he, " that men are car- ried, by a natural instinct or prepossession, to repose faith in their senses ; and that, without any reasoning, or even almost be- fore the use of reason, we always suppose an external universe, which depends not on our perception, but would exist though we and every sensible creature were absent or annihilated. Even the animal creation are governed by a like opinion, and preserve this belief of external objects in all their thoughts, designs, and actions.'' " It seems also evident that, whenimen follow this blind and powerful instinct of nature, they always suppose the very im- ages presented by the senses to be the ex- ternal objects, and never entertain any suspicion that the one are nothing but re- presentations of the other. This very table which we see white, and feel hard, is be- lieved to exist independent of our percep- tion, and to be something external to the mind which perceives it ; our presence be- stows not being upon it ; our absence anni- hilates it not : it preserves its existence uniform and entire, independent of the situ- ation of intelligent beings who perceive or contemplate it. [201] " But this universal and primary notion of all men is soon destroyed by the slightest philosophy, which teaches us that nothing can ever be present to the mind, but an image or perception ; and that the senses are only the inlets through which these images are received, without being ever able to produce any immediate intercourse between the mind and the object." It is therefore acknowledged by this phi- losopher, to be a natural instinct or pre- possession, an universal and primary opinion of all men, a primary instinct of nature, that the objects which we immediately perceive by our senses, are not images in our minds, but external objects, and that their exist- ence is independent of us and our percep- tion. In this acknowledgment, Mr Hume in- deed seems to me more generous, and even more ingenuous than Bishop Berkeley, who would persuade us that his opinion does not opj)ose the vulgar opinion, but only that of the philosophers ; and that the external existence of a material world is a philoso- phical hypothesis, and not the natural dic- tate of our perceptive powers. The Bisliop shews a timidity of engaging such an adver- sary, as a primary and universal ojiinion of all men. He is rather fond to court its pa- tronage. But the iiliilo.sopluT intrepidly gives a defiance to thisiaiitagoiiist, and hocims to glory inaconHii-t that was worthyof hisarni. Ojitat (ijiiiitn nut fulvitin dcsci ndrir inoiife I ■:i/ic7ii. After ali, I Husjiect that a jiliilo- [200,201] 300 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POVV^ERS. [essay II. sopher who wages war with tin's adversary, will find himself in the same condition as a nuithematician who should undertake to demonstrate that there is no truth in the axioms of mathematics. A second reflection upon this subject is — that the authors who have treated of ideas, have generally taken their existence for granted, as a thing that could not be called in question ; and such arguments as they have mentioned incidentally, in order to prove it, seem too weak to support the con- clusion. [202] ]Mr LocUe, in the introduction to his Essay, tells us, that he uses the word idea to signify whatever is the immediate object of thought ; and then adds, " I presume it will be easily -granted me that there are such ideas in men's minds ; every one is conscious of them in himself; and men's words and actions will satisfy him that they are in others." I am indeed conscious of perceiving, remembering, imagining; but that the objects of these operations are images in my mind, I am not conscious. I am satisfied, by men's words and actions, that they often perceive the same objects which I perceive, which could not be, if those objects were ideas in their ownniinds. Mr Norris is the only author I have met with, who professedly puts the question. Whether material things can be perceived by us immediately ? He has offered four arguments to shew that they cannot. First, " Material objects are without the mind, and therefore there can be no union between the object and the percipient." Answer, This argument is lame, until it is shewn to be necessary that in perception there should be a union between the object and the per- cipient. Second, " Material objects are disproportioned to the mind, and removed from it by the whole diameter of Being." This argument I cannot answer, because I do not understand it.* Third, "Because, • This ronfession wouM, of itself, prove how super, ficially Reid was versed in the literature of philo. sopliy. Noiris's second argument is only the state- meiit of a principle generally assumed by philosophers — that the relation ot know-edge inftrs a correspond- ence ot nature between the subject knowing, axtA the object knnwn. I his principle has, perhaps, exerted a move extensive influ'iice on s|)cculation than any other ; and yet it has not been pi oved, and is incapatile of jirfiof— nay, is contradicted by the evidence of consciousness itself. To trace the influence of this assumption would be, in (act, in a certain sort,- to write the history of philosophy ; for, though this in- fluence has never yet been historically dcvel ped, it would be easy to shew that the belief, explicit or implicit, that what knows and what is imme- diately known must be of an analogous nature, lies at the root of almost everv theory of cognii inn, from the very earliest to the very latest speculatums. In the more ancient pl.ilosophy of Greece, three philo- sophers (A naxagorai^, Heraclitus, and .Akuia?(in) are found, who prol^LSsed the opposite doctrine — that the condition of knowledge lies in the contrariety, in the natural antithesis, ot subject and object. Aristotle, likcwie, in his treatise On the Soul, expressly con- demns the prevalent opinion, that the similar is only if material objects were immediate objects of perception, there could be no physical science — things necessary and immuable being the only object of science." Anaiver, Although things necessary and immutable be not the immediate objects of perception, they may be immediate objects of other powers of the mind. Fourth, " If material things were perceived by themselves, they would be a true light to our minds, as being the intelligilile form of our understandings, and consequently perfective of them, and mdeed superior to them." If I comprehend anything of this mysterious argument, it follows from it, that the Deity perceives nothing at all, because nothing can be supe- rior to his understanding, or perfective of it. [203] There is an argument which is hinted at by Malebranche, and by several other authors, which deserves to be more seriously considered. As I find it most clearly ex- pressed and most fully urged by Dr Samuel Clarke, I shall give it in his words, in his second reply to Leibnitz, § 4. " The soul, without being present to the images of the things perceived, could not possibly perceive them. A living substance can only there perceive, where it is present, either to the cognisable by the similar ; but, in his Aicownchian Iithics, he reverts to the doctrine which, in the for. mer work, he had rejected. With these exceptions, no principle, since the time of Empedocies, by whom it seems first to have been explicitly announced, has been more universally received, than this— that the rrlatidu of knotiiedpe infers an aiialoaii of cxisUnce. '1 his aiia'ogy may be of two degrees. ]\')iat knows, and vluit is known, may be either similar or the same; and, iT the principle itself be admitted, the latter alternative is the more philosoi)hical. W ithout entering on details, I may here notice some of the more remarkable results of this principle, in both its degrees. The general principle, not, indeed, exclu. sively, but mainly, determined the admission of a representative perception, by disallowing the possibil. ity of any consciousness, or immediate knowledge of matter, by a nature so diflferent from it as mind j and, in its two degrees, it determined the various hy- potheses, by which it was attempted to explain the possibility of a representative or mediate perception of the external world, 'i'o this principle, in its lower potence — that what knows must be similar in nature to what is immediately known— we owe the intentional speeies of the Aristotelians, and the idens of Malebranche and Berkeley. From this principle, in its higher potence — that what knows must be identical in nature with what is immediately known — ihcre flow the (/nostic reasons of the Platonists, the pre-existing forms or species of Theophrastus and The. misiius, of Adelandus and Avicenna, the (mental) ideas of lies Cartes and ArnnuU, the rep7-esentatio)is, sensual ideas, 4c of Leibnitz and V\ olf, the phano. mctia of Kant, the states of Brown, and (shall we say?; the vacillating doctrine of perception held by Keid himself. Meoiately, this principle was the origin of many other famous theories : — of the hier- archical gradation ot souls or faculties ot the Aristo. telians ; of the vehicular media ot tLe Platonists; of ihe hypotheses of a common intellect of .Alex, ander, Themistius, .Averroes, Cajeianus, and Zabar. clla ; ofthe vision in the deity of Malebranche; and of the ( artesian and Leibnitzian lioctrines of assistance and pre-estalilished harmony. Finally, to this pnn. cipleis to be ascribed the refusal ol the evidence ot con. sciousness to the primary fact, the duality of its per- ception ; and theunitarian schemes ot Atisolutelden. • ity, .Materialism, and Idealism, are the 'esults.— H. [202, yo.s] CHAP. XIV.] REFLECTIONS ON THE THEORY OF IDEAS. 301 things tliemselves, (as the omnipresent God is to the whole universe,) or to the images of things, as the soul is in its proper srnso- riurii.''' Sir Isaac Xewton expresses the same sentiment, but with his usual reserve, hi a query only. The ingenious Dr Porterfield, in liis Essay concerning the motions of our eyes, adopts this opinion with more coni'dence. His \\ords are : " How body acts upon mind, or mind upon body, I know not ; but this I am very certain of, that nothing can act, or be acted upon, where it is not ; and there- fore our mind can never perceive anything but its own proper modifications, and tlie various states of the sensorium, to which it is present : so that it is not the external sun and moon which are in the heavens, which our mind perceives, but only their image or representation impressed upon the sensorium. How the soul of a seeing man sees the.-;e images, or how it receives those ideas, from such agitations in the sensorium, I knoNv not ; but I am sure it can never perceive the external bodies themselves, to Wiiicli it is not present." These, indeed, are great authorities : but, in matters of philosophy, we must not be guided by authority, but by reason. Dr Clarke, in the place cited, mentions slightly, as the reason of his opinion, that " nothing c:in any more act, or be acted upon when it is not present, than it can be where it is not." [204] And again, in his third rejily to Leibnitz, § 11 — " We are sure the somI cannot perceive what it is not present to, because nothing can act, or be acted upon, where it is not." The same reason we see is urged by Dr P(n-terfield, That nothing can act immediately where it is not, I think must be admitted : for I a:;rec with Sir Isaac Newton, that power without substance is inconceivable. It is a consequence of this, that nothing can be acted upon immediately where the agent is not present : let this, therefore be granted. To make the reasoning conclusive, it is farther necessary, that, when we perceive objects, either they act upon us, or we act upon them. This does nut appear self-evi- dent, nor liave I ever met with any proof of it. I sliall bi'iefly offer the reasons why I think it ought not to bo admi'tted. When we say that one being acts upon another, we mean that some powei- or force is exerted by the agent, which ])rodnces, or lias a tendency to prioluce, a change in the thing acted upon. If this be tlie meaning of tlie phrase, as I conceive it is, there appears no reason for asserting that, in perception, either tlic object acts upon the mind, or the mind upon tlie object. An object, in being perceived, does not act at all. I perceive the walla of the room where I sit ; but they are perfectly inactive, and therefore act not upon the mind. To be perceived, is what logicians call an ex- ternal denomination, which implies neither action nor quality in the object perceived.* Nor could men ever have gone into this notion, that perception is owing to some action of the object upon the mind, were it not that we are so prone to form our notions of the mind from some similitude we conceive between it and body. Thought in the mind is conceived to have some analogy to motion in a body : and, as a body is put in motion, by being acted upon by some other body ; so we are apt to think the mind is made to perceive, by some impulse it receives from the object. But reasonings, drawn from such analogies, ought never to be trusted. [205] They are, indeed, the cause.of most of our errors with regard to the mind. And we might as well conclude, that minds may be measured by feet and inches, or weighed by ounces and drachms, because bodies have those properties- i* I see as little reason, in the second ))lace, to believe that in perception the mind acts upon the object. To perceive an object is one thing, to act upon it is another ; nor is the last at all included in the first. To say that I act upon the wall by looking at it, is an abuse of language, and has no meaning. Logicians distinguish two kinds of opera- tions of mind : the first' kind produces no effect without the mind ; the last does. The first they call hnrnancnt acts, the se- cond Iraiisilive. All intellectual operations belong to the first class ; they produce no effect upon any external object. But, with- out having recourse to logical distinctions, every man ol common sense knows, that to * This passage, among others that follow, afford the f()unon the organ of sen^e; for this would not only be absurd in iiselt, but in contradiction to his own doctrine — " it being," he says, " a law of our nature that we perceive not ixiernal objects un. le.-s certain impressions he imuh: on Die. nercvs anil brain." The assertion—" I perceive th<' walls ol the room whe:e 1 sit, but they are perfectly inactive, and. 111' re ore, act not on the iiiind," is c<|ually m- correct in slateincnt. Tlir wiil/s of Ihr-riuini, strictly 60 called, assiirtdly do not act on ihe mind or on the eye; but ihe walls of Ihe room, in tliis sens , are, in fact, no object of (visuai) perception at all. VVIiat we set in this lubtance, and what we loii»..'ly call the walls of the room, is only the light rMlrciid from their surface m lis relation to the oigan of sight— i i.'., colour; but it cannot be allirnied that Ihe r,.ys of IikIu do not act on and all' ct the retina, optic nerve, and brain. What Arisioile (li!,tingui-.hed as the coiiemiiniitants of sen.'atioi; — m f.tlrnsiiiii, niotiun, piisilKin, \c. — are, indeed, perceived w-.tlinul any lelat ve )iasic.n ol tl^e seii>e. Jiir, whatever may be lieui's iiieaniiig, it is, at best, vague aiitl jnexpli. c.t-11 302 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay II. tljiiik of an object, and to act upon it, are very different things. As we have, therefore, no evidence that, in perception, the mind acts upon the object, or the object upon the mind, but strong rea- sons to the contrary, Dr Clarke's argument against our perceiving external objects im- mediately falls to the ground. This notion, that, in perception, the object must be contiguous to the percipient, seems, with many other prejudices, to be borrowed from analogy. In all the external senses, there must, as has been before observed, be some impression made upon the organ of sense by the object, or by something coming from the object. An impression supposes contiguity. Hence we are led by analogy to conceive something similar in the opera- tions of the mind. Many philosophers re- solve almost every operation of mind into impressions and feelings, words manifestly borrowed from the sense of touch. And it is very natural to conceive contiguity neces- sary between that which makes the impres- sion, and that which receives it ; between that which feels, and that which is felt. [206] And though no philosopher will now pre- tend to justify such analogical reasoning as this, yet it has a powerful influence upon the judgment, while we contemplate the operations of our minds, only as they ap- pear through the deceitful medium of such analogical notions and expressions. * When we lay aside those analogies, and reflect attentively upon our perception of the objects of sense, we must acknowledge that, though we are conscious of perceiving objects, we are altogether ignorant how it is brought about ; and know as little how we perceive objects as how we were made. And, if we should admit an image in the mind, or contiguous to it, we know as little how perception may be produced by this image as by the most distant object. Why, therefore, should we be led, by a theory which is neither grounded on evi- dence, nor, if admitted, can explain any one phenomenon of perception, to reject the natural and immediate dictates of those perceptive powers, to which, in the conduct of life, we find a necessity of yielding im- plicit submission ? There remains only one other argument that I have been able to find m-ged against our perceiving external objects immediately. It is proposed by Mr Hume, who, in the essay already quoted, after acknowledging that it is an universal and primary opi- nion of all men, that we perceive external » It is self-evident that, if a thing is to be an ob- ject immediately known, it must be known as it exists. Now, a bcdy must exist in some definite part of space — in a certain place; it cannot, there, tiore, be immediately known as existing, except it be known in its place. But this supposes the mind to be immediately present to it in si)ace.— H. objects immediately, subjoins what fol- lows : — " But this universal and primary opinion of all men is soon destroyed by the slightest philosophy, which teaches us that nothing can ever be present to the mind but an image or perception ; and that the senses are only the inlets through which these images are received, without being ever able to produce any immediate intercourse between the mind and the object. The table, which we see, seems to diminish as we remove farther from it : but the real table, which exists independent of us, suf- fers no alteration. [207] It was, therefore, nothing but its image which was present to the mind. These are the obvious dictates of reason ; and no man who reflects ever doubted that the existences which we consider, when we say this hovse,a.nd l/iat tree, are nothing but perceptions in the mind, and fleeting copies and representations of other exist- ences, which remain uniform and independ- ent. So far, then, we are necessitated, by reasoning, to depart from the primary in- stincts of nature, and to embrace a new system with regard to the evidence of our senses." We have here a remarkable conflict be- tween two contradictory opinions, wherein all mankind are engaged. On the one side stand all the vulgar, who are unpractised in phi'osophical reseaches, and guided by the uncorrupted primary instincts of nature. On the other side stand all the philoso- phers, ancient and modern ; every man, without exception, who reflects. In this division, to my great humiliation, I find myself classed with the vulgar. The passage now quoted is all I have found in Mr Hume's writings upon this point : and, indeed, there is more reason- ing in it than I have found in any other author ; I shall, therefore, examine it min- utely. First, He tells us, that " this universal and primary opinion of all men is soon destroyed by the slightest philosophy, which teaches us that nothing can ever be pre- sent to the mind but an image or percep- tion." The phrase of being present to the mind has some obscurity ; but I conceive he means being an immediate object of thought ; an immediate object, for instance, of per- ception, of memory, or of imagination. If this be the meaning, (and it is the only pertinent one I can think of,) there is no more in this passage but an assertion of the proposition to be proved, and an assertion that philosophy teaches it. If this be so, I beg leave to dissent from philosophy tiU she gives me reason for what she teaches. [1^08] For, though common sense and my external senses demand my assent to their ['^06-208] CHAP. XIV.] REFLECTIONS ON THE THEORY OF IDEAS. 303 dictates upon their own authority, yet phi- losophy is not entitled to this privilege. But, that I may not dissent from so grave a personage without giving a reason, I give this as the reason of my dissent : — I see the sun when he shines ; I remember the battle of Culloden ;* and neither of these objects is an image or perception. He tells us, in the next place, " That the senses are only the inlets through which these images are received." I know that Aristotle and the schoolmen taught that images or species flow from ob- jects, and are let in by the senses, and strike upon the mind ; but this has been so efiectu- ally refuted by Des Cartes, by Malebranche, and many others, that nobody now pretends to defend it. Reasonable men consider it as one of the most unintelligible and un- meaning parts of the ancient system. To what cause is it owing that modern philo- sophers are so prone to fall back into this hypothesis, as if they really believed it ? For, of this proneness I could give many instances besides this of Mr Hume ; and I take the cause to be, that images in the mind, and images let in by the senses, are so nearly aUied, and so strictly connected, that they must stand or fall together. The old system consistently maintained both : but the new system has rejected the doc- trine of images let in by the senses, hold- ing, nevertheless, that there are images in the mind ; and, having made this unnatural divorce of two doctrines which ought not to be put asunder, that which they have retained often leads them back involun- tarily to that which they have rejected. Mr Hume surely did not seriously be- lieve that an image of sound is let in by the ear, an image of smell by the nose, an iniage of hardness and softness, of solidity and resistance, by the touch. For, besides the absurdity of the thing, which has often been shewn, Mr Hume, and all modern philosophers, mauitain that the images which are the immediate objects of perception have no existence when they are not per- ceived ; whereas, if they were let in by the senses, they must be, before they are per- ceived, and have aseparateexistcnce. ['20!<] He tell us, farther, that philosophy teaches that the senses are unable to produce any immediate intercourse between the mind and the object. Here, I still require the reasons that philosophy gives for this ; for, to my apprehension, I immediately per- ceive external objects, and this, I conceive is the immediate intercourse iiere meant. Hitherto I see nothing that can be called • The«uncan be no immediate object of coiiscinus- lc»s in perception, l)Ul only certain rays in connec- tion witti the eye. 'J'lie t)attle of C'ulloileii can lie no immediate otiject of'con«ciousne account can be given of any one of those appearances, nor any physical cause assigned why a visible object should, in any one case, have one apparent figure and magnitude rather than another. Thus, I have considered every argument I have found advanced to prove the exist- ence of ideas, or images of external things, in the mind ; and, if no better arguments can be found, I cannot help thinking that the whole history of philosophy has never fur- nished an instance of an opinion so unani- /nously entertained by philosophers upon so slight grounds. A tlirl reflection I would make upon this subject is, that philosophers, notwith- standing their unanimity as to the existence of ideas," hardly agree in any one thing else concerning them. If ideas be not a mere fiction, they must be, of all objects of human knowledge, the things we have best access to know, and to be acquainted with ; yet there is nothing about which men differ so mucli. Some have held them to be self-existent, otiiers to be in the Divine mind, others in our own minds, and others in the brain or scnsorium. I considered the hypothesis of images in the brain, in the fourth chapter of this essay. As to images in the mind, if anything more is meant by the image of an o!)jcct in the mind t'.ian the thought of that object, I know not what it means. [214] The distinct conception of an object may, in a metaphorical or analogical sense, be called an ima/e of it in the mind. But this image is only the conception of the object, and not tlieoliject conceived. It is an act of tlie niin of touch. — I!. 306 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay it. human understanding to the perception of ideas in our own minds. This power of perceiving ideas is as inexplicable as any of the powers explained by it ; and the con- tiguity of the object contributes nothing at all to make it better understood ; because there appears no connection between con- tiguity and perception, but what is grounded on prejudices drawn from some imagined similitude between mind and body, and from the supposition that, in perception, the object acts upon the mind, or the mind upon the object. We have seen how this theory has led philosophers to confound those operations of mind, which experience teaches all men to be different, and teaches them to distinguish in common language ; and that it has led them to invent a lan- guage inconsistent with the principles upon which all language is grounded. The last reflection I shall make upon this theory, is — that the natural and necessary consequences of it furnish a just prejudice against it to every man who pays a due re- gard to the common sense of mankind. [216] Not to mention that it led the Pytha- goreans and Plato to imagine that we see only the shadows of external things, and not the things themselves,* and that it gave rise to the Peripatetic doctrine of sensible specie!:, one of the greatest absurdities of that ancient system, let us only consider the fruits it has produced since it was new- modelled by Des Cartes. That great re- former in philosophy saw the absurdity of the doctrine of ideas coming from external objects, and refuted it effectually, after it had been received by philosophers for'thou- sands of years ; but he still retained ideas in the brain and in the mind.-|- Upon this foundation all our modern systems of the powers of the mind are built. And the tot- tering state of those fabrics, though built by skilful hands, may give a strong suspicion of the unsoundness of the foundation. It was this theory of ideas that led Des Cartes, and those that followed him, to think it necessary to prove, by philosophical argu- ments, the existence of material objects. And who does not see that philosophy must make a very ridiculous figure in the eyes of sensible men, while it is employed in muster- ing up metaphysical arguments, to prove that there is a sun and a moon, an earth and a sea ? Yet we find these truly great men, Des Cartes, Malebranche, Arnauld, and Locke, seriously employing themselves in this argument.^ Surely their principles led them to think » See above, p. 262 col. b, note *— .H t See Note N.— H. t If Rcid do not allow that we are immediately cognitive or conscious of the iion-efjo, his own doc trine of perception differs not from that of other philosophers in the necessity for this proof.— H. that all men, from the beginning of the world, believed the existence of these thmgs upon insufficient grounds, and to think that they would be able to place upon a more rational foundation this universal belief of mankind. But the misfortune is, that all the laboured arguments they have advanced, to prove the existence of those things we see and feel, are mere sophisms : Not one of them will bear examination. I might mention several paradoxes, which Mr Locke, though by no means fond of para- doxes, was led into by this theory of ideas. [217] Such as, that the secondary qualities of body arc no qualities of body at all, but sensations of the mind : That the primary qualities of body are resemblances of our sensations : That we have no notion of dur- ation, but from the succession of ideas in our minds : That personal identity consists in consciousness ; so that the same indivi- dual thinking being may make two or three different persons, and several different think- ing beings make one person : That judg- ment is nothing but a perception oi the agreement or disagreement of our ideas. Most of these paradoxes I shall have oc- casion to examine. However, all these consequences of the doctrine of ideas were tolerable, compared with those which came afterwards to be dis- covered by Berkeley and Hume : — That there is no material world : No abstract ideas or notions : That the mind is only a train of related impressions and ideas, with- out any subject on which they may be im- pressed : That there is neither space nor time, body nor mind, but impressions and ideas only : And, to sum up all. That there is no probability, even in demonstration it- self, nor any one proposition more probable than its contrary. These are the noble fruits which have grown upon this theory of ideas, since it began to be cultivated by skilful hands. It is no wonder that sensible men should be disgusted at philosophy, when such wild and shocking paradoxes pass under its name. However, as these paradoxes have, with great acuteness and ingenuity, been deduced by just reasoning from the theory of ideas, they must at last bring this advantage, that positions so shocking to the common sense of mankind, and so contrary to the decisions of all our intellectual powers, will open men's eyes, and break the force of the prejudice which hath held them entangled in that theory. [218] CHAPTER XV. ACCOUNT OF THE SYSTEM OF LEIBNITZ. There is yet another system concerning perception, of which I shall give some ac- [216-218] CHAP. XV.] ACCOUNT OF THE SYSTEM OF LEIBNITZ. 307 count, because of the fame of its author. It is the mvention of the famous German phi- losopher Leibnitz, who, while he hvcd, held the first rank among the Germans in all parts of philosophy, as well as in mathe- matics, in jurisprudence, in the knowledge of antiquities, and in every branch both of science and of literature. He was highly respected by emperors, and by many kings and princes, who bestowed upon him singu- lar marks of their esteem. He was a par- ticular favourite of our Queen Caroline, consort of George II., with whom he con- tinued his correspondence by letters, after she came to the crown of Britain, till his death. The famous controversy between him and the British mathematicians, whether he or Sir Isaac Newton was the inventor of that noble improvement in mathematics, called by Newton, the method of fluxions, and by Leibnitz the differential method, engaged the attention of the mathematicians in Europe for several years. He had likewise a controversy with the learned and judicious Dr Samuel Clarke, about several points of the Newtonian philosophy which he dis- approved. The papers which gave occasion to this controversy, with all the replies and rejoinders, had the honour to be transmitted from the one party to the other, through the hands of Queen Caroline, and were afterwards published. His authority, in all matters of philoso- phy, is still so great in most parts of Ger- many, that they are considered as bold spirits, and a kind of heretics, who dissent from him in anything. [211)] Carolus* AVolfius, the must vohmiinous writer in philosophy of this age, is considered as the great interpreter and advocate of the Leib- nitzian system, and reveres as an oracle whatever has dropped from the pen of Leibnitz. This author proposed two great works upon the mind. The first, which I have seen, he published with the title of " P.sychologia Empiriea, seu Experiment- alis."-|- The other was to have the title of " Psychologia Rationalis ;" and to it ho. refers for his explication of the theory of Leibnitz with regard to the mind. But whether it was published I have not learn- ed-t I must, therefore, take the short account I am to give of this system from the writ- ings of Leibnitz himself, without the light which his interpreter Wolfius may have thrown upon it. . Leibnitz conceived the whole universe, * Hi» name was Christian.— H. + 'Ibis title is incorrcrf. It is " Ppyrhologia Km. pirica metliodo scientifica ptriractala," *[C. 'J'lie work ?|ip(;arcil in l':ti. — H. t It wisp l)liiilu(l-in IT.'Jt. Sue li careless ignorance of the uioiit (listiriguisheil works oil ttio subject of an author's s|ieculation8, is peculiarly Jiritish. — H. [,21 9, SyO] bodies as well as minds, to be made up of monads — that is, simple substances, each of which is, by the Creator, in the begin- ning of its existence, endowed with certaiir active and perceptive powers. A monat^ therefore, is an active substance, simple, without parts or figure, which has within itself the power to produce all the changes it undergoes from the beginning of its ex- istence to eternity. The changes which the monad undergoes, of what kind soever, though they may seem to us the effect of causes operating from without, yet they are only the gradual and successive evolu- tions of its own internal powers, which would have produced all the same changes and motions, although there had been no other being in the universe. Every human soul is a monad joined to an organized body, which organized body consists of an infinite number of monads, each having some degree of active and of perceptive power in itself. But the whole machine of the body has a relation to that monad which we call the soul, which is, as it were, the centre of the whole. [220] As the universe is completely filled with monads, without any chasm or void, and thereby every body acts upon every other body, according to its vicinity or distance, and is mutually reacted upon by every other body, it follows, says Leibnitz, that every monad is a kind of living mirror, which re- flects the whole universe, according to its point of view, and represents the whole more or less distinctly. I cannot undertake to reconcile this part of the system with what was before men- tioned — to wit, that every change in a monad is the evolution of its own original powers, and would have happened thtmgh no other substance had been created. But, to proceed. There are different orders of monads, some higher and others lower. The higher orders he calls dominant ; such is the hu- man soul. The monads that compose the organized bodies of men, animals, and plants, are of a lowef order, and subservient to the dominant monads. But every monad, of whatever order, is a complete substance in itself — indivisible, having no parts ; inde- structible, because, having no parts, it can- not perish by any kind of decomposition ; it can only perish by annihilation, and we have no reason to believe that God will ever annihilate any of the beings which he has made. The monads of a lower order may, by a regular evolution of their powers, rise to a higher order. They '"ay successively bo joined to organized bodies, of various forms and different cr- (•e|itioii itself.— 11. 310 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay II. CHAPTER XVI. OF SENSATION. Having finished what I intend, with regard to that act of mind which we call the perception of an external object, I proceed to consider another, which, by our constitution, is conjoined with perception, and not witli perception only, but with many other acts of our minds ; and that is sensation- To prevent repetition, I must refer the reader to the explication of this word given in Essay I,, chap. i. Almost all our perceptions have corre- sponding sensations which constantly ac- company them, and, on that account, are very apt to be confounded with them. Neither ought we to expect that the sens- ation, and its corresponding perception, should be distinguished in common lan- guage, because the purposes of common life do not require it Language is made to serve the purposes of ordinary conversa- tion ; and we have no reason to expect that it should make distinctions that are not of common use. Hence it happens, that a quality perceived, and the sensation cor- responding to that perception, often go under the same name. This makes the names of most of our sensations ambiguous, and this ambiguity hath very much perplexed philosophers. It wiU be necessary to give some instances, to illustrate the distinction between our sens- ations and the objects of perception. When I smell a rose, there is in this operation both sensation and perception. The agreeable odour I feel, considered by itself, without relation to any external ob- ject, is merely a sensation. [227] It affects the mind in a certain way ; and this afl'ection of the mind may be conceived, without a thought of the rose, or any other object. This sensation can be nothing else than it is felt to be. Its very essence consists in being felt ; and, when it is not felt, it is not. There is no difference between the sensa- tion and the feeling of it — they are one and the same thing. It is for this reason that we before observed that, in sensation, there is no object distinct from that act of the mind by which it is felt — and this holds true with regard to all sensations. Let us next attend to the perception which we have in smelling a rose. Percep- tion has always an external object ; and the object of my perception, in this case, is that quality in the rose which I discern by the sense of smell. Observing that the agree- able sensation is raised when the rose is near, and ceases when it is removed, I am led, by my nature, to conclude some quality to be in the rose, which is the cause of this sensation. This quality in the rose is the object perceived ; and that act of my mind by which I have the conviction and belief of this quality, is what in this case I call perception." But it is here to be observed, that the sensation I feel, and the quality in the rose which I perceive, are both called by the same name. The smell of a rose is the name given to both : so that this name hath two meanings ; and the distitiguishing its different meanings removes all perplexity, and enables us to give clear and distinct answers to questions about which philoso- phers have held much dispute. -j- Thus, if it is asked, whether the smell be in the rose, or in the mind that feels it, the answer is obvious : That there are two different things signified by the smell of a rose ; one of which is in the mind, and can be in nothing but in a sentient being ; the other is truly and properly in the rose. The sensation which I feel is in my mind. The mind is the sentient being ; and, as the rose is insentient, there can be no sensation, nor anything resembling sensation in it. [228] But this sensation in my mind is occasioned by a certain quality in the rose, which is called by the same name with the sensation, not on account of any similitude, but be- cause of their constant concomitancy. All the names we have for smells, tastes, sounds, and for the various degrees of heat and cold, have a like ambiguity; and what has been said of the smell of a rose may be applied to them. They signify both a sens- ation, and a quality perceived by means of that sensation. The first is the sign, the last the thing signified. As both are con- joined by nature, and -as the purposes of common life do not require them to be dis- joined in our thoughts, they are both ex- pressed by the same name : and this am- biguity is to be found in all languages, be- cause the reason of it extends to all. The same ambiguity is found in the names of such diseases as are indicated by a particular painful sensation : such as the toothache, the iicadache. The toothache * This paragraph appears to be an explicit disa- vowal of the doctrine ol an intuitive or immediate perception. If, from a certain sensible feeling, or sensation, (which is itself cognitive of no object,) lam only determined by my nature to conclude (hat there is some external quality which is the cause of this sensation, and if this quality, thus only known as an inference from its effect, be ihe ohject pcrcch-ed ; then is perception not an act immediafely cognitive of any existing object, and the object perceived is, in fact, except as an imaqinary svinetltinq, unknown, — H. t In reference to this and the following paragraphs, I may observe that the distinction ot subjective and objective qualities here vaguely attempied, had been already precisely accomplished by Aristotle, in his discrimination of rxByinxai rmiTy.TH (qiialilatespati. f/Urs,) and -tkOyi (pas.tionesj. In regard to the Car. tesian distinction, which is equally precise, but of which likewise Held is unaware, see above, p. 205, col b, note*.— H [227, 2281 CHAP. XVI. J OF SENSATION. 3U signifies a painful sensation, which can only be in a sentient being ; but it signifies also a disorder in the body, which has no simili- tude to a sensation, but is naturally con- nected with it. Pressing my hand with force against the table, I feel pain, and I feel the table to be hard. The pain is a sensation of the mind, and there is nothing that resembles it in the table. The hardness is in the table, nor is there anything resembliug it in the mind. Feeling is applied to both ; but in a different sense ; being a word common'to tlie act of sensation, and to that of perceiv- ing by the sense of touch. I touch the table gently with my hand, and I feel it to be smooth, hard, and cold. These are qualities of the table perceived by touch ; but I perceive them by means of a sensation which indicates them. This sens- ation not being painful, I commonly give no attention to it. [229] It carries my thought immediately to the thing signified by it, and is itself forgot, as if it had never been. But, by repeating it, and turning my attention to it, and abstracting my thought from the thing signified by it, I find it to be merely a sensation, and that it has no similitude to the hardness, smoothness, or coldness of the table, which are signified by it. It is indeed difficult, at first, to disjoin things in our attention which have always been conjoined, and to make that an object of reflection which never was so before ; but some pains and practice will overcome this difticulty in those who Jiave got the habit of reflecting on the operations of their own minds. Although the present subject leads us only to consider the sensations which we have by means of our external senses, yet it will serve to illustrate what has been said, and, I apprehend, is of importance in itself, to observe, that many operations of mind, to which we give one name, and which we always consider as one thing, are complex in their nature, and made up of several more simple ingredients; and of these ingre- dients sensation very often makes one. Of tliis we shall give some instances. The appetite of hunger includes an un- easy sensation, and a desire of food. Sens- ation and desire are different .acts of mind. The last, from its nature, must have an object ; the first has no object. These two ingredients may always bo separated in thought — perliaj)S they sometimes are, in reality ; but hunger includes both. Benevolence towards our fellow-creatures includes an agreeable feeling; but it includes also a desire of the hapjiiness of others. The ancients conniionly cillcd it desire. Many moderns chuse rather to call it a feel- ing. Both arc right : and they only err wlio exclude eitlier of the ingredients. [2.'{(>] r229- 2.T 1 1 Whether these two ingredients are neces- sarily connected, is, perhaps, difficult for us to determine, there being many necessary connections which we do not perceive to be necessary ; but we can disjoin them in thought. They are different acts of the mind. An uneasy feeling, and a desire, are, in Hke manner, the ingredients of malevolent affections ; such as malice, envy, revenge. The passion of fear includes an uneasy sensation or feeling, and an opinion of danger ; and hope is made up of the con- trary ingredients. When we hear of a heroic action, the sentiment which it raises in our mind, is made up of various ingre- dients. There is in it an agreeable feeling, a benevolent affection to the person, and a judgment or opinion of his merit. If we thus analyse the various operations of our minds, we shall find that many of them which we consider as perfectly simple, because we have been accustomed to call them by one name, are compounded of more simple ingredients ; and that sensation, or feeling, which is only a more refined kind 0^ sensation, makes one ingredient, not only in the perception of external objects, but in most operations of the mind. A small degree of reflection may satisfy us that the number and variety of our sens- ations and feelings is prodigious; for, to omit all those which accompany our appe- tites, passions, and affections, our moral sentiments and sentiments of taste, even our external senses, furnish a great variety of sensations, differing in kind, and almost in every kind an endless variety of degrees. Every variety we discern, with regard to taste, smell, sound, colour, heat, and cold, and in the tangible qualities of bodies, is indicated by a sensation corresponding to it. The most general and the most import- ant division of our sensations and feelings, is into the agreeable, the disagreeable, and the indifterent. Everything we call plea- sure, happiness, or enjoyment, on the one hand ; and, on the other, everything we call misery, pain, or uneasiness, is sensa- tion or feeling ; for no man can for the pre- sent be more happy or more miserable than he feels himself to be. [2'M] He cannot be deceived with regard to the enjoyment or suffering of the jyresent moment. But I ajiprehond that, besides the sens- ations that are either agreeable or disagree- able, thm\ this subject, and (■;ic'h cliargcH the iitiier with a gross al)- 316 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. LKSSAY II. surdity. The vulgar say, that fire is hot, and snow cold, and sugar sweet ; and that to deny this is a gross absurdity, and con- tradicts tlie testimony of our senses. The philosopher says, that heat, and cold, and sweetntss, are nothing but sensations in our minds ; and it is absurd to conceive that these sensations are in the fire, or in the snow, or in the sugar. I believe this contradiction, between the vulgar and the philosopher, is more apparent than real ; and that it is owing to an abuse of language on the part of the philosopher, and to indistinct notions on the part of the vulgar. The iihilosojiher says, there is no heat in the fire, meaning that the fire has not the sensation of heat. His meaning is just; and the vulgar will agree with him, as soon as they understand his meaning : But his language is improper ; for there is really a quality in the fire, of which the proper name is heat ; and the name of heat is given to this quality, both by philosophers and by the vulgar, much more frequently than to the sensation of heat. [242] This speech of the philosopher, therefore, is meant by liim in one sense ; it is taken by the vulgar in another sense. In the sense in which they take it, it is indeed absurd, and so they hold it to be. In the sense in which he means it, it is true ; and the vulgar, as soon as they are made to understand that sense, will acknowledge it to be true. They know, as well as the philosopher, that the fire does not feel heat : and this is all that he means by saying there is no heat in the fire.* In the opinions of philosophers about primary and secondary qualities, there have been, as was before observed, several revo- lutions.-!- They were distinguished, long be- fore the days of Aristotle, by the sect called Atomists : among whom Democritus made a capital figure. In those times, the name of qualily was applied only to those we call secondary qualities ; the primary, being con- sidered as essential to matter, were n^it called qualities. J That the atoms, which they held to be the first principles of things, were extended, solid, figured, and movable, there was no doubt ; but the question was, whether they had smell, taste, and colour ? or, as it was commonly expressed, whether they had qualities ? The Atomists main- tained, that they had not ; that the quali- ties were not in bodies, but were something resulting from the operation of bodies upon our senses. § * All this nrahiguity was understood and articu. lately explai cd by former philns iphers. See above, no'esat pp 20.i and 310, and Noe D.— H. + See Note D — H. X The Atomists derived the qualitative attributes of.thiiigs from ihe quantitative — H. ^ Slill Democritus suppose I certain real or ob- jective tauscs t>r tlie subject ve differences of our It would seem that, when men began to speculate upon this subject, the primary qualities appeared so clear and manifest that they could entertain no doubt of their existence wherever matter existed ; but the secondary so obscure that they were at a loss where to place them. They used this comparison : as fire, which is neither in the flint nor in the steel, is produced by their collision, so those qualities, though not in bodies, are produced by their impulse upon our senses. [24.3] This doctrine was opposed by- Aristotle.* He believed taste and colour to be substan- tial forms of bodies, and that their species, as well as those of figure and motion, are received by the senses. "I- In believing that what we commonly call taste and colour, is something really inherent in body, and does not depend upon its being tasted and seen, he followed nature. But, in believing that our sensations of taste and colour are the forms or species of those qualities received by the senses, he followed his own theory, which was an ab- surd fiction. -f- Des Cartes not only shewed the absurdity of sensible species received by the senses, but gave a more just and more intelligible account of secondary qualities than had been given before. Mr Locke followed him, and bestowed much pains upon this subject. He was the first, I think, that gave them the name of secondary qualities,^ which has been very generally adopted. He distinguished the sensation from the quality in the body, which is the cause or occasion of that sensation, and shewed that there neither is nor can be any similitude between them.§ By this account, the senses are acquitted of putting any fallacy upon us ; the sensation is real, and no fallacy ; the quality in the body, which is the cause or occasion of this sensation, is likewise real, though the nature of it is not manifest to our senses. If we impose upon ourselves, by confounding the sensation with the quality that occasions it, this is owing to rash judgment or weak understanding, but not to any false testi- mony of our senses. This account of secondary qualities I take sensations Thus, in the different forms, positions, and relations of atoms, he sought the ground or difference of tastes, colours, heat and cold, &c. See Theophrastus De Sensu, ^ 6S — Aristotle De Anima, iii 2. — Galen De Ekmcntis — Simplicius in Phys. Auscult.lihros.f. 119, b.— H. * Aristotle admitted that the doctrine in question was true, of colour, taste, &c , as aar' ivieynccv, but not true of them as xark SiitKu.iv. See be Anima iii. 2.— H. t This is not really Aristotle's doctrine. — H. t Locke only gave a new meaning to old terms. The first and second or the primary anA secondary qualities of Aristotle, denoted a distinction similar to, but not identical with, that in question — H. 5 He distinguished nothing which had not been more precisely discriminated by Aristotle and the Cartesians. — H. [942, 243] CHAP. XVII •] OF THE OBJECTS OF PERCEPTION. 317 to be very just ; and if Mr Locke liad stopped here, he would have left the matter very clear. But he thought it necessary to introduce the theory of ideas, to explain the distinction between primary and secondary qualities, and by that means, as I think, perplexed and darkened it. When philosophers speak about ideas, we are often at a loss to know what they mean by them, and may be apt to suspect that they are mere fictions, that have no exist- ence. [244] They have told us, that, by the ideas which we have immediately from our senses, they mean our sensations.* These, indeed, are real things, and not fictions. We may, by accurate attention to them, know perfectly their nature ; and, if philo- sophers would keep by this meaning of the word idea, when applied to the objects of sense, they would at least be more intelli- gible. Let us hear how Mr Locke explains the nature of those ideas, when applied to primary and secondary qualities. Book 2, chap 8, § 7, tenth edition. " To discover the nature of our ideas the better, and to discourse of them intelligibly, it will be con- venient to distinguish them, as they are ideas, or perceptions in our minds, and as they are modifications of matter in the bodies that cause such perceptions in us, that so we may not think (as perhaps usually is done) that they are exactly the images and resemblances of something inherent in the subject ; most of those of sensation being, in the mind, no more the likeness of some- thing existing without us, than the names that stand for them are the likeness of our ideas, which yet, upon hearing, they are apt to excite in us." This way of distinguishing a thing, 77'/ s', as wliat it is ; and, aecondl//, as what it is not, is, I apprehend, a very extraordinary way of discovering its nature.-f And if ideas are ideas or perceptions in our inl;uls, and, at the same time, the modifications of mut- ter in the bodies that cause such ]iercep- tions in us, it will be no easy matter to discourse of them intelligibly. Tlie discovery of the nature of ideas is carried on in the next section, in a manner no less extraordinary. '' Whatsoever the mind perceives in itself, or is the inniiediate object of perception, thought, or under- standing, that I call idea ; and the power to produce any idea in our mind, I call quuiily of the subject wherein that power is. Thus, a snowball having the power to produce in us tlie ideas of white, cold, and round — the powers to produce those ideas • The Carfc«iaii!>, particularly Malibrnnchp, dis. tinguiali' cl ilie Idea and the Fudiixj (si'iitiinfiil. siiisa. lio.) Of I lie pWrnar// qualities in their doctririe we have lili'as ; nl'thc srcoiulary , only l''c(lin;;s. — H. t 'I his and soime of the follnwing Btricturen on L,ockc arr>rather hyix'rcritical. — II. [244-210] in us, as they are in the snowball, I call qualities ; and, as they are sensations, or perceptions in our undei&taiulings, I call them ideas ; which ideas, if 1 speak of them sometimes as in the things themselves, I would be understood to mean those quali- ties in the objects which produce them in us." [245] These are the distinctions which Mr Locke thought convenient, in order to dis- cover the nature of our ideas of the quali- ties of matter the better, and to discourse of them intelligibly. I believe it will be difficult to find two other paragraphs in the essay so unintelligible. Whether this is to be imputed to the intractable nature of ideas, or to an oscitancy of the author, with which he is very rarely chargeable, I leave the reader to judge. There are, indeed, seve- ral other passages in the same chapter, in which a like obscurity appears ; but I do not chuse to dwell upon them. The con- clusion drawn by liim from the whole is, that primary and secondary qualities are distinguished by this, that the ideas of the former are resemblances or copies of them, but the ideas of the other are not resem- blances of them. Upon this doctrine, I beg leave to make two observations. First, Taking it for granted that, by the ideas of primary and secondary qualities, he means the sensations" they excite in us, I observe that it appears strange, that a sensation should be the idea of a quality in body, to which it is acknowledged to bear no resemblance If the sensation of sound be the idea of that vibration of the sound- ing body which occasions it, a surfeit may, for the same reason, be the idea of a feast. A second observation is, that, when Mr Locke affirms, that the ideas of primary qualities — that is, the sensations* they raise in us — are resemblances of those qualities, he seems neither to have given due atten- tion to those sensations, nor to the nature of sensation in general. [24G] Let a man press his hand against a hard body, and let him attend to the sensation he feels, excluding from his thought every thing external, even the body that is the cause of his feeling. This abstraction, in- deed, is ditficult, and seems to have lieen little, if at all practised. But it is not im- possible, and it is evidently the only way to understand tlie nature of the sensation. A due attention to this sensation will satisfy » Here, as formerly, {ride siii'ra, notes at pp 2nH, Sim, Sec.,) lieid will in!.ii.t on Kivinn a more Iniiitid meaning to the term Siiisation than I.oike dnl, and on criticisihg him by that impnscd miaiiiiiK J he Sensation of l.ockewai equivalent to \Ih' Sensation iiiKl I'ereejition of Iteid. It is to he <)b-erved that l.oeke ilid tint, like the rartesians, dll>tin^)Ul^h the i.lea (coirispondinj; to lieid's l'ercr|.tioiO I'oni the feeling (aeniiinent.sciu tin) corrciipoiidinB to Keld'» SenBation.^Il, 318 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [[essay u him that it is no more like Iiardness in a body tlian the sensation of sound is hke vibration in the sounding body. I know of no ideas but my conceptions ; and my idea of hardness in a body, is the conception of such a cohesion of its parts as requires great force to disphice them. I have both the conception and behef of this quahty in the body, at the same time that I have the sensation of pain, by pressing my hand against it. The sensation and perception are closely conjoined by my constitution ; but I am sure they have no similitude ; I know no reason why the one should be called the idea of the other, which does not lead us to call every natural effect the idea of its cause. Neither did Mr Locke give due attention to the nature of sensation in general, when he affirmed that the ideas of primary qua- lities — that is, the sensations* excited by them — are resemblances of those quali- ties. That there can be nothing like sensation in an insentient being, or like thought in an unthinking being, is self-evident, and has been shewn, to the conviction of all men that think, by Bishop Berkeley; yet this was unknown to Mr Locke. It is an humbling consideration, that, in subjects of this kind, self-evident truths may be hid from the eyes of the most ingenious men. But we have, withal, this consolation, that, when once discovered, they shine by their own light : and that light can no more be put out. [247] Upon the whole, Mr Locke, in making secondary qualities to be powers in bodies to excite certain sensations in us, has given a just and distinct analysis of what our senses discover concerning them ; but, in applying the theory of ideas to them and to tlie primary qualities, he has been led to saj' things that darken the subject, and that will not bear examination, -f Bishop Berkeley having adopted the sen- timents common to philosophers, concern- ing the ideas we have by our senses — to wit, that they are all sensations — saw more clearly tlie necessary consequence of this doctrine; which is, that there is no material world — no qualities primary or secondary — and, consequently, no foundation for any dis- tinction between them.:|: He exposed the absurdity of a resemblance between our • No ; not S^ensations in Reid's meaning ; but Per- cepts — the immcdiiite objects we are conscious of in the cognitions of sense.— H. 1 The Cartesians did no' apply the term ideas to our sensations of tlie secondary qualities. — H. X See above, p. l-t'^, note *. I'tie mere distinction of primary and secmdary qualities, of perception Miid sensation, is of no importance against Idealism, if the primary qualities as immediately perce'ved. {i e. as known t" coiiscinusness,) be only conceptions, no- tions, or modit:cations o( miijd itselt. See following Note.— a sensations and any quality, primary or secondary, of a substance that is supposed to be insentient. Indeed, if it is granted that the senses have no other office but to furnish us with sensations, it will be found impossible to make any distinction between priinary and secondary qualities, or even to maintain the existence of a material world. From the account I have given of the various revolutions in the opinioris of philo- sophers about primary and secondary qua- lities, I think it appears that all the dark- ness and intricacy that thinking men have found in this subject, and the errors they have fallen into, have been owing to the difficulty of distinguishing clearly sensa- tion from perception — what we feel from what we perceive. The external senses have a double pro- vince — to make us feel, and to make us perceive. They furnish us with a variety of sensations, some pleasant, others painful, and others indifferent ; at the same tinie, they give us a conception and an invincible belief of the existence of external objects. This conception of external objects is the work of nature. The belief of their exist- ence, which our senses give, is the work of nature ; so likewise is the sen-sation that accompanies it. This conception and be- lief which nature produces by means of the senses, we call perception.' [248] The feeling which goes along with the percep- tion, we call sensation. The perception and its corresponding sensation are produced at the same time. In our experience we never find them disjoined. Hence, we are led to consider them as one thing, to give them one name, and to confound their different attributes. It becomes very difficult to separate them in thought, to attend to each by itself, and to attribute nothing to it which belongs to the other. To do this, requires a degree of attention to what passes in our own minds, and a talent of distinguishing things that differ, which is not to be expected in the vulgar, and is even rarely found in philosophers ; so that the progress made in a just analysis of the operations of our senses has been very slew. The hypothesis of ideas, so generally adopted, hath, as I apprehend, greatly retarded this progress, and we might hope for a quicker advance, if philosophers could so far humble themselves as to be- lieve that, in every branch of the philosophy of nature, the productions of human fancy and conjecture will be found to be dross ; and that the only pure metal that will en. dure the test, is what is discovered by patient observation and chaste induction. * If the conception, like the belief, be subjectUe in perception, we have no refuge. from Idealism in this ddctrine. See above, tlie notes at )'p. liS-ISO, I8:{, tic, and Note C. — H. [247, 248] CHAP. XVIII.] OF OTHER OBJECTS OF PERCEPTION. 319 CHAPTER XVIII. OF OTHER OBJECTS OF PERCEPTION. Besides primary and secondary qualities of bodies, there are many other immediate objects of perception. Without pretending to a complete enumeration, I think they mostly fall under one or other of the follow- ing, classes. 1st, Certain states or condi- tions of our own bodies. 2d, Mechanical powers or forces. 3c/, Chemical powers. 4lh, Medical powers of virtues, dtli. Vege- table and animal powers. [249] That we perceive certain disorders in our own bodies by means of uneasy sensations, which nature hath conjoined with them, will not be disputed. Of this kind are toothache, headache, gout, and every distemper and hurt which we feel. The notions which our sense gives of these, have a strong analogy to our notions of secondary qualities. Both are similarly compounded, and may be similarly resolved, and they give light to each other. In the toothache, for instance, there is, first,, a painful feeling ; and, secondly, a conception and belief of some disorder in the tooth, which is believed to be the cause of the uneasy feeling.* The first of these is a sensation, the second is perception ; for it includes a conception and belief of an external object. But these two things, though of different natures, are so con- stantly conjoined in our experience and in our imagination, that we consider them as one. We give the same name to both ; for the toothache is the proper name of the pain we feel ; and it is the proper name of the disorder in the tooth which causes that pain. If it should be made a question T.hether the toothache be in the mind that 'eels it, or in the tooth that is aft'i cted, much might fee said on both sides, while it is not observed that the word has two mean- ings. -j- But a little reflection satisfies us, that the pain is in the mind, and the dis- order in the tooth. If some pliilosophcr should pretend to have made the discovery tliat the toothache, the gout, the headaclie, are only sensations in the mind, and that it is a vulgar error to conceive that they are di.stempers of the body, he might defend his system in the same manner as tho.se wlio affirm that there is no sound, nor colour, nor taste in bodies, defend that para- dox. But both these systems, like most * There is no such perception, properly so called. The cogriitiriri is merely an inference Uim the feelinK; and its>ohjcct, at least, only some hjpothc- tical rtprr sentation o( a really i'ltiutum quid. Here the «ul)je<;tive element pre|i(jnderatc» i>o greatly as almoht to extinKuiih tlie objective — 1 1. t Thin id not correct. .See rtljo»e, p. 2' 5, cnl. b note *,aiid Sote ().— H. [2i9, 2.00]] paradoxes, will be found to be only an abuse of words. We say that we feci the toothache, not that we perceive it. On the other hand, w«3 say that we perceive the colour of a body, not that we feel it. Can any reason be given for this difference of phraseology ? [250] In answer to this question, I apprehend that, both when we feel the toothache and when we see a coloured body, there is sensa- tion and perception conjoined. But, in the toothache, the sensation being very painful, engrosses the attention ; and therefore we speak of it as if it were felt only, and not perceived : whereas, in seeing a coloured body, the sensation is indifferent, and draws no attention. The quality in the body, which we call its colour, is the only object of attention ; and therefore we speak of it as if it were perceived and not felt. Though all philosophers agree that, in seeing colour there is sensation, it is not easy to persuade the vulgar that, in seeing a coloured body, when the light is not too strong nor the eye inflamed, they have any sensation or feeling at all. There are some sensations, which, though they are very often felt, are never attended to, nor reflected upon. We have no con- ception of them ; and, therefore, in language there is neither any name for them, nor any form of speech that supposes their existence. Such are the sensations of colour, and of all primary qualities ; and, therefore, those qualities are said to be perceived, but not to be felt. Taste and smell, and heat and cold, have sensations that are often agreeable or disagreeable, in such a degree as to draw our attention ; and they are .sometimes said to be felt, and sometimes to be perceived. When disorders of the body occasion very acute pain, the unea-sy sensa- ation engrosses the attention, and they are said to be felt, not to be perceived." There is amithor question relating to phraseology, which this subject suggests. A man says, he feels ])ain in such a parti- cular part of his body ; in his toe for in- stance. Now, reason assures us that pain being a sensation, can only be in the sen- tient being, as its subject — that is, in the mind. And, thdugli philosophers have dis- puted much al)out the place of the mind ; yet none of them ever placed it in the toe.-j- • As already repeatedly oliscrved, the objective element (perception) and the eubjiciive element (IceliiiK, sensation) are always in tne inver>e ratio of each other. 'I'his is a law of which Keid and the philosophers were not aware — U. t Not In the loe r.n7».v/r.V// lint, both in ancient and modern times, the ri|iiiiion has bi'in lielil that the mind h.is .is nuich a lix-d prisenie in I he toe ns in the head, 1 he doctrine, indi'cil.JonK (,'i'"''r''"y "'•'i'l- laiiird was, that in relation to [he lindy, Ilii-Sdiiris nil ill llii'vlidlr, mill III! ill i-irrii purl. On llu' ipicsli f the seat of the soul, which h;ik hern m.irvdiousljr perplexed, 1 cmntit iTiter. 1 shall only say, in (lene- ral, Iha' thr »ir»t condition of the possibility ol an 320 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay n. What shall we say then in this case ? Do our senses really deceive us, and make us believe a thing which our reason determines to be impos.sihle ? [251] I answer, ^'rs^, That, when a man says he has pain in his toe, he is perfectly understood, both by himself and those who hear him. This is all that lie intends. lie really feels what he and all men call a pain in the toe ; and there is no deception in the matter. Whether, therefore, there be any impropriety in the phrase or not, is of no consequence in com- mon life. It answers all the ends of speech, both to the speaker and the hearers. In all languages there are phrases which have a distinct meaning ; while, at the same time, there may be something in the structure of them that disagrees with the analogy of grammar or with the principles of philosophy. And the reason is, because language is not made either by gramma- rians or philosophers. Thus, we speak of feeling pain, as if pain was something dis- tinct from the feeling of it. We speak of pain coming and goin^g, and removing from one place to another. Such phrases are meant by those who use them in a sense that is neither obscure nor false. But the philosopher puts them into his alembic, reduces them to their first principles, draws out of them a sense that was never meant, and so imagines that he has discovered an erx'or of the vulgar. I observe, secondly, That, when we con- sider the sensation of pain by itself, with- out any respect to its cause, we cannot say. with propriety, that the toe is either the place or the subject of it. But it ought to be remembered, that, when we speak of pain in the toe, the sensation is combined in our thought, with the cause of it, which really is in the toe. The cause and the effect are combined in one complex notion, and the same name serves for both. It is the busi- ness of the philosopher to analyse this com- ])!ex notion, and to give different names to its different ingredients. He gives the name oi' p'lin to the sensation only, and the name of disorder to the unknown cause of it. Then it is evident that the disorder only is in the toe, and that it would be an error to think that the pain is in it." But we ought not to ascribe this error to the vulgar, who never made the distinction, and who, under the name of pain, comprehend both the sensation and its cause. -j- [252] immeiiiate, iniuitivo, or real perception of external thiiig<, wh fh iiur consciousne.-s a'isures that we pos- Si s-i, is the immediate conrieciion ot the cognitive principle with every part of the corporeal orgaiiisin. — * Only if the toe he consiflered as a mere material mass, anil apart Irom an animating principle. — H. t I'hat the pain is where it is felt is, however, the doctrine ol common sense. We only feel in as much as we have a horty ami a soul ; we only feel pain in the toe in as much as we have such a member, and in Cases sometimes happen, which giva occasion even to the vulgar to distinguish the painful sensation from the disorder which is the cause of it. A man who has had his leg cut off, many years after feels pain in a toe of that leg. The toe has now no existence ; and he perceives easily, that the toe can neither be the place nor the subject of the pain which he feels ; yet it is the same feeling he used to have from a hurt in the toe ; and, if he did not know that his leg was cut off, it would give him the same immediate conviction of some hurt or dis- order in the toe.* The same phenomenon may lead tho philosopher, in all cases, to distinguish sens- ation from perception. We say, that the man had a deceitful feeling, when he felt a pain in his toe after the leg was cut off; and we have a true meaning in saying so. But, if we will speak accurately, our sensa- tions cannot be deceitful ; they must be what we feel them to be, and can be no- thing else. Where, then, lies the deceit ? I answer, it lies not in the sensation, which is real, but in the seeming perception he had of a disorder in his toe. This percep- tion, which Nature had conjoined with the sensation, was, in this instance, fallacious. The same reasoning may be applied to every phenomenon that can, with propriety, be called a deception of sense. As when one who has the jaundice sees a body yellow, which is really white ;-|- or when a man sees an object double, because his eyes are not both directed to it : in these, and other like cases, the sensations we have are real, and the deception is only in the perception which nature has annexed to them. Nature has connected our perception of external objects with certain sensations. If the sensation is produced, the corre- sponding perception follows even when there is no object, and in that case is apt to deceive us. [253] In like manner, nature has connected our sensations with certain impressions that are made upon the nerves and brain ; and, when the imjiression is made, from whatever cause, the corre- sponding sensation and perception imme- diately follow. Thus, in the man who feels pain in his toe after the leg is cut off, the nerve that went to the toe, part of which was cut off with the leg, had the same impres- sion made upon the remaining part, which, in the natural state of his body, was caused a< much as the mind, or sentient principle, pervade3 it. We just as much feel in the toe as we think in in the head. If (but only if) the latter be a vitium subreplionis, as Kant thinks, so is the former. — H. * J his illustration is Des Cartes'. It correct, it only shews that the connection of mind with organ, ization extends from the centre to the circumference of the nervous system, and is not limited to any px-t.— H. I 1 he man docs not S"e the white hod)/ at all.— H. [251-253] CHAP, xvni.] or OTHKIl OBJPXTS OF PERCEPTION. B21 by a liurt in tlie toe : and immediately this iuipressiou is followed by the sensation and percejttion which nature connected with it. • In like manner, if the same impressions which are made at present upon my optic nerves by the objects before me, could be made in the dark, I apprehend that I should have the same sensations and see the same objects which I now see. The im- pressions and sens.itions would in such a case be real, and the perception only iallacious.* Let us next consider the notions which our senses give us of those attributes of bodies called powers. This is the more necessary, because power seems to imjily some activity ; yet we consider body as a dead inactive thing, which does not act, but may be acted upon. Of the mechanical powers ascribed to bodies, that which is called their rv's insila or inertia, may first be considered. By this is meant, no more than that bodies never change their state of themselves, either from rest to motion, or from motion to rest, or from one degree of velocity or one direction to another. In order to produce any such change, there must be some force impressed upon them ; and the change produced is precisely proportioned to the force impressed, and in the direction of that force. That all bodies have this property, is a matter of fact, which we learn from daily observation, as well as from the most accu- rate experiments.. [254] Now, it seems plain, that this does not imply any activity in body, but rather the contrary. A power in body to change its state, would much rather imply activity than its continuing in the same state : so that, although this property of bodies is called their vis insita, or vis irifrtia; it implies no proper activity. If we consider, next, the power of gravity, it is a fact that all the bodies of our pla- netary system gravitate towards each other. This has been fully proved by the great Newton. But this gravitation is not con- ceived by that philosoplier to be a power inherent in bodies, which they exert of themselves, but a force impressed upon them, to which they must necessarily yield. Whether this force be impressed by some subtile tether, or whether it be impressed by the ])OW(.-r of the Supreme Being, or of some subordinate sjilrituul being, we do not know; but all sound natural philosophy, particu- larly tliHt of Newton, sii]ii)oses it to be an impresseil force, and not inherent in bodies. -f- Ho that, when bodies gravitate, they do • 'Ihis i« a I'octrine which cannot bo lecnncilcd with tliat (.f an intuitive or oljji'ctivo pcrcciitioti. All hpre is Ruljji.ctive H. t 'I'hat .ill firlivili/ mpposps an iiiiiii/tfrrinl or spi. riliuil ancnt, is an aiiricnt doctiini-. It is, however, only an hvpoihesis.— H. not properly act, but are acted upon : they only yield to an impression that is made upon them. It is common in language to express, by active verbs, many changes in things wherein they are meroly passive : and this way of speaking is used chiefly when the cause of the change is not obvious to sense. Thus we say tliat a ship s.'wls when every man of common sense knows that she has no inherent power of motion and is only driven by wind and tide. In like manner, when we say that the planets gravitate to^^•ards the siui, we mean no more but that, by some unknown power, they are drawn or impelled in that direction. What has been said of the power of gra- vitation may be applied to other mechanical powers, such as cohesion, magnetism, elec- tuicity ; and no less to chemical and medical powers. By all these, certain effects are produced, upon the application of one body to another. [255] Our senses discover the effect; but the power is latent. We know there must be a cause of the effect, and we form a relative notion of it from its effect ; and very often the same name is used to signify the unknown cause, and the known effect. We ascribe to vegetables the powers of drawing nourishment, growing and nmlti- plying their kind. Here likewise the effect is manifest, but the cause is latent to sense. These powers, therefore, as well as all the other powers we ascribe to bodies, are un- known causes of certain known effects. It is the business of philosophy to in\csti advantage above the vulgar ; for, as they pcvrceive colour, and figure, and motion b.. tlieir senses as well he does, and both are equally certain that there is a subject of those qualities, so the notions which both have of this subject are equally ob- scure. When the philosopher calls it a substratum, and a subject of inhesion, those learned words convey no meaning but what every man understands and expresses, by saying, in conmion language, that it is a thing extended, and solid, and movable. The relation which sensible qualities bear to their subject — that is, to body — is not, liowever, so dark but that it is easily dis- tinguished from all other relations. Every man can distinguisli it from the relation of an effect to its cause ; of a mean to its end ; or of a c-ign to the thing signified by it. I think it requires some ripeness of un- derstanding to distinguish the qualities of a body from the body. Perhaps this dis- tinction is not made by brutes, nor by in- fants ; and if any one thinks that this dis- tinction is not made by our senses, but by some other power of the mind, I will not dispute this point, provided it be granted that men, when their faculties are ripe, have a natural conviction that sensible qua- lities cannot exist by themselves without some subject to which they belong. I think, indeed, that some of the determ- inations we form concerning matter can- not be deduced solely from the testimony of sense, but must be referred to some other source. There seems to be nothing more evident than that all bodies must consist of parts ; and that every part of a body is a body, and a distinct being, which may exist without the other parts ; and yet I apprehend tliis con- clusion is not deduced solely from the testi- mony of sense : for, besides that it is a necessary truth, and, therefore, no object of sense,* there is a limit beyond which we conceive, only what is rflativc. Our knowledge of qualities OT }iJice)io!>icna is necessarily relative; for these exist only as tliey exist iniTlation to our/aciil- ties. 'I'lie knowledge, or even the conception, of a subhtauce in iiselt', anil a|iart from any qualities in relatinii to, and thirelore cognisal>lc or conceivable by, our minds, involves a contradiction. Of such we can form only a nrr/ative notion ; that is, we cm merely eonccive it us iiicoticeivahte. Hut to call this ne- gative notion a reluliri: itoliim, is wrong ; 1", because ail cur (positive) notions are relative; and 2", because this is itselfa negative notion — i. c, no notion at all — sill. ply because there is no relation. 'Ihe same im- propi r application of the term relative was also made by Held uhen siicaking ol the secondary qualities. — II. * It is creditiibic to He.d that ho iicrceived th.it the qu. only una'counlabic when it i< not the consequent or concomitant of I -^70 o; 1 -| Belief, assent, conviction, are words which I do I. ot think admit of logical defin- ition, because the operation of mind sig- nified by them is perfectly simple, and of its own kind. Nor do they need to be de- fined, because they are common words, and well understood. Belief must have an object. For he that believes must believe something ; and that which he believes, is called the object of his belief. Of this object of his belief, he must have some conception, clear or ob- scure ; for, although there may be the most clear and distinct conception of an object without any belief of its existence, there can be no belief without conception. * Belief is always expressed in language by a proposition, wherein something is affirmed or denied. This is the form of speech which in all languages is appropriated to that purpose, and without belief there could be neither affirmation nor denial, nor should we have any form of words to express either. Belief admits of all degrees, from the slightest suspicion to the fullest assur- ance. These things are so evident to every man that reflects, that it would be abusing the reader's patience to dwell upon them. I proceed to observe that there are many operations of mind m which, when we analyse them as far as we are able, we find belief to be an essential ingredient. A man cannot be conscious of his own thoughts, without believing that he thinks. He can- not perceive an object of sense, without be- lieving that it exists. -j- He cannot distinctly remember a past event, without believing that it did exist. Belief therefore is an ingredient in consciousness, in perception, and in remembrance. L271] Not only in most of our intellectual oper- ations, but in many of the active princi- ples of the human mind, belief enters as an ingredient. Joy and sorrow, hope and fear, imply a belief of good or ill, either pre- sent or in expectation- Esteem, gratitude, pity, and resentment, imply a belief of cer- tain qualities in their objects. In every action that is done for an end, there must be a belief of its tendency to that end. So large a share has belief in our intellectual knowledge. By this, however, I do not, of course, mean to say that knowledge is not in itself marvel- lous and unaccountable. I'his statement ol Keid agiiin favours the opinion that his doctrine of percep- tion is not really inimediale. — H. * Is aincnitioH here equivalent to knowlolijc or to Oiowiiif.'—IL t Mr .Stewart {Elem. 1., ch. iii., p. 116, and Essat/s, 11., ch. ii., p. "S). .«y.) proposes a supplement to this doctrine of Held, in order to explain why we believe in the existence ot the qualities of external objects when thev are not the olijicts of our perception. 'Ibis beliei he holds to be the result of c.i/n c/c/iiv, in combination with an original |iiiiiciple ol (lur consti. tuiioii, wlnTcliv we arc ilrtiriniind In hulitve in Uic pcrmannicr tif llif Inirs \xt to signify every truth which is known innne- diately, without being deduced from any antecedent truth, then the existence of the objects of sense may be called an axiom ; for my senses give me :is immediate con- viction of what they testify, as my under- standing gives of what is commonly called an axiom. There is, no doubt, an analogy between tlie evidence of sense and the evidence of testimony. lieneo, we find, in all lan- guages, the analogical expressions of the tenUmoin/ of sense, of giving rn'ilil to our senses, and the like. ]5ut there is a real difference between the two, as well as a similitude. In lielii.ving ui)on testimony, we rely upon tbf aiilli'irity of a iw'rson who testifies ; but we have no such authority for believing our senses. Shall we say, then, that this belief is the inspiration of the Almighty ? I think this may be said in a good sense ; for I take it to be the immediate effect of our constitu- tion, which is the work of the Almighty. But, if inspiration be understood to imply a persuasion of its coming from God, our belief of the objects of sense is not inspira- tion ; for a man would believe his senses though he had no notion of a Deity. He who is persuaded that he is the workman- ship of God, and that it is a part of his constitution to believe his senses, may think that a good reason to confirm his belief. But he had the belief before he could give this or any other reason for it. If we compare the evidence of sense with that of memory, we find a great resem- blance, but still some difference. I remem- ber distinctly to have dined yesterday with such a company. What is the meaning of this ? It is, that I have a distinct con- ception and firm belief of this past event ; not by reasoning, not by testimony, but immediately from my constitution. And I give the name of memory to that part of my constitution by which I have this kind of conviction of past events. [276] I see a chair on my right hand. What is the meaning of this ? It is, that I have, by my constitution, a distinct conception and firm belief of the present existence of the chair in such a place and in such a position ; and I give the name of seeing to that part of my constitution by which I have this immediate conviction. The two operations agree in the immediate convic- tion which they give. They agree in this also, that the things believed are not necessary, but contingent, and limited to time and place. But they differ in two respects : —First, That memory has some- thing for its object that did exist in time past ; but the object of sight, and of all the senses, must be something which exists at present ; — and, Seconil/i/, That I see by my eyes, and only when they are directed to the object, and when it is illuminated. But my memory is not limited by any bodily organ that I know, nor by light and dark- ness, though it has its limitations of another kind.* These diflerences are obvious to all men, and very reasonably lead them to consider seeing and remembering as operations spe- cifically diflerent. But the nature of the evidence they give, has a great resemblance. * There is a more important difference Jliaii these oinittiil. Ill memory, we cannot pii >il)ly lie con- si iiius or iiiinuili lely connis.mf of any oliji ct luyonil the niodKii-atioiis oC ilic ,vi' ilsclC. In |ierie nuist lie conscious, or innncdiately ciiyniitanl, ol sc me pha'no- nieiion of the Hvii-iyo. — H. 330 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [[essay n. A like difference and a like resemblance there is between the evidence of sense and that of consciousness, which I leave the reader to trace. As to the opinion that evidence consists in a perception of the agreement or dis- agreement of ideas, we may have occasion to consider it more particularly in another place. Here I only observe, that, when taken in the most favourable sense, it may be applied with propriety to the evidence of reasoning, and to the evidence of some axioms. But I cannot see how, in any sense, it can be applied to the evidence of consciousness, to the evidence of memory, or to that of the senses. When I compare the different kinds of evidence above-mentioned, I confess, after all, that the evidence of reasoning, and that of some necessary and self-evident truths, seems to be the least mysterious and the most perfectly comprehended ; and there- fore I do not think it strange that philoso- phers should have endeavoured to reduce all kinds of evidence to these. [277] When I see a proposition to be self-evi- dent and necessary, and that the subject is plainly included in the predicate, there seems to be nothing more that I can desire in order to understand why I believe it. And when I see a consequence that necessarily follows from one or more self-evident propositions, I want nothing more with regard to my belief of that consequence. The light of truth so fills my mind in these cases, that I can neither conceive nor desire anything more satisfying. On the other hand, when I remember dis- tinctly a past event, or see an object before my eyes, this commands my belief no less than an axiom. But when, as a philosopher, I reflect upon this belief, and want to trace it to its origin, I am not able to resolve it into necessary and self-evident axioms, or con- clusions that are necessarily consequent upon them. I seem to want that evidence which I can best comprehend, and which gives perfect satisfaction to an inquisitive mind ; yet it is ridiculous to doubt ; and I find it is not in my power. An attempt to throw off this belief is like an attempt to fly, equally ridiculous and impracticable. To a philosopher, who has been accus- tomed to think that the treasure of his know- ledge is the acquisition of that reasoning power of which he boasts, it is no doubt humiliating to find that his reason can lay no claim to the greater part of it. By his reason, he can discover certain abstract and necessary relations of things ; but his knowledge of what really exists, or did exist, comes by another channel, which is open to those who cannot reason. He is led to it in the dark, and knows not how he came by it. [278] It is no wonder that the pride of philo- sophy should lead some to invent vain theories in order to account for this know- ledge ; and others, who see this to be im- practicable, to spurn at a knowledge they cannot account for, and vainly attempt to throw it off as a reproach to their under- standing. But the wise and the humble will receive it as the gift of Heaven, and endeavour to make the best use of it. CHAPTER XXI. OF THE IMPROVEMENT OF THE SENSES. Our senses may be considered in two views : first, As they afford us agreeaVjle sensations, or subject us to such as are dis- agreeable; and, secondly. As they give us information of things that concern us. In i\\Q first view, they neither require nor admit of improvement. Both the painful and the agreeable sensations of our external senses are given by nature for certain ends ; and they are given in that degree which is the most proper for their end. By dimin- ishing or increasing them, we should not mend, but mar the work of Nature. Bodily pams are indications of some dis- order or hurt of the body, and admonitions to use the best means in our power to pre- vent or remove their causes. As far as this can be done by temperance, exercise, regi- men, or the skill of the physician, every man hath sufficient inducement to do it. When pain cannot be prevented or re- moved, it is greatly alleviated by patience and fortitude of mind. While the mind is superior to pain, the man is not unhappy, though he may be exercised. It leaves no sting behind it, but rather matter of triumph and agreeable reflection, when borne pro- perly, and in a good cause. [279] The Canadians have taught us that even savages may acquire a superiority to the most ex- cruciating pains ; and, in every region of the earth, instances will be found, where a sense of duty, of honour, or even of worldly interest, have triumphed over it. It is evident that nature intended for man, in his present state, a life of labour and toil, wherein he may be occasionally exposed to pain and danger ; and the happiest man is not he who has felt least of those evils, but he whose mind is fitted to bear them by real magnanimity. Our active and perceptive powers are improved and perfected by use and exercise. This is the constitution of nature. But, with regard to the agreeable and disagree- able sensations we have by our senses, the very contrary is an established constitution of nature — the frequent repetition of them weakens their force. Sensations at first very [277-279"l CHAP. XXI.] OF THE IMPROVEMENT OF THE SENSES. 331 disagreeable, by use become tolerable, and at last perfectly indifferent. And those that are at first very agreeable, by frequent re- petition become insipid, and at last, per- haps, give disgust. Nature has set limits to the pleasures of sense, which we cannot pass ; and all studied gratifications of them, as it is mean and unworthy of a man, so it is foohsh and fruitless. The man who, in eating and drinking, and in other gratifications of sense, obeys the calls of Nature, without affecting deli- cacies and refinements, has all the enjoy- ment that the senses can afford. If one could, by a soft and luxurious life, acquire a more delicate sensibility to pleasure, it must be at the expense of a Uke sensibility to pain, from which he can never promise exemption, and at the expense of cherishing many diseases which produce pain. The improvement of our external senses, as they are the means of giving us informa- tion, is a subject more worthy of our atten- tion ; for, although they are not the noblest and most exalted powers of our nature, yet they are not the least useful. [280] All that we know, or can know, of the material world, must be grounded upon their inform- ation ; and the philosopher, as well as the day-labourer, must be indebted to them for the largest part of his knowledge. Some of our perceptions by the senses may be called original, because they require no previous experience or learning ; but the far greatest part is acquired, and the fruit of experience. Three of our senses — to wit, smell, taste, and hearing — originally give us only certain sensations, and a tonviction that these sensa- tions are occasioned by some external object. We give a name to that quality of the ob- ject by which it is fitted to produce such a sensation, and connect that quality with the object, and with its other qualities. Thus we learn, that a certain sensation of smell is produced by a rose ; and that quality in the rose, by which it is fitted to produce this sensation, we call the smell of the rose. Here it is evident that the sensa- tion is original. The perception that the rose has that quality which we call its smell, is acquired. In like manner, we learn ail tliose (jualities in b(jdies which we call their smell, their taste, their sound. These are all secondary qualities, and we give the same name to them which we give to the sensations they produce; not from any similitude l)etween the sensation and the quality of the same name, but because the quality is signified to us by the sensation as its sign, and jjecause our senses give us no other knowledge of the quality but that it is fit to produce such a sensation. By the other two senses, we have much more ample information. By sight, we learn to distinguish objects by their colour, in the same manner as by their sound, taste, and smell. By this sense, we perceive visible objects to have extension in two dimensions, to have visible figure and magnitude, and a certain angular distance from one another. These, 1 conceive, are the original perceptions of sight.* [281] By touch, we not only perceive the tem- perature of bodies as to heat and cold,-|- which are secondary qualities, but we per- ceive originally their three dimensions, tlieir tangible figure and magnitude, their linear distance from one another, their hardness, softness, or fluidity. These qualities we originally perceive by touch only ; but, by experience, we learn to perceive all or most of them by sight. We learn to perceive, by one sense, what originally could have been perceived only by another, by finding a connection between the objects of the ditt'erent senses. Hence the original perceptions, or the sensations of one sense become signs of whatever has always been found connected with them ; and from the sign, the mind passes imme- diately to the conception and belief of the thing signified. And, although the connec- tion in the mind between the sign and the thing signified by it, be the effect of custom, this custom becomes a second nature, and it is difficult to distinguish it from the ori- ginal power of perception. Thus, if a sphere of one uniform colour be set before me, I perceive evidently by my eye its spherical figure and its three dimen- sions. All the world will acknowledge that, by sight only, without touching it, I may be certain that it is a sphere ; j'et it is no less certain that, by the original power of sigiit, I could not perceive it to be a sphere, and to have three dimensions. The eye originally could only perceive two di- mensions, and a gradual variation of colour on the ditt'erent sides of the object. It is experience that teaches me that the variation of colour is an ett'ect of spherical convexity, and of the distribution of Iglit and shade. But so rapid is the progress of the thought, from the effect to the cause, that we attend only to the last, and can harilly be persuaded that we do not imme- diately see the three dimensions of the sphere. [282] Nay, it may be observed, that, in this case, the acquired perception in a ra;inner effaces the original one; for the sjilicre is seen to be of one uniform colour, tlio\igh originally there woukl have ajipeaied a gradual variation of colour. But that .^p- * See above, p. 123, col. li, note (, and p. 1S5, col. i, note *. 1 Whcthf-r lie.if, coliI, &o., be (ibjncls of touch of a (lilHreiit wiixe, it i> nol here the I'liii'o loimiuli - II. 332 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay h. parent variation we learn to interpret as the effect of light and shade falling upon a sphere of one uniform colour, A spliere may be painted upon a plane, so exactly, as to be tiiken for a real sphere when the eye is at a proper distance find in the proper point of view. We say in this case, that the eye is deceived, that the appearance is fallacious. But there is no fallacy in the original perception, but only in that which is acquired by custom. The variation of colour, exhibited to the ej'e by the painter's art, is the same which nature exhibits by the different degrees of light falling u]>on the convex surface of a sphere. In perception, whether original or ac- quired, there is something which may be called tlie sign, and something which is signified to us, or brought to our knowledge by that sign. In original perception, the signs ai'e the various sensations which are produced by the impressions made upon our organs. The things signified, are the objects perceived in consequence of those sensations, by the original constitution of our nature. Thus, when I grasp an ivory ball in my hand, I have a certain sensation of touch. Although this sensation be in the mind and have no similitude to anything material, yet, by the laws of my constitution, it is immediately followed by the conception and belief, that there is in my hand a hard smooth body of a spherical figure, and about an inch and a half in diameter. This belief is grounded neither upon reasoning, nor upon experience ; it is the immediate effect of my constitution, and this I call original perception.* [283] In acquired perception, the sign may be either a sensation, or something originally perceived. The thing signified, is something which, by experience, has been found con- nected with that sign. Thus, when the ivory ball is placed be- fore my eye, I perceive by sight what I before perceived by touch, that the ball is smooth, spherical, of such a diameter, and at such a distance from the eye ; and to this is added the percej)tion of its colour. All these things I perceive by sight, dis- tinctly and with certainty. Yet it is cer- tain from principles of pliilosophy, that, if I had not been accustomed to compare the informations of sight with those of touch, I should not have perceived tliese things by sight. I should have perceived a circu- lar object, having its colour gradually more faint towards the shaded side. But I should not have perceived it to have three dimen- sions, to be spherical, to be of such a linear magnitude, and at such a distance from the eye. That these last mentioned are not * Seeabovp, y. Ill, n^Ubi.— H. original perceptions of sight, but acquired by experience, is suflSciently evident from the principles of optics, and from the art of painters, in painting objects of three dimen- sions, upon a plane which has only two. And it has been put beyond all doubt, by observations recorded of several persons, who having, by cataracts in their eyes, been deprived of sight from their infancy, have been couched and made to see, after they came to years of understanding," Those who have had their eyesight from infancy, acquire such perceptions so early that they cannot recollect the time when they had them not, and therefore make no distinction between them and their original perceptions ; nor can they be easily per- suaded that there is any just foundation for such a distinction, [284] In all lan- guages men speak with equal assurance of their seeing objects to be spherical or cubi- cal, as of their feeling them to be so ; nor do they ever dream that these perceptions of sight were not as early and original as the perceptions they have of the same ob- jects by touch. This power which we acquire of perceiv- ing things by our senses, which originally we should not have perceived, is not the effect of any reasoning on our part : it is the result of our constitution, and of the situations in which we happen to be placed. "We are so made that, when two things are found to be conjoined in certain circum- stances, we are prone to believe that they are connected by nature, and will always be found together in like circumstances. The belief which we are led into in such cases is not the effect of reasoning, nor does it arise from intuitive evidence in the thing believed ; it is, as I apprehend, the innnediate effect of our constitution. Accordingly, it is strongest in infancy, before our reasoning power appears — before we are capable of draw- ing a conclusion from premises, A child who has once burnt his finger in a candle, from that single instance connects the pain of burning with putting his finger in the candle, and believes that these two things must go together. It is obvious that this part of our constitution is of very great use before we come to the use of re:ison, and guards'us from a thousand mischiefs, which, without it, we would rusli into ; it may sometimes lead us into error, but the good effects of it far overbalance the ill. It is, no doubt, the perfection of a rational being to have no belief but what is grounded on intuitive evidence, or on just reasoning : but man, I apprehend, is not such a being ; nor is it the intention of nature that he should be such a being, m every period of his existence. We come into the world * See above, p. 136, note t, and p. 182, note *. — H. [283, 28 t] CHAP. XXI.] OF THE IMPROVEMENT OF THE SENSES. 333 without the exercise of reason ; we are merely animal before we are rational crea- tures ; and it is neeessary for our preserva- tion, that we should believe many tilings be- fore we can reason. How then is our belief to be regulated before we have reason to regulate it ? [-85] Has nature left it to be regulated by chance ? By no means. It is regulated by certain principles, which are parts of our constitution ; whether they ought to be called animal principles, or m- stinctive principles, or what name we give to them, is of small moment ; but they are certainly different from the faculty of rea- son : they do the office of reason while it is in its infancy, and must, as it M'ere, be car- ried in a nurse's arms, and thev are leadiun;- strings to it in its gradual progress. From what has been saierceive extension to be one sensilile (|uality of bodies, and thence are necessarily led to conceive space, though space be of itself no oliject of sense. When a body is re- moved out of its place, the si)ace which it filled remains empty till it is filled by somo 336 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay II. other body, and would remain if it should never Ic filled. Before any body existed, the space which bodies now occupy was emjity space, capable of receiving bodies ; for no body can exist where there is no space to contain it. Tliere is space therefore where- ever bodies exist, or can exist. Hence it is evident that space can have no limits. It is no less evident that it is immovable. Bodies placed in it are mov- able, but the place where they were cannot be moved ; and we cau as easily conceive a thing to be moved from itself, as one part of space brought nearer to or removed farther from another. The space, therefore, which is imlimited and immovable, is called by jjhilosophers absolu'e space. Absolute or real motion is a change of place in absolute space. Our senses do not testify the absolute motion or absolute rest of any body. When one body removes from another, this may be discerned by the senses ; but whether any body keeps the same part of absolute space, we do not perceive by our senses. When one body seems to remove from an- other, we can infer with certainty that there is absolute motion, but whether in the one or the other, or partly in both, is not dis- cerned by sense. Of all the prejudices which philosophy contradicts, I believe there is none so general as that the earth keeps its place uinnoved. This opinion seems to be universal, till it is corrected by instruction or by philoso- phical speculation. Those who have any tincture of education are not now in danger of being held by it, but they find at first a reluctance to believe that there are anti- podes ; that the earth is spherical, and turns round its axis every day, and round the sun every year : they can recollect the time when reason struggled with prejudice upon these points, and prevailed at length, but not without some effort. [294] The cause of a prejudice so very general is not unworthy of investigation. But that is not our present business. It is sufficient to observe, that it cannot justly be called a fallacy of sense ; because our senses testify only the change of situation of one body in relation to other bodies, and not its change of situation in absolute space. It is only the relative motion of bodies that we per- ceive, and that we perceive truly. It is the province of reason and philosophy, from the relative motions which we perceive, to collect the real and absolute motions which produce them. All motion must be estimated from some point or place which is supposed to be at rest. We perceive not the points of abso- lute space, from which real and absolute motion must be reckoned ; And there are obvious reasons that lead mankind in the state of ignorance, to make the earth the fixL-d place from which they may estimate the various motions they perceive. The custom of doing this from infancy, and of using constantly a language which supposes the earth to be at rest, may perhaps be the cause of the general prejudice in favour of this opinion. Tims it appears that, if we distinguish accurately between what our senses really and naturally testify, and the conclusions which we draw from their testimony by reasoning, we shall find many of the errors, called fallacies of the senses, to be no fal- lacy of the senses, but rash judgments, which are not to be imputed to our senses. Secondly, Another class of errors imputed to the fallacy of the senses, are those which we are liable to in our acquired perceptions. Acquired perception is not properly the testimony of those senses which God hath given us, but a conclusion drawn from what the senses testify. [205] In our past ex- perience, we have found certain things con- joined with what our senses testify. We are led by our constitution to expect this conjunction^w^ime to come ; and when we have of^n found it in our experience to happen, we acquire a firm belief that the things which we have found thus conjoined, are connected in nature, and that one is a sign of the other. The appearance of the sign immediately produces the belief of its usual attendant, and we think we perceive the one as well as the other. That such conclusions are formed even in infancy, no man can doubt : nor is it less certain that they are confounded with the natural and immediate perceptions of sense, and in all languages are called by the same name. We are therefore authorized by language to call them perception, and must often do so, or speak unintelligibly. But philosophy teaches us, in this, as in many other instances, to distinguish things which the vulgar confound. I have therefore given the name of acquired perception to such conclusions, to distinguish them from what is naturally, originally, and inmie- diately testified by our senses. Whether this acquired perception is to be resolved into some process of reasoning, of which we have lost the remembrance, as some philosophers think, or whether it results from some part of our constitution distinct from reason, as I rather believe, does not concern the present subject. If the first of these opinions be true, the errors of ac- quired perception ■will fall under the first class before mentioned. If not, it makes a distinct class by itself But whether the one or the other be true, it must be observed that the errors of acquired per- ception are not properly fallacies of our senses. [294. 2951 CHAP. XXII.] OF THE FALL.ACY OF THE SENSES. 337 Thus, wheu a globe is set before me, I perceive by my eyes that it has three di- mensions and a spherical figure. To say that this is not perception, would be to reject the authority of custom in the use of words, which uo wise man will do : but that it is not the testimony of my sense of seeing, every philosopher knows. I see only a circular form, having the light and colour distributed in a certain way over it. [296] But, being accustomed to observe tliis distribution of light and colour only in a spherical body, I immediately, from what 1 see, believe the object to be spherical, and say that I see or perceive it to be spherical. When a painter, by an exact imitation of that distribution of light and colour which I have been accustomed to see only in a real sphere, deceives me, so as to make me take that to be a real sphere which is only a painted one, the testimony of my ej e is true — the colour and visible figure of the object is truly what I see it to be : the error lies in the conclusion drawn from what I see — to wit, that the object has three dimensions and a spherical figure. The conclusion is false in this case ; but, whatever be the origin of this conclusion, it is not properly the testimony of sense. To this class we must refer the judg- ments we are apt to form of the distance and magnitude of the heavenly bodies, and of terrestrial objects seen on high. The mistakes we make of the magnitude and distance of objects seen through optical glasses, or through an atmosphere uncom- monly clear or uncommonly foggy, belong likewise to this class. The errors we are led into in acquired perception are very rarely hurtful to us in the conduct of life ; they are gradually cor- rected by a more enlarged experience, and a more perfect knowledge of the laws of Nature : and the general laws of our con- stitution, by which we are sometimes led into them, are of the greatest utility. We come into the world ignorant of everything, and by our ignorance exposed to many dangers and to many mistakes. The regular train of causes and effects, which divine wisdom has established, and which directs every step of our conduct in advanced life, is unknown, until it is gradually dis- covered by experience. [207] We must learn much from experience before we can reason, ami therefore must be \iable to many errors. Indeed, I apprehend, tiiat, in the first part of life, reason would do us much mure hurt than good- Were we sensible of our condition in that period, anil capable of reflecting upon it, wo snould be like a man in the dark, surrounded with dangers, where every step he takes may be into a pit. Reason would direct him to sit down, and wait till he could see about him. '296-^98 J In like manner, if we suppose an infant endowed with reason, it would direct him to do nothing, till he knew what could be done with safety. This he can only know by experiment, and experiments are danger- ous. Reason directs, that experiments that are full of danger should not be made with- out a very urgent cause. It would there- fore make the infant unhappy, and hinder his improvement by experience. Nature has followed another plan. The child, unapprehensive of danger, is led by instinct to exert all his active powers, to try everything without the cautious admo- nitions of reason, and to believe everything that is told him. Sometimes he suffers by his rashness what reason would have pre- vented : but his suffering proves a salutary discipline, and makes him for the future avoid the cause of it. Sometimes he is imposed upon by his credulity ; but it is of infinite benefit to him upon the whole. His activity and credulity are more useful qua- lities and better instructors than reason would be ; they teach him more in a day than reason would do in a year ; they furnish a stock of materials for reason to work upon ; they make him easy and happy in a period of his existence when reason could only serve to suggest a thousand tormenting anxieties and fears : and he acts agreeably to the constitution and intention of nature even when he does and believes what reason would not justify. So that the wisdom and goodness of the Author of nature is no less conspicuous in withholding the exercise of our reason in this period, than in bestowing it when we are ripe for it. [298] A third class of errors, ascribed to the fallacy of the senses, proceeds from igno- rance of the laws of nature. The laws of nature (I mean not moral but physical laws) are learned, either from our own experience, or the experience of others, who have had occasion to observe the course of nature. Ignorance of those laws, or inattention to them, is apt to occasion false judgments with regard to the objects of seiise, especial- ly those of hearing and of sight ; which false judgments are often, without good reason, called fallacies of sense. Sounds affect the ear ditlVrontly, accord- ing as the sounding body is before or behind us, on the right hand or on the left, near or at a great distance. We learn, by the manner in which the sound affects the ear, on what hand we are to look for the sound- ing body ; and in most cases we judge right. Hut we are sometimes deceived by echoes, or by whispering galleries, or si>eaking trumpets, wliicli return the sound, or alter its direction, or convi'V It to a distance with- out diniinutioM. The deception ia still greater, becau»« 338 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. LeSSAY II. more uncommon, which is said to be pro- duced by Gastriloquists — that is, persons who have acquired the art of modifying their voice, so that it shall affect the ear of the Vearers, as if it came from another person, or from the clouds, or from under the earth 1 never had the fortune to be acquainted with any of these artists, and therefore can- not say to what degree of perfection the art may have bt en carried. I apprehend it to be only such an im- perfect imitation as may deceive those who are inattentive, or under a panic. For, if it could be carried to perfection, a Gastrilo- quist would be as dangerous a man in so- ciety as was the shepherd Gyges,* who, by turning a ring upon his finger, could make himself invisible, and, by that means, from being the king's shepherd, became King of Lydia. [299] If the Gastriloquists have all been too good men to use their talent to the detri- ment of others, it might at least be expected that some of them should apply it to their own advantage. If it could be brought to any considerable degree of perfection, it seems to be as proper an engine for draw- ing money by the exhibition of it, as leger- demain or rope-dancing. But I have never heard of any exhibition of this kind, and therefore am apt to think that it is too coarse an imitation to bear exhibition, even to the vulgar. Some are said to have the art of imitat- ing the voice of another so exactly that in the dark they might be taken for the person whose voice they imitate. I am apt to think that this art also, in the relations made of it, is magnified beyond the truth, as wonderful relations are apt to be, and that an attentive ear would be able to distinguish the copy from the original. It is indeed a wonderful instance of the accuracy as well as of the truth of our senses, in things that are of real use in life, that we are able to distinguish all our acquaintance by their countenance, by their voice, and fcy their handwriting, when, at the same time, we are often unable to say by what minute difference the distinction is made ; and that we are so very rarely deceived in matters of this Jcind, when we give proper attention to the informations of sense. However, if any case should happen, in which sounds produced by different causes are not distinguishable by the ear, this may prove that our senses are imperfect, but not that they are fallacious. The ear may not be able to draw the just conclusion, but it is only our ignorance of the laws of sound that leads us to a wrong conclusion. [300] Deceptions of sight, arising from igno- » See Cicero, De Officiis. The story told by Hero, dotu* is different. — H. ranee of the laws of nature, are more numer- ous and more remarkable than those of hearing. The rays of light, which are the means of seeing, pass in right lines from the object to the eye, when they meet with no obstruc- tion ; and we are by nature led to conceive the visible object to be in the direction of the rays that come to the eye. But the rays may be reflected, refracted, or inflected in their passage from the object to the eye, according to certain fixed laws of nature, by which means their direction may be changed, and consequently the apparent place, figure, or magnitude of the object. Thus, a child seeing himself in a mirror, thmks he sees another child behind the mirror, that imitates all his motions. But even a child soon gets the better of this de- ception, and knows that he sees himself only. All the deceptions made by telescopes, microscopes, camera obscuras, magic lau- thorns, are of the same kind, though not so familiar to the vulgar. The ignorant may be deceived by them ; but to those who are acquainted with the principles of optics, they give just and true information ; and the laws of nature by which they are produced, are of infinite benefit to mankind. There remains another class of errors, commonly called deceptions of sense, and the only one, as I apprehend, to which that name can be given with propriety : I mean such as proceed from some disorder or pre- ternatural state, either of the external organ or of the nerves and brain, which are in- ternal organs of perception. In a delirium or in madness, perception, memory, imagination, and our reasoning powers, are strangely disordered and con- founded. There are liliewise disorders which affect some of our senses, while others are sound. Thus, a man may feel pain in his toes after the leg is cut off. He may feel a little ball double by crossing his fingers. [30 1 ] He may see an object double, by not du-ect- both eyes properly to it. By pressing the ball of his eye, he may see colours that ar« not real. By the jaundice in his eyes, he may mistake colours. These are more properly deceptions of sense than any of the classes before mentioned. We must acknowledge it to be the lot of human nature, that all the human faculties are liable, by accidental causes, to be hurt and unfitted for their natural functions, either wholly or in part : but as this imper- fection is common to them all, it gives no just ground for accounting any of them fallacious. Upon the whole, it seems to have been a common error of philosophei-s to account the senses fallacious. And to this error they have added another — that one use of reason is to detect the fallacies of sense. [299-301] CHAP. XXII.] OF THE FALLACY OF THE SENSES. 339 It appears, I think, from what has been said, that there is no more reason to account our senses fallacious, than our reason, our memory, or any other faculty of judging which nature hath given us. They are all limited and imperfect ; but wisely suited to the present condition of man. We are liable to error and wrong judgment in the use of them all ; but as little in the inform- ations of sense as in the deductions of reasoning. And the errors we fall into with regard to objects of sense are not corrected by reason, but by more accurate attention to the informations we may receive by our senses themselves. Perhaps the pride of philosophers may have given occasion to this error. Reason is the faculty wherein they assume a supe- riority to the unlearned. The informations of sense are common to the philosopher and to the most illiterate : they put all men upon a level ; and therefore are apt to be undervalued. We must, however, be be- holden to the informations of sense for the greatest and most interesting part of our knowledge. [302 J The wisdom of nature has made the most useful things most com- mon, and they ought not to be despised on that account. Nature likewise forces our belief in those informations, and all the attempts of philosophy to weaken it are fruitless and vain. I add only one observation to what has been said upon this subject. It is, that there seems to be a contradiction between what philosophers teach concerning ideas, and their doctrine of the fallaciousness of the senses. We are taught that the office of the senses is only to give us the ideas of external objects. If this be so, there can be no fallacy in the senses. Ideas can neither be true nor false. If the senses testify nothing, they cannot give false testi- mony. If they are not judging faculties, no judgment can be imputed to them, whether false or true. There is, therefore, a contra- diction between the common doctrine con- cerning ideas and that of the fallaciousness of the senses. Both may be false, as I believe they are, but both cannot be true, [303] ESSAY III. OF MEMORY. CHAPTER I. THINGS OBVIOUS AND CERTAIN WITH REGARD TO MEMORY. In the gradual progress of man, from infancy to maturity, tliere is a certain order in which his faculties are unfolded, and this eeems to be the best order we can follow in treating of them. The external senses appear first ; me- mory soon follows — which we are now to consider. It is by memory that we have an imme- diate knowledge of things past." The senses give us information of things only as they exist in the present moment ; and this information, if it were not preserved by memory, would vanish instantly, and leave us as ignorant as if it liad never been. ^Memory must have an ol)ject. Every man who remembers must remember sonie- • An immrrf/a^e knowlcdKeof'a;)flfw it in itttit, or as cxihlintf ; hut what ih |ia«t catinot he known in ittcll, ti' knowledge of the u-.t\ preliended that there is any difficulty in reconciling with liljcrty the knowledge of what is past, but only (if what is future. It is prescience only, and not memory, that is supposed to be hostile to liberty, and hardly reconciU-able to it. Yet I believe the difficulty is perfectly equal in the one case and in the other. I admit, that we cannot account for jiro.science of tlic actions of a free agent. Ibit I main- tain that we can as littler aecouiit for me mory of the past aclioiis of a froi' ageiif, If any man Ihiidis he can prove that the acti(jns of a free agent c.innot he foreknown. 342 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay III. he will find the same arguments of equal force to prove that the past actions of a free agent cannot be remembered.* It is true, that what is past did certainly exist. It is no less true that what is future will cer- tainly exist. I know no reasoning from the constitution of the agent, or from his cir- cumstances, that has not equal strength, whether it be applied to his past or to his future actions. The past was, but now is not. The future will be, but now is not. The present is equally connected or un- connected with both. The only reason why men have appre- hended so great disparity in cases so per- fectly like, I take to be this. That the faculty of memory in ourselves convinces us from fact, that it is not impossible that an in- telligent being, even a finite being, should have certain knowledge of past actions of free agents, without tracing them from any- thing necessarily connected with them. [310] But having no prescience in our- selves corresponding to our memory of what is past, we find great difficulty in admitting it to be possible even in the Supreme Being. A faculty which we possess in some de- gree, we easily admit that the Supreme Being may possess in a more perfect degree ; but a faculty which has nothing corre- sponding to it in our constitution, we will hardly allow to be possible. We are so constituted as to have an intuitive know- leiige of many things past ; but we have no intuitive knowledge of the future. -f- We might perhaps have been so constituted as to have an intuitive knowledge of the future ; but not of the past ; nor would this consti- tution have been more unaccountable than the present, though it might be much more inconvenient. Had this been our consti- tution, we should have found no difficulty in admitting that the Deity may know all things future, but very much in admitting his knowledge of things that are past. Our original faculties are all unaccount- able. Of these memory is one. He only •who madethem, comprehends fully how they are made, and how they produce in us not only a conception, but a firm belief and assurance of things which it concerns us to know. * This is a marvellous doctrine The difficulty in the two cases is not the same. The past, as past, whether it has been Iheaction of a free agent or not, is noiv necessary ; and, though we may be unable to understand how it can be remembered, the supposi. tion of-its remembrance involves no contradiction. On the contrary, the future action of a free agent is ex hypothesi not a necessary event. Kut an event cannot be now certainly foreseen, except it is now certainly to be; and to say that what is certainli/ to be is not necessarily to be, stems a contradiction. — H. t If by intuitive be meant immediate, such a know, ledge n impossiblein either case ; for we can know neither the pa.** nor the futiire'm themselves, but only in ihe present — that i<, mediately.— H. CHAPTER in. OF DURATION. From the principles laid down in the first chapter of this Essay, I think it appears that our notion of duration, as well as our belief of it, is got by the faculty of memory. * It is essential to everything remembered that it be something which is past ; and we cannot conceive a thing to be past, without conceiving some duration, more or less, be- tween it and the present. [311] As soon therefore as we remember anything, we must have both a notion and a "belief of duration. It is necessarily suggested by every operation of our memory ; and to that faculty it ought to 'be ascribed. This is, therefore, a proper place to consider what is known concerning it. Duration, Extension, and Number, are the measures of all things subject to men- suration. When we apply them to finite things which are measured by them, they seem of all things to be the most distinctly conceived, and most within the reach of human understanding. Extension having three dimensions, has an endless variety of modifications, capable of being accurately defined ; and their various relations furnish the human mind with its most ample field of demonstrative reasoning. Duration having only one di- mension, has fewer modifications ; but these are clearly understood — and their relations admit of measure, proportion, and demon- strative reasoning. Number is called discrete quantity, be- cause it is compounded of units, which are all equal and similar, and it can only be divided into units. This is true, in some sense, even of fractions of unity, to which we now commonly give the name of num- ber. For, in every fractional number, the unit is supposed to be subdivided into a certain number of equal parts, which are the units of that denomination, and the fractions of that denomination are only di- visible into units of the same denomination. Duration and extension are not discrete, but continued quantity. They consist of parts perfectly similar, but divisible without end. In order to aid our conception of the mag- nitude and proportions of the various inter- vals of duration, we find it necessary to give a name to some known portion of it, such as an hour, a day, a year. These we con- sider as units, and, by the number of them contained in a larger interval, we form a distinct conception of its magnitude. [312] A similar expedient we find necessary to give * Reid thus apparently'makes 27me an empirical or generalized notion H. [;310-312] CHAP, III.] OF DURATION. 343 us a distinct conception of the magnitudes and proportions of things extended. Thus, number is found necessary, as a common measure of extension and duration. But this perhaps is owing to tlic weakness of our understanding. It has even been disco- vered, by the sagacity of mathematicians, that this expedient does not in all cases answer its intention. For there are pro- portions of continued quantity, which can- not be perfectly expressed by numbers ; such as that between the diagonal and side of a square, and many others. The parts of duration have to other parts of it the relations of prior and posterior, and to the present they have the relations of past and future. The notion of past is immediately suggested by memory, as has been before observed. And when we have got the notions of present and past, and of prior and posterior, we can from these frame a notion of the future ; for the future is that which is posterior to the present. Nearness and distance are relations equally applicable to time and to place. Distance in time, and distance in place, are things t-o different in their nature and so like in their relation, that it is difficult to determine whether the name of distance is applied to both in the same, or an anological sense. The extension of bodies which we per- ceive by our senses, leads us necessarily to the conception and belief of a space which remains immoveable when the body is re- moved. And the duration of events which we remerftber leads us necessarily to the conception and belief of a duration which would have gone on uniformly though the event had never happened. * Without space there can be nothing that IS extended. And without time there can be nothing that hath duration. This I thiijk undeniable ; and yet we find that ex- tension and duration are not more clear and intelligible than space and time are dark and difficult objects of contemplation, ['il-i] As there must be space wherever any- thing extended does or can exist, and time ♦ If Space and Time be necessary ^encralizationi from experience, lliis is contrary to Keid's own doc- trine, that experience can give us no nccessaty know. ledge. If, again, they be iifccssaryntid oritjinal notions, the account of their origin here {jiven, is in. correct. It^should have been said that experience is not the iource of their txliitence, but only the occrt- tion of their manifestalion. On this subject, see, inslar nmnimn, Couein on Locke, i i his " ('"urs de Philosophie," (t. ii., I.cfjnns 17 and. IH.) liiis admirable work has been well transla'ed into lOng- lish, by an American, philosopher, Mr Henry; but the eloquence and precision of tlie author Cin only be properly apprecia'ed by those who study the work in the oriftinal language. '1 he reader may, however, consult likewise Slewart's " l'hilo>opliical Kssavs." (Kssay ii.,'chap. 'J,) ^nd Itoyer Collard's " Krag. meii'f ," (IX. and x.) 'these authors, from their mo'e limitc. 3ir!, note *.— H. t Tlicy arc not I'tolinlily but neresiarily pnttlal and in;i(lo(junU'. I'or we are urmlile ixisilivily n conceive I nne or Space, eillur an Infinite, (i. <•.. without liiiiila,) or a; not inlinitc (i. <■., an liniiieU.) — II. 350 ON THE INTELF.ECTUAL POWERS. [essay III. self, and, by beings of superior perfection, may be divided into thousands of parts. [3311 I have reason to believe, that a good eye in the prime of life may see an object under an angle not exceeding half a minute of a degree, and I believe there are some human eyes still more perfect. But even this de- gree of perfection will appear great, if we consider how small a part of the retina of the eye it must be which subtends an angle of half a minute. Supposing the distance between the centre of the eye and the retina to be six or seven tenths of an inch, the subtense of an angle of half a minute to that radius, or the breadth of the image of an object seen under that angle, will not be above the ten thou- sandth part of an inch. This shews sucli a wonderful degree of accuracy in the re- fracting power of a good eye, that a pencil of rays coming from one point of the object shall meet in one point of the retina, so as not to deviate from that point the ten thousandth part of an inch. It shews, likewise, that such a motion of an object as makes its image on the retina to move the ten thousandth part of.an inch, is discern- ible by the mind. In order to judge to what degree of ac- curacy we can measure short intervals of time, it may be observed that one who has given attention to the motion of a Second pendulum, will be able to beat seconds for a minute with a very small error. When he continues this exercise long, as for five or ten minutes, he is apt to err, more even than in proportion to the time— for this reason, as I apprehend, that it is difficult to attend long to the moments as they pass, without wandering after some other object of thought. I have found, by some experiments, that a man may beat seconds for one minute, without erring above one second in the whole sixty ; and I doubt not but by long practice he might do it still more accurately. From this I think it follows, that the six- tieth part of a second of time is discernible bv the human mind. [332] CHAPTER VI. OF MR LOCKE*S ACCOUNT OF OUR PERSONAL IDENTITY. In a long chapter upon Identity and Diversity, Mr Locke has made many in- genious and just observations, and some which I think cannot be defended. I shall only take notice of the account he gives of our own Personal Identity. His doctrine upon this subject has been censured by Bishop Butler, in a short essay subjoined to his " Analogy," with whose sentiments I perfectly agree. Identity, as was observed. Chap. IV. of this Essay, supposes the continued existence of the being of which it is affirmed, and therefore can be applied only to things which have a continued existence. Wliile any being continues to exist, it is the same being : but two beings which have a different be- ginning or a different ending of their exist- ence, cannot possibly be the same. To this I think Mr Locke agrees. He observes, very justly, that to know what is meant by the same person, we must consider what the word peison stands for ; and he defines a person to be an intelligent being, endowed with reason and with con- sciousness, which last he thinks inseparable from thought. From this definition of a person, it must necessarily follow, that, while the intelligent being continues to exist and to be intelli- gent, it must be the same person. To say that the intelligent being is the person, and yet that the person ceases to exist, while the intelligent being continues, or that the person continues while the intelligent being ceases to exist, is to my apprehension a manifest contradiction. [333 J One would think that the definition of a person should perfectly ascertain the nature of personal identity, or wherein it consists, though it might still be a question how we come to know and be assured of our per- sonal identity. Mr Locke tells us, however, " that per- sonal identity — that is, the sameness of a rational being — consists in consciousness alone, and, as far as this consciousness can be extended backwards to any past action or thought, so far reaches the identity of that person. So that, whatever hath the consciousness of present and past actions, is the same person to whom they belong."* * See Essay, (Book ii. cb. 27, ?. 9.) The passage given as a quotation in the .text, is the sum of Locke's doctrine, but not exactly in his words. Long before Butler, to whom the merit is usually ascribed, Li cke's doctrine of Personal Identity had been attai keo and refuted. This was done even by his earliest critic, John Sergeant, whose words, as he is.an author wholly unknown to all historians of phi. losophy, and his works of the rarest, I shall quote. He thus argues : — ■' The former distinction forelaid, he ( Locke) proceeds to makepersonal identUy in man to Consist in the consciousness that we are the same thinkinfl thinfj in differeyit times and^places. He proves it, because consciousness is inseparable from thinking, and, as it seems to him, essential to it. Perhaps he may have had second thoughts, since he writ his 19th Chapter, where, ^ 4, he thought it jirobable that Thinking is but the action, and not the essence of the soul. His reason here is — ' Because 'tis impossible for any to perceive, without perceiving that he does perceive,' which I have shewn above to be so far from impossible, that the contrary is such. B'Jt, to speak to the point : Consciousness of any action or other accident we have now, or have had, is nothing but our knowledj;e that it belonged to us ; and, since we both -agree that we have no .innate knowledges, it follows, that all, both actual and habi. i lual knowledges, which we have, are acquired orac- [331 3.331 CHAP. VI.] LOCKE'S ACCOUNT OF OUR. PERSONAL IDENTITY. 351 This doctrine hath some strange conse- quences, which the author was aware of, Such as, that, if the same consciousness can be transferred from one intelligent being to another, which he tliinks we cannot shew to be impossible, then two or twenty intel- ligent beings may be the same person. And if the intelligent being may lose the con- sciousness of the actions done by him, which surely is possible, then he is not the person that did those actions ; so that one intelli- gent being may be two or twenty different persons, if he shall so often lose the con- sciousness of his former' actions. There is another consequence of this doctrine, which follows no less necessarily, though Mr Locke probably did not see it. It is, that a man may be, and at the same time not be, the person that did a particular action. Suppose a brave officer to have been flogged when a boy at school, for robbing an orchard, to have taken a standard from the enemy in his first campaign, and to have been made a general in advanced life : Sup- pose also, which must be admitted to be possible, that, when he took the standard, cidental to the subject or knower. Wherefores the man, or that thi»ij which: is to be the knoirer, must have had indtviduality or pcrsonaliti/, from other principles, antecedaitly to this knoivledpc, called consciousness : and, consequently, he ivill retain his identity, or continue the sayne man, or (which- is equivalent) the same person, as lonp as he has those itidividuatintj principles, \\'hat tliose principles are which constitute this mari; or this knowing -indici- duum, I have shewn above, ^ ^ 6, 7. It being then most evident, t}tat a man must he the same, ere he can knoie or be conscious that he is the same, all his laborious dcscsnts and extravagant consequences which are built upon this supposition, that conscious- ness individuates the person, can need no farther refutation." '1 he fame objection was also made by Leibnitz in his strictures on Locke's Essay. Inter alia, he says — " Pour ce qui est du soi i! sera ben de le (iislinguer de I'appiirence du soi et de laconsciosite Le soi fait ridentit^ rcelle ct physique, et lajiparcnce du soi, accompagnee de la verite, yjnint I'identitepersonelle. Ainsi ne voulant point dire, que Tidentite personellc nes'etei d pas plus loin que le si puvenirjedirois encore Dioins que le soi ou I'identite i hysque en depend. L'identite reelect personeilescprouvelepluscertain- inenl qu'il se.peut en matiOrc de (ait, par la reflexion presenteet immediate; die sepronve.vuffisament pour i'ordinairc par notre souvenir d'lntcrvalle ou par le temeignage cotispirant des autres. Mais si Dicu changeoit extraordinairment I'idontite reele, lapcr- sonelle demeuroit, pourvu qne I'homme conservat les apparenccs d'idenlite, tant les internes, {c'esfti dire de la conscience,) que lesextcrnes, commecclles qui consistent dans ce qui paroit aux autres. Ainsi la conscience n'est pas le seul moyen'ile constitucr l'identite pii«onclle, et le rapport d'autrui ou mime d'autresmarqClesy peuvent supplier. Mais ilyadcla difficult(-, s'il BC trnuvc contradiclion entrecesdivei. «e« apparc' cc'v. La conscience m- peut tairc coinme dans i'oubll ; maissi elle disoit hiin clairment des rhoscs, qui tuspent contraircsaiix autres apparcnres, on seroit emharasst dans la decision et conime sus. pendO qiielqucs fois entre deux uossibilites, cellede I'trrcur du noire souvenir ( t relic de quelque decep. tion dans les apparcnces extcrnef." For the Ik'H criticism of Ix)ck<''s doctrine of I'ersn. nal Identity, I may, however, reler the reader to IM. Cousin's "Court de Fhiloiophic," t. ii., Lei;on xviii., p. I!<0-H(H.— H. [.S31-, 3;}.5] he was conscious of his having been flogged at school, and that when'made a general he was conscious of his taking the standard, but had absolutely lost the consciousness of his flogging. [334] These things being supposed, it follows, from Mr Locke's doctrine, that he who was flogged at school is the same jierson who took the standard, and that he whotoi-kthe standard is the same person who was made a general. Whence it follows, if there be any truth in logic, that the general is the same person with him who was flogged at school. But the general's consciousness does not reach so far back as his flogging — therefore, according to Mr Locke's doctrine, he is not the person who was flogged. Therefore, the general is, and at the same time is not the same person with him who was flogged at school.* Leaving the consequences of this doctrine to those who have leisure to trace them, we may observe, with regard to the doctrine itself— First, That Mr Locke attributes to con- sciousness the conviction we have of our past actions, as if a man may now be con- scious of what he did twenty years ago. It is impossible to understand the meaning of this, unless by consciousness be meant memory, theonly faculty by which wehavean immediate knowledge of our past actions.-f- Sometimes, in popular discourse, a man says he is conscious that he did such a thing, meaning that he distinctly remembers that he did it. It is unnecessary, in com- mon discourse, to fix accurately the limits between consciousness and memory. This was formerly shewn to be the case with re- gard to sense and memory : and, therefore, distinct remembrance is sometimes called sense, sometimes consciousness, without any inconvenience. But this ought to be avoided in philoso- phy, otherwise we confound the difleront l)owers of the mind, and ascribe to one what really belongs to another. If a man can be conscious of what he did twenty years or twenty minutes ago, there is no use for memory, nor ought we to allow tliat there is any such faculty. [335] The faculties of consciousness and memory are chiefly dis- tinguished by this, that the first is an im- mediate knowledge of tliejirosent, the second an immediate knowledge of the past. J Wlicn, therefore, Mr Locke's notion of * Compare Huffier's " Traitddes prt'micres Vi'rilez," ( Ihinnrques sur Locke, J 5(6,; who niakesw similar criticism. — H. t Locke, ii.will he remembered, does not, like Iteid, view con.-ciousiicss ns aco-ordinate faculty with memory; but under coiifciousniss he proprrlv com- prehends the various Incullies as so •many «\ieci;J modifications, — M. f As already Iriquently stated, an imvicdiott knowledge ol the yictMskcontradirtory. I Iih ob. servatioii I cannot again repeat. See Note I). — II. 352 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay hi. personal identity is properly expressed, it is that personal identity consists in distinct remembrance ; for, even in the popular sense, to say that I am conscious of a past action, means nothing else than that I dis- tinctly remember that I did it. Secondli/, It may be observed, that, in this doctrine, not only is consciousness con- founded with memory, but, which is still more strange, personal identity is confounded with the evidence which we have of our personal identity. It is very true that my remembrance that I did such a thing is the evidence I have that I am the identical person who did it. And this, I am apt to think, Mr Locke meant. But, to say that my remembrance that I did such a thing, or my conscious- ness, makes me the person who did it, is, in my apprehension, an absurdity too gross to be entertained by any man who attends to the meaning of it ; for it is to attribute to memory or consciousness, a strange magi- cal power of producing its object, though that object must have existed before the memory or consciousness which produced it. Consciousness is the testimony of one faculty ; memory is the testimony of another faculty. And, to say that the testimony is the cause of the thing testified, this surely is absurd, if anything be, and could not have been said by Mr Locke, if he had not confounded the testimony with the thing testified. When a horse that was stolen is found and claimed by the owner, the only evidence he can have, or that a judge or witnesses can have that this is the very identical horse which was his property, is similitude, [336] But would it not be ridiculous from this to infer that the identity of a horse consists in similitude only ? The only evidence I have that I am the identical person who did such actions is, that I remember distinctly I did them ; or, as Mr Locke expresses it, I am conscious I did them. To infer from this, that personal identity consists in conscious- ness, is an argument which, if it had any force, would prove the identity of a stolen horse to consist solely in similitude. Thinlhj, Is it not strange that the same- ness or identity of a person should consist in a thing which is continually changing, and is not any two minutes the same ? Our consciousness, our memory, and every operation of the mind, are still flow- ing, like the water of a river, or like time itself. The consciousness I have this moment can no more be the same conscious- ness I had last moment, than this moment can be the last moment. Identity can only be affirmed of things which have a continued existence. Consciousness, and every kind of thought, is transient and momentary, and iias no continued existence ; and, there- fore, if personal identity consisted in con- sciousness, it would certainly follow that no man is the tame person any two moments of his life ; and, as the right and justice of reward and punishment is founded on per- sonal identity, no man could be responsible for his actions. But, though I take this to be the una- voidable consequence of Mr Locke's doc- trine concerning personal identity, and though some persons may have liked the doctrine the better on this account, I am far from imputing anything of this kind to Mr Locke. He was too good a man not to have rejected with abhorrence a doctrine which he believed to draw this consequence after it. [337] Fourthly, There are many expressions used by Mr Locke, in speaking of personal identity, which, to me, are altogether unin- telligible, unless we suppose that he con- founded that sameness or identity which we ascribe to an individual, with the identity which, in common discourse, is often ascribed to many individuals of the same species. When we say that pain and pleasure, consciousness and memory, are the same in all men, this sameness can only mean simi- larity, or sameness of kind ; but, that the pain of one man can be the same individual pain with that of another man, is no les3 impossible than that one man should be another man ; the pain felt by me yester- day can no more be the pain I feel to-day, than yesterday can be this day; and the same thing may be said of every passion and of every operation of the mind. The same kind or species of operation may be in diff'erent men, or in the same man at different times ; but it is impossible that the same individual operation-should be in dif- ferent men, or in the same mam at different times. When Mr Locke, therefore, speaks of " the same consciousness being continued through a succession of different substances ;" when he speaks of " repeating the idea of a past action, witli the same consciousness we had of it at the first," and of " the same con- sciousness extending to actions past and to come" — these expressions are to me unin- telligible, unless he means not the same in- dividual consciousness, but a consciousness that is similar, or of the same kind. If our personal identity consists in con- sciousness, as this consciousness cannot be the same individually any two moments, but only of the same kind, it would follow that we are *,not for any two moments the same individual persons, but the same kind of persons. As our consciousness sometimes ceases to exist, as in sound sleep, our personal identity must cease with it. Mr Locke allows, that the same thing cannot have [336, 337] CHAP. VII ] THEORIES CONCERNING MEMORY. 353 two begiunin<;s of existence ; so that our identity would be irrecoverably gone every time we cease to think, if it was but lor a a moment.* [338] CHAPTER VII. THEORIES CONCERNING MEMORY. The common tlieory of ideas — that is, of images in the brain or in the mind, of all the objects of thought— has been very generally applied to account for the facul- ties of memory and imagination, as well as that of perception by the senses. The sentiments of the Peripatetics are expressed by Alexander Aphrodisiensis, one of the earliest Greek commentators on Aristotle, in these words, as they are trans- lated by Mr Harris in his " Hermes :" — " Now, what Phancy or Imagination is, we may explain as follows : — We may conceive to be formed within us, from the operations of our senses about sensible objects, some Im- pression, as it were, or Picture, in our origi- nal Seusorium, being a relict of that motion caused within us by the external object ; a relict which, when the external object is no longer present, remains, and is still preserved, being, as it were, its Image, * It is here proper to insert Reid's remarks on Personal Identity, as published by Lord Karnes, in his " Essays on the Principlesof Morality and Natural Religion," (third edition, p. 2(4.) 'Jhcse, perhaps, might have more appropriately lound their place in the ("orrespondeiice ot our Author. " To return to our subject," says his Lordship, " Mr Locke, writing on personal identity, has fallen short of his usual accuracy. Heinadvertentlyjumbles together the irieniily that is na'ure's work, with our knowledtieol it. Nay, hecxpres^es himsell some, times as if identity had no other foundation than that knowled(;e. I am favoured by IJr Kcid with the following thoughts on personal identity : — '" All men agiee that personality i< indivisiblo ; a part of a peisoii IS an absurdity. A man who loses his estate, his health, an arm, or a leg, continues sti 1 to bethe same person. My personal identity, then fore, is the continued existence of that indivisible thing which 1 call myself. 1 am not ilnughl ; 1 am not action ; I ?m not feeling; but I think, and act, and feel. Thoughts, actions, feeling's, change every moment; but ,«■ that I have the knowledge ot my pergonal identity, yet jier- KOnal identity must exist in nature, iiwiepnident of memory ; otherwise, I should only be the same per. unn as far as my memory servos me , and what would beco I e of my existence during the intervals wherein my tneiiiory has failed me ? My rememberaiiieot any I t my nc'.ion» does noi make me to be the person wlio did the action, but only makes inc know that I was the per^on who did it. And yet it wss Mr I/icke's opiiiion, that my remembranc of an action is what makes mi to be the person wliodid it; a pregnant insta' ce that even mm of the greatest genius may ioineiiinea 'all into an atisunlity. Is it not an obvious corollary, Irom Mr Locke's opinion, fliat he never was Ixitii ? He could not remeinbir his birth ; and, thcrclore, was not the pereon born at such a place and at such a time.'"— H. and which, by being thus preserved, be- comes the cause of our having Memory. Now, such a sort of relict, and, as it were, impression, they call Phancy or Imagina- tion."* Another passage from Alcinous Of the Doctrines of Plato, chap. 4, shews the agree- ment of the ancient Platonists and Peripa- tetics in this theory : — " When the form or type of things is imprinted on the mind by the organs of the senses, and so imprinted as not to be deleted by time, but preserved firm and lasting, its preservation is called Memory."* [339] Upon this principle, Aristotle imputes the shortness of memory in children to this cause — that their brain is too moist and soft to retain impressions made upon it : and the defect of memory in old men he imputes, on the contrary, to the hardness and rigidity of the brain, which hinders its receiving any durable impression. -f- This ancient theory of the cause of memory is defective in two respects : First, If the cause assigned did really exist, it by no means accounts for the phoenomenon ; and, secondly. There is no evidence, nor even probability, that that cause exists. It is probable that in perception some impression is made upon the brain as well as upon the organ and nerves, because all the nerves terminate in the brain, and be- cause disorders and hurts of the brain are found to affect our powers of perception when the external organ and nerve are found ; but we are totally ignorant of the nature of this impression upon the brain : it can have no resemblance to the object perceived, nor does it in any degree ac- count for that sensation and perception which are consequent upon it. These things have been argued in the second Essay, and shall now be taken for granted, to prevent repetition. If the impression upon the brain be insuf- ficient to account for the perception of ob- jects that are present, it can as little account for the memory of those that are past. So that, if it were certain that the im- pressions made on the brain in perception remain as long as there is any memory of the object, all that could be inferred from this, is, that, by the laws of Natin-e, there is a connection established between that im- pression, and the retnemberance of that object. But how the impression contributes * The inference founded on these passages, i««lto. gelher erroneous. See Note K. — H. t In ihis whole statement Held i« wrong. In the [338,3391 354 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essav in. to this remembrance, we should be quite ignorant ; it being impossible to discover how thought of any kind should be pro- duced, by an impression on the brain, or upon any part of the body. [340] To say that this impression is memory, ia absurd, if understood literally. If it is only meant that it is the cause of memory, it ought to be shewn how it produces this effect, otherwise memory remains as unac- countable as before. If a philosopher should undertake to ac- count for the force of gunpowder in the discharge of a musket, and then tell us gravely that the cause of this phsenomenon is the drawing of the trigger, we should not be much wiser by this account. As little are we instructed in the cause of memory, by being told that it is caused by a certain impression on the brain. For, supposing that impression on the brain were as neces- sary to memory as the drawing of the trigger is to the discharge of the musket, we are still as ignorant as we were how memory is produced ; so that, if the cause of memory, assigned by this theory, did really exist, it does not in any degree account for memory. Another defect in this theory is, that there is no evidence nor probability that the cause assigned does exist ; that is, that the impression made upon the brain in per- ception remains after the object is removed. That impression, whatever be its nature, is caused by the impression made by the object upon the organ of sense, and upon the nerve. Philosophers suppose, without any evidence, that, when the object is re- moved, and the impression upon the organ and nerve ceases, the impression upon the brain continues, and is permanent ; that is, that, when the cause is removed, the effect continues. The brain surely does not ap- pear more fitted to retain an impression than the organ and nerve. But, granting that the impression upon the brain continues after its cause is re- moved, its effects ought to continue while it continues ; that is, the sensation and perception should be as permanent as the impression upon the brain, which is sup- posed to be their cause. But here again the philosopher makes a second supposition, with as little evidence, but of a contrary nature — to wit, that, while the cause re- mains, the effect ceases. [34 1 ] If this should be granted also, a third must be made — That the same cause which at first produced sensation and perception, does afterwards produce memory — an opera- tion essentially different, both from sensa- tion and perception. A fourth supposition must be made — That this cause, though it be permanent, does not produce its effect at all times ; it must be like an inscription which is some- times covered with rubbish, and on other occasions made legible ; for the memory of things is often interrupted for a long time, and circumstances bring to our recollection what had been long forgot. After all, many things are remembered which were never perceived by the senses, being no objects of sense, and therefore which could make no impression upon the brain by means of the senses. Thus, when philosophers have piled one supposition upon another, as the giants piled the mountains in order to scale the heavens, all is to no purpose — memory remains unac- countable ; and we know as little how we remember things past, as how we are con- scious of the present. But here it is proper to observe, that, although impressions upon the brain give no aid in accounting for memory, yet it is very probable that, in the human frame, memory is dependent on some proper state or temperament of the brain.* Although the furniture of our memory bears no resemblance to any temperament of brain whatsoever, as indeed it is impos- sible it should, yet nature may have sub- jected us to this law, that a certain consti- tution or state of the brain is necessary to memory. That this is really the case, many well-known facts lead us to con- clude. [342] It is possible that, by accurate observa- tion, the proper means may be discovered of preserving that temperament of the brain which is favourable to memory, and of remedying the disorders of that tempera- ment. This would be a very noble im- provement of the medical art. But, if it should ever be attained, it would give no aid to understand how one state of the brain assists memory, and another hurts it. I know certainly, that the impression made upon my hand by the prick of a pin occasions acute pain. But can any philo- sopher shew how this cause produces the effect ? The nature of the impression is here perfectly known ; but it gives no help to understand how that impression affects the mind ; and, if we knew as distinctly that state of the brain which causes memory, we should still be as ignorant as before how that state contributes to memory. We might have been so constituted, for anything that I know, that the prick of a pin in the hand, instead of causing pain, should cause remembrance ; nor would that constitution be more unaccountable than the present. The body and mind operate on each other, * Nothing more was meant by the philosopher in question, than that memory is, as Reid himself ad. mits, dependent on a certain state ot the brain, and on some unknown effect determined in it, to w'lich they gave the metaphorical name — impression, trace, type, &c.— H. [340-31-21 CHAP. Vll.] THEORIES CONCERNING iMEMORY. 355 according to fixed I'aws of nature ; and it is the business of a philosopher to discover those laws by observation and experiment : but, when lie has discovered them, he must rest in them as facts whose cause is in- scrutable to the human understanding. Mr Locke, and those who have followed him, speak with more reserve than the ancients,* and only incidentally, of impres- sions on the brain as the cause of memory, and impute it rather to our retaining in our minds the ideas got either by sensation or retlection. This, Mr Locke says, may be done two ways-^" First, By keeping tlie idea for some time actually in view, which is called C07i- temp/atiuu ; Secondly, By the power to re- vive again in our minds those ideas which, after imprinting, have disappeared, or have been, as it were, laid out ot sight ; and this is memory, which is, as it were, the store- house of our ideas." [343] To explain this' more distinctly, he imme- diately adds the following observation : " But our ideas being nothing but actual perceptions in the mind, which cease to be anything when there is no perception of them, this laying up of our ideas in the repository of the memory signifies no more but this, that the mind has a power, in many cases, to revive perceptions which it once had, with this additional perception annexed to them, that it has had them before; and in this sense it is, that our ideas are said to be in our memories, when indeed they are actually nowhere; but only there is an ability in the mind, when it will, to revive them again, and, as it were, paint them anew upon itself, though some with more, some with less difficulty, some more lively, and others more obscurely." In this account of memory, the repeated use of the phrase, as it were, leads one to judge that it is partly figurative; we must therefore endeavour to distinguish the fitru- ralive part from the philosophical. The first, being addressed to the imagination, exhibits a picture of memory, which, to have its efiect, must be viewed at a proper distance and from a particular point of view. The second, being addressed to the understanding, ought to bear a near inspec- tion and a critical examination. The analogy between memory and a re- pository, and between remembering and retaining, is obvious, and is to be found in all languages, it being very natural to ex- press the operations of the mind by images taken from things material. But, in phi- losophy we ought to draw aside the veil of imagery, and to view them naked. When, therefore, memory is said to be a repository or storehouse of ideas, where they I* 'Ihvt iaiiardljr correct. [34.3-. 3i5 J Set" Notf K.— II. are laid up when not perceived, and again brought forth as there is occasion, I take this to be popular and rhetorical. [344] For the author tells us, that when they ure not perceived, they are nothing, and no- where, and therefore can neither be laid up in a repository, nor drawn out of it. But we are told, " That this laying up of our ideas in the repository of the memory signifies no more than this, that the mind has a power to revive perceptions, which it once had, with this additional perception annexed to them, that it has had them before." This, I think, must be understood literally and philosophically. But it seems to me as difficult to revive things that have ceased to be anything, as to lay them up in a repository, or to bring them out of it. When a thing is once annihilated, the same thing cannot be again produced, though another thing similar to it may. Mr Locke, in another place, acknowledges that the same thing cannot have two beginnings of existence ; and that things that have different beginnings are not the same, but diverse. From this it follows, that an ability to revive our ideas or perceptions, after they have ceased to be, can signify no more but an ability to create new ideas or perceptions similar to those we had before. They are said " to be revived, with this additional perception, that we have had thera before." 'I'his surely would be a fallacious perception, since they could not have two beginnings of existence : nor could we be- lieve them to have two beginnings of exist- ence. We can only believe that we had formerly ideas or perceptions very like to them, though not identically the same. But w hether we perceive them to be the same, or only like to those we had before, this perception, one would think, sujtposes a remembrance of those we had before, other- wise the similitude or identity coidd not be perceived. Another phrase is used to explain this reviving of our perceptions — " The mind, as it were, ]>aints them anew upon itself.'' [345] There may be someihing figurative in this ; but, niaicing due allowance for that, it must imply that the -mind, which paints the things that have ceased to exist, must have the memory of what they were, since every painter nmst have a copy either before his eye, or in his imagination and memory. These remarks upon Mr Locke's account of memory are intended to shew that his system of ideas gives no light to this facidty, but rather tends to darken it ; as little does it make us understand how we remember, and liy that means have tiie certain know- leJ It seems, then, that we find, by experience, a thing which is impossiljle- We are im- posed upon by our experience, and made to believe contradictions. Perhaps it may be said, that these dif- ferent appearances of the impression are not to be understood literally, br.t figuratively; that the impression is personified, and made to appear at different times and in dittcrent haljits, when no more is meant b.it that an imjire.ssion apjiearsjit one time ; afterwards a thing of a middle nature, between an im- pression and an idea, which we call memory ; f.3tH-3.y)] ♦ .Sire Note D.—H. and, last of all, a perfect idea, which we call imagination : that this figurative meaning agrees best with tlie last sentence of the period, where we are told that memory and imagination are faculties, whereby we repeat our impresions in a more or less lively manner. To repeat an impression is a figur- ative way of speaking, which signifies maldng a new impression similar to the former. If, to avoid the absurdity implied in the literal meaning, we understand the philo- sopher in this figurative one, then his defini- tions of memory and imagination, when stripped of the figurative dress, will amount to this. That memory is the faculty of making a weak impression, and imagination the fiiculty of making an impression still weaker, after a corresponding strong one. These definitions of memory and imagina- tion labour under two defects : First, That they convey no notion of the thing defined ; and, Secondli/, That they may be applied to things of a quite different nature from those that are defined. When we are said to have a faculty of making a weak impression after a corre- sponding strong one, it would not be easy to conjecture that this faculty is memory. Suppose a man strikes his head smartly against the wall, this is an impression ; now, he has a faculty by which he can repeat this impression with less force, so as not to hurt him : this, by Mr Hume's account, must be memory. [350] He has a faculty by which he can just touch the wall with his head, so that the impres- sion entirely loses its vivacity. This surely must be imagination ; at least, it comes as near to the definition given of it by Mr Hume as anything I can conceive. Thirdly, We may observe, that, when we are told that we have a faculty of repeating our impressions in a more or less lively manner, this im])lics that we are the effi- cient causes of our ideas of memory and imagination ; but this contradicts what the autiior says a little before, where he proves, liy what he calls a convincing argument, tliat impressions are the cause of their cor- responding ideas. The argument that proves tills had need, indeed, to be very con- vincing ; whether we make the idea to be a second appearance of the im]>ression, or a new impression similar to the former. Ifthe first bo true, then the impression is the cause of itself. If the second then the impression, after it is gone and has no existence, ])roduccs the idea. Such arc the mysteries of Mr Hume's i>hi!o.s()](hy. It may be observed, that the connnon system, I hat ideas are the only immediate objects of thought, leads to Hcejiticism witJi regard to memory, as well as with roganl to tlie obj(!CtH of sense, wholhcr timMo ideas are placed Lu the minil or in tlio brain. 358 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS, []kSSAY 111. Ideas are said to be things internal and present, which have no existence but during the moment they are in the mind. The objects of sense are things external, which hai^e a continued existence. When it is maintained that all that we immediately perceive is only ideas or phantasms, how can we, from the existence of those phan- tasms, conclude the existence of an external world corresponding to them ? This difficult question seems not to have occurred to the Peripatetics. * Des Cartes saw the difficulty, and endeavoured to find out arguments by which, from the existence of our phantasms or ideas, we might infer the existence of external objects. [361] The same course was followed by Malebranche, Arnauld, and Locke ; but Berkeley and Hume easily refuted all their arguments, and demonstrated that there is no strength in them. The same difficulty with regard to mem- ory naturally arises from the system of ideas ; and the only reason why it was not observed by philosophers, is, because they give less attention to the memory than to the senses ; for, since ideas are things pre- sent, how can we, from our having a certain idea presently in our mind, conclude that an event really happened ten or twenty years ago, corresponding to it ? There is the same need of arguments to prove, that the ideas of memory are pictures of things that really did happen, as that the ideas of sense are pictures of external objects which now exist. In both cases, it will be impossible to find any argument that has real weight. So that this hypothesis leads us to absolute scepticism, with regard to those things which we most distinctly re- member, no less than with regard to the external objects of sense. It does not appear to have occurred either to Locke or to Berkeley, that their system has the same tendency to overturn the tes- timony of memory as the testimony of the senses. Mr Hume saw farther than both, and found this consequence of the system of ideas perfectly corresponding to his aim of establishing universal scepticism. His sys- stem is therefore more consistent than theirs, and the conclusions agree better with the premises. But, if we should grant to Mr Hume that our ideas of memory afford no just ground to believe the past existence of things which we remember, it may still be asked. How it * This is not correct. See above, p. 285, note t- To that note I may add, that no orthodox Catholic could be an Idealist. It was only the doctrine of transsubstantiation that prevented Malebranche from pre-occupying the theory of Berkeley and Collier, which was in fact his own, with the transcendent reality of a material world left out, as a Protestant hors d'lTHvre. This, it is curious, has never been observed. See Note P. — H. comes to pass that perception and memory are accompanied with belief, while bare ima- gination is not ? Though this belief can- not be justified upon his system, it ought to be accounted for as a phaeuomenon of hu- man nature. [352] This he has done, by giving us a new theory of belief in general ; a theory which suits very well with that of ideas, and seems to be a natural consequence of it, and which, at the same time, reconciles all the belief that we find in human nature to perfect scepticism. What, then, is this belief? It must either be an idea, or some modification of an idea ; we conceive many things which we do not believe. The idea of an object is the same whether we believe it to exist, or barely conceive it. The belief adds no new idea to the conception ; it is, therefore, no- thing but a modification of the idea of the thing believed, or a different manner of conceiving it. Hear himself : — " All the perceptions of the mind are of two kinds, impressions and ideas, which differ from each other only in their different degrees of force and vivacity. Our ideas are copied from our impressions, and repre- sent them in all their parts. When you would vary the idea of a particular object, you can only increase or diminish its force and vivacity. If you make anyother change upon it, it represents a different object or impression. The case is the same as in colours. A particular shade of any colour may acquire a new degree of liveliness or brightness, without any other variation ; but, when you produce any other variation, it is no longer the same shade or colour. So that, as belief does nothing but vary the manner in which we conceive any object, it can only bestow on our ideas an additional force and vivacity. An opinion, therefore, or belief, may be most accurately defined a lively idea, related to or associated with a present impression.'' This theory of belief is very fruitful of consequences, which Mr Hume traces with his usual acuteness, and brings into the service of his system. [353] A great part of his system, indeed, is built upon it ; and it is of itself sufficient to prove what he calls his hypothesis, " that belief is more properly an act of the sensitive than of the cogitative part of our natures." It is very difficult to examine this ac- count of belief with the same gravity with which it is proposed. It puts one in mind of the ingenious account given by Martinus Scriblerus of the power of syllo- gism, by making the major the male, and the minor the female, which, being couplea by the middle term, generate the conclusion. There is surely no science in which men oi great parts and ingenuity have fal?en into CHAP. Vll.] THEORIES CONCERNING MEMORY. 359 such gross absurdities as in treating of the powers of the mind. I caujiot help think- ing that never anything more absurd was gravely maintained by any philosopher, than this account of the nature of belief, and of the distinction of perception, memory, and imagination. The belief of a proposition is an opera- tion of mind of which every man is con- scious, and what it is he understands per- fectly, though, on account of its simplicity, he cannot give a logical definition of it. If he compares it with strength or vivacity of his ideas, or with any modification of ideas, they are so far from appearing to be one and the same, that they have not the least similitude. That a strong belief and a weak belief differ only in degree, I can easily compre- hend ; but that belief and no belief should differ only in degree, no man can believe who understands what he speaks. For this is, in reality, to say that something and nothing differ only in degree ; or, that nothing is a degree of something. Every proposition that may be the ob- ject of belief, has a contrary proposition that may be the object of a contrary belief. The ideas of both, according to Mr Hume, are the same, and differ only in degrees of vivacity — that is, contraries differ only in degree ; and so pleasure may be a degree of pain, and hatred a degree of love. [354] But it is to no purpose to trace the absurd- ities that follow from this doctrine, for none of them can be more absurd than the doc- trine itself. Every man knows perfectly what it is to see an object with his eyes, what it is to remember a past event, and what it is to conceive a thing which has no existence. That these are quite different operations of liis mind, he is as certain as that sound differs from colour, and both from taste ; ijnd I can as easily believe that sound, and colour, and taste differ only in degree, as that seeing, and remembering, and imagin- ing, differ only in degree. Mr Hume, in the third volume of his " Treatise of Human Nature," is sensible that his theory of belief is liable to strong objections, and seems, in some measure, to retract it ; but in what measure, it is not easy to say. He seems still to think that belief is only a modification of the idea ; but that vivacity is not a proper term to express that modification. Instead of it, he uses some analogical ]>hrasos, to ex|>l:iin that modification, such as " apprehending the idea more strongly, or taking faster hold of it." 'I'liere is nothing more meritorious in a philosopher tliau to r<'tract an error upon conviction ; but, in this instance, J hum- bly ajipreliend Mr Hume claims that nierit |:{.ii-;{.i(n upon too shght a ground. For I cannot perceive that the apprehending an idea more strongly, or taking faster hold of it, expresses any other modification of the idea than what was before expressed by its strength and vivacity, or even that it ex- presses the same modification more pro- perly. Whatever modification of the idea he makes belief to be, whether its vivacity, or some other without a name, to make perception, memory, and imagination to be the different degrees of that modification, is chargeable with the absurdities we have mentioned. Before we leave this subject of memory, it is proper to take notice of a distinction which Aristotle makes between memory and reminiscence, because the distinction lias a real foundation in nature, though in our language, I think, we do not distinguish them by different names. [355] Memory is a kind of habit which is not always in exercise with regard to things we remember, but is ready to suggest them when there is occasion. The most perfect degree of this habit is, when the thing pre- sents itself to our remembrance spontane- ously, and without labour, as often as there is occasion. A second degree is, when the thing is forgot for a longer or shorter time, even when there is occasion to remember it ; yet, at last, some incident brings it to mhid without any search. A third degree is, when we cast about and search for what we would remember, and so at last find it out. It is this last, I think, which Ari- stotle calls reminiscence, as distinguished from memory. Reminiscence, therefore, includes a will to recollect something past, and a search for it. But here a difficulty occurs. It may be said, that what we will to remember we must conceive, as there can be no will with- out a ccnceptica of the thing willed. A will to remember a thing, therefore, seems to imply that we rememlur it already, and have no occasion to search for it. But this difficulty is easily removed. When we will to remember a thing, we nnist remember something relating to it, which gives us a relative conception of it ; but we may, at the same time, have no conception what the thing is, but only what relation it bears to something else. Thus, I remember that a friend charged me with a commission to be executed at such a pl:u-c ; but 1 have forgot what the commission was. By ai>piying my thought to what 1 remember conci-rning it, that it was given by sni-li a i)erson, upon such an occasion, in consiMiumcf scndi, have not attended to the distinction. The word* Conception, Concept, Notion, should be limited to the thought of what cannot be represented in the imagin. ation, as. the thou^jht .suggested by a general term. The Lcibnitzians call this symbolical in contras-tto intuitive knowledge. This is the sense 'in which conceptio-awi conceptus have been usu;illy and cor- rectly employed. Wr Stewart, on the other hand, arbitratily limits Conception to the reproduction, in imagination, of an object rf jense as actually per. ceived. See Elements, vol. 1., ch. iii. I cannot enter on a genetal criticism of Reid's nomenclature, thrugh I may say something more of this in the sequel. See below, under pp. 371, 48^. — H. t In this countrij should be added, l.ocke only introduced into En] Setting aside those creatures of imagina- tion, there are other concejjtions, wliicli may be called copies, because they have an original or archetype to which they refer, and with which tliey are believed to agree ; ai.d we call tlicni true or fal^e cunceplions, according as tlicy agree or disagree with the standard to wliicli tliey are referred. These are of two kinds, which have dillereut standards or originals. 'I'lie fir.\t kiiiil is analogous to pictures taken from the life. We have conceptionB (if individual things tliat nally exist, snch 364 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. Les«ay )V. 5S the city of London, or the government of Venice. Here the things conceived are the originals ; and our conceptions are called true when they agree with the thing con- ceived. Thus, my conception of the city of London is true, when I conceive it to be what it really is. Individual things which really exist, being the creatures of God, (though some of them may receive their outward form from man,) he only who made them knows their whole nature ; we know them but in part, and therefore our conceptions of them must in all cases be imperfect and inade- quate ; yet they may be true and just, as far as they reach. The second kind is analogous to the copies which the painter makes from pictures done before. Such I think are the conceptions we have of what the ancients called univer- eals ; that is, of things which belong or may belong to many individuals. These are kinds and species of things ; such as man or elephant, which are species of substances; wisdom or courage, which are species of qualities ; equality or similitude, which are species of relations.* It may be asked — J'rom what original are these conceptions formed ? And when are they said to be true or false? [367] It appears to me, that the original from which they are copied — that is, the thing conceived — is the conception or meaning which other men, who understand the langua;^e, affix to the same words. Things are parcelled into kinds and sorts, not by nature, but by men. The individual things we are connected with, are so many, that to give a proper name to every indi- vidual would be impossible. We could never attain the knowledge of them that is necessary, nor converse and reason about them, without sorting them according to the> different attributes. Those that agree in certain attributes are thrown into one parcel, and have a general name given them, which belongs equally to every indi- vidual in that parcel. This common name must therefore signify those attributes which have been observed to be common to every individual in that parcel, and no- thing else. That such general words may answer their intention, all that is necessary is, that those who use them should affix the same meaning or notion — that is, the same con- ception to them. The common meaning is the standard by which such conceptions are formed, and they are said to be trye or * Of all such we can have no adequate imagination. A universal, when represented in imagination, is no longer adequate, no longer a universal. We. cannot have an imafje of Horse, b'ltonly of some individual of that species We may, however, have a notion or conception of it. See below, p. 48^. — H. false according as they agree or disagree with it. Thus, my conception of felony is true and just, when it agrees with the meaning of that word in the laws relating to it, and in authors who understand the law. The meaning of the word is the thing conceived ; and that meaning is the conception affixed to it by those who best understand the language. An individual is expressed in languaga either by a proper name, or by a general word joined to such circumstances as dis- tinguish that individual from all others ; if it is unknown, it may, when an object of sense, and within reach, be pointed out to the senses ; when beyond the reach of the senses, it may be ascertained by a descrip- tion, which, though very imperfect, may be true, and sufficient to distinguish it from every other individual. Hence it is, that, in speaking of individuals, we are very little in danger of mistaking the object, or tak- ing one individual for another. [368] Yet, as was before observed, our concep- tion of them is always inadequate and lame. They are the creatures of God, and there are many things belonging to them which we know not, and which cannot be deduced by reasoning from what we know. They have a real essence, or constitution of nature, from which all their qualities flow ; but this essence our faculties do not com- j)rehend. They are therefore incapable of definition ; for a definition ought to com- prehend the whole nature or essence of the thing defined. Thus, Westminster Bridge is an indi- vidual object ; though I had never seen or heard of it before, if I am only made to conceive that it is a bridge from West- minster over the Thames, this concep- tion, however imperfect, is true, and is sufficient to make me distinguish it, when it is mentioned, from every other object that exists. The architect may have an adequate conception of its structure, which is the work of man ; but of the materials, which are the work of God, no man has an adequate conception ; and, therefore, though the object may be described, it cannot be defined. Universals are always expressed by gene- ral words ; and all the words of language, excepting proper names, are general words ; they are the signs of general concep- tions, or of some circumstance relating to them. These general conceptions are formed for the purpose of language and reasoning ; and the object from which they are taken, and to which they are intended to agree, is the conception which other men join to the same words; they may, there- fore, be adequate, and perfectly agree with the thing conceived. This implies ,no more than that men who speak the same language IS67, 368] CHAP. I.] OF SIMPLE APPREHENSION IN GENERAL. 365 may perfectly agree in the meaning of many general words. Thus mathematicians have conceived what they call a plane triangle. They have defined it accurately ; and, when I conceive it to be a plane surface, bounded by three right lines, I have both a true and an adequate conception of it. [369] There is nothing belonging to a plane triangle which is not comprehended in this conception of it, or deducible from it by just reasoning. This definition expresses the whole essence of the thing defined, as every just definition ought to do ; but this essence is only what Mr Locke very properly calls a nominal essence ; it is a general conception formed by the mind, and joined to a general word as its sign. If all the general words of a language had a precise meaning, and were perfectly un- derstood, as mathematical terms are, all verbal disputes would be at an end, and men would never seem to differ in opinion, but when they differ in reality; but this is far from being the case. The meaning of most general words is not learned, like that of mathematical terms, by an accurate definition, but by the experience we happen to have, by hearing them used in conversa- tion. From such experience, we collect their meaning by a kind of induction ; and, as this induction is, for the most part, lame and imperfect, it happens that different per- sons join different conceptions to the same general word ; and, though we intend to give them the meaning which use, the arbiter of language, has put upon them, this is difficult to find, and apt to be mis- taken, even by the candid and attentive. Hence, in innumerable disputes, men do not really difJ'er in their judgments, but in the way of expressing them. Our conceptions, therefore, appear to be of ihiee kinds. They arc either the concep- tions of individual things, the creatures of God ; or they are conceptions of tlio mean- ing of general words ; or they are the crea- tures of our own imagination : and these different kinds have different properties, which we have endeavoured to describe, 3. Our conception of things may b(! strong and lively, or it may be faint and languid in all degrees. These are qualities which pro- perly belong to our conceptions, thoUf;li we have no names for them but such as arc; analogical. Every man is conscious of such a difference in his conceptions, and finds his lively conceptions most agreeable, when the ohtject is not of such a nature as to give pain. VMO] Tliosf; who have lively conceptions, com- monly express them in a lively manner — that is, in such a manner as to raise lively conceptions and emotions in others- Sucii persons are the most agreeable companions [369-371 J in conversation, and the most acceptable in their writings. The liveliness of our conceptions proceeds from difierent causes- Some objects, from their own nature, or from accidental aseo- ciations, are apt to raise strong emotions in the mind, Joy and hope, ambition, zeal, and resentment, tend to enliven our con- ceptions ; disappointment, disgrace, grief, and envy, tend rather to flatten them. Men of keen passions are commonly lively and agreeable in conversation ; and dispassion- ate men often make dull companions. There is in some men a natural strengtluand vigour of mind which gives strength to their con- ceptions on all subjects, and in all the occa- sional variations of temper. It seems easier to form a lively concep- tion of objects that are fiimiliar, than of those that are not ; our conceptions of visible objects are commonly the most lively, when other circumstances are equal. Hence. poets not only delight in the description of visible objects, but find means, by meta- phor, analogy, and allusion, to clothe every object they describe with visible qualities. The lively conception of these makes the object appear, as it were, before our eyes. Lord Kames, in his Elements of Criticism, has shewn of what importance it is in works of taste, to give to objects described, what he calls ideal presence* To produce this in the mind, is, indeed, the capital aim of poetical and rhetorical description. It carries the man, as it were, out of himself, and makes him a spectator of the scene described. This ideal presence seems to me, to be nothing else but a lively conception of the appearance which the object would make if really present to the eye. [371 ] Abstract and general conceptions are never lively, though they may be distinct ; and, therefore, however necessary in jiliilo- sophy, seldom enter into poetical descrip- tion without being particularised or clothed in some visible dress. -f- It may be observed, however, that our conceptions of visible objects becume more lively by giving them motion, ami more still by giving them life and intellectual qualities. Hence, in poetry, the whole crea- tion is animated, and endowed with sense and reflection. Imagination, when it is distinguished from conception, seems to me to signify one species of conception —to wit, tiie con- * The 'Eva{yi/«, "TTOrCTvnt, '1'xtrarr!«, O^ic, EliuXoreilx, VisioiKS, of the aiiLiCIlt lthrUiiici:iiis. — H. t They thus cpa«e to bo aiiRhtd/wOvir/ nuA (ii-tu-riit , and become merely Imlivulual riiirchciiiiiiinTis. In precine lanKiiiiKii 'hey are no loiiK<'r ,or.u.fri, hut ovc, p. 204, a, notes + t ; P- 225, b, note * j p. 26'^, b note *,— H. the same with the materia prima or first matter of Aristotle, who borrowed this part of his philosophy from his predecessors. To us it seems more rational to think that the Deity created matter with its qua- lities, than that the matter of the universe should be eternal and self-existent. But so strong was the prejudice of the ancient philosophers against what we call creation, that they rather chose to have recourse to this eternal and unintelligible matter, that the Deity might have materials to work upon. The same analogy which led them to think that there must be an eternal matter of which the world was made, led them also to conclude that there must be an eternal pattern or model according to which it was made. Works of design and art must be distinctly conceived before they are made. The Deity, as an intelligent Being, about to execute a work of perfect beauty and regularity, must have had a distinct con- ception of his work before it was made. This appears very rational. But this conception, being the work of the Divine intellect, something must have existed as its object. This could only be ideas, which are the proper and immediate object of intellect. [384] From this investigation of the principles or causes of the universe, those philoso- phers concluded them to be three in number — to wit, an eternal matter as the material cause, eternal ideas as the model or exem- plary cause, and an eternal intelligent mind as the efficient cause. As to the nature of those eternal ideas, the philosophers of that sect ascribed to them the most magnificent attributes. They were immutable and uncreated ;* the object of the Divine intellect before the world was made ; and the only object of intellect and of science to all intelligent beings. As far as intellect is superior to sense, so far are ideas superior to all the objects of sense. The objects of sense being in a constant flux, cannot properly be said to exist. Ideas are the things which have a real and permanent exist- ence. They are as various as the species of things, there being one idea of every spe- cies, but none of individuals. The idea is the essence of the species, and existed be- fore any of the species was made. It is entire in every individual of the species, without being either divided or multiplied. In our present state, we have but an imperfect conception of the eternal ideas ; but it is the highest felicity and perfection of men to be able to contemplate them. * Whether, in the Platonic system. Ideas are, or are not, independent of the Deity, I have already stated, is, and always has been, a vexata qiurstw.— H. [382-384.] CHAP. ii.J THEORIES CONCERNING CONCEPTION. 371 While we are in this prison of the body, sense, as a dead weight, bears us down from the contemplation of the intellectual objects ; and it is only by a due purifica- tion of the soul, and abstraction from sense, that the intellectual eye is opened, and that we are enabled to mount upon the wings of uitellect to the celestial world of ideas. Such was the most ancient system con- cerning ideas, of which we have any account. And, however different from the modern, it appears to be built upon the prejudices we have mentioned — to wit, that in every operation there must be something to work upon ; and that even in conception there must be an object which really exists. [385] For, if those ancient philosophers had thought it possible that the Deity could operate without materials in the formation of the world, and that he could conceive the plan of it without a model, they could have seen no reason to make matter and ideas eternal and necessarily existent prin- ciples, as well as the Deity himself. whether they believed that the ideas were not only eternal, but eternally, and without a cause, arranged in that beautiful and perfect order which they ascribe to this intelligible world of ideas, I cannot say ; but this seems to be a necessary conse- quence of the system : for, if the Deity could not conceive the plan of the world which he made, without a model which really existed, that model could not be his work, nor contrived by his wisdom ; for, if he made it, he must have conceived it before it was made ; it must therefore have existed in all its beauty and order inde- pendent of the Deity ; and this I think they acknowledged, by making the model and the matter of this world, first princi- ples, no loss than the Deity. If the Platonic .system be thus understood, (and I do not see how it can hang together otherwise,) it leads to two consequences that are unfavourable to it. First, Nothing is left to the Maker of this world but the skill to work after a model. The model had all the perfection and beauty that appears in the cojjy, and the Deity had only to copy after a jiattern that existed independent of him. Indeed, the copy, if we believe those philosophers, falls very far short of the original ; but this they seem to have ascribed to the refracto- riness of matter of which it was made. Secondh/, If the world of ideas, without being the work of a perfectly wise and good iiit(;lligent being, could have so much beauty and perfection, iiow can we infer from the beauty and order of this world, wliich is but an imperfect copy of the other, that it must liave been n)ade by a perfectly wise and good being ? (lUKj] Tiu! force of this J 38.5-.'i87 ] reasoning, from the beauty and order of the universe, to its being the work of a wise being, which ap|;ears invincible to every candid mind, and appeared so to those ancient philosophers, is entirely destroyed by the supposition of the existence of a world of ideas, of greater perfection and beauty, \\hich never was made. Or, if the reasoning be good, it will apjily to the world of ideas, which must, of consequence, have been made by a wise and good intelligent being, and must have been conceived before it was made. It may farther be observed, that all that is mysterious and unintelligible in the Pla- tonic ideas, arises from attributing existence to them. Take away this one attribute, all the rest, however pompously expressed, are easily admitted and understood. What is a Platonic idea ? It is the essence of a species. It is the exemplar, the model, according to which all the individuals of that species are made. It is entire in every individual of the species, without be- ing multiplied or divided. It was an object of the divine intellect from eternity, and is an object of contemplation and of science to every intelligent being. It is etei-nal, im- mutable, and uncreated ; and, to crown all, it not only exists, but has a more real and permanent existence than anything that ever God made. Take this description altogether, and it would require an QSdipus to unriddle it. But take away the last part of it, and no- thing is more easy. It is easy to find five hundred things which answer to every article in the description except the last. Take, for an instance, the nature of a circle, as it is defined by Euclid— an object which every intelligent being may conceive distinctly, though no circle had ever existed; it is the exemplar, tlie model, according to which all the individual figures of that species that ever existed were made ; for they are all made according to the nature of a circle. [387] It is entire in every individual of the species, without being multiplied or divided. For every circle is an entire circle ; and all circles, in as far as they are circles, have one and the same nature. It was an oljject of the divine intellect from all eternity, and nuiy be an object of con- templation and of science to every intelli- gent being. It is the essence of a species, and, like all other essences, it is eternal, imnmtable, and uncreated. This means no more but that a circle always was a circle, and can never be anything but a circle. It is the necessity of the thing, and not any act of creating power, that makes a circle to be a circle. 'J'he nature of every species, whether of substance, of (luality, or of relation, and in genenil everything wliich tlio ancients railed U 11 '^ S72 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [kSSAY IV. an universal, answers to the description of a Platonic idea, if in that description you leave out the attribute of existence. If we believe that no species of things could be conceived by the Almighty with- out a model that really existed, we must go back to the Platonic system, however mys- terious. But, if it be true that the Deity could have a distinct conception of things which did not exist, and that other intelligent beings may conceive objects which do not e^List, the system has no better foundation than this prejudice, that the operations of mind must be like those of the body. Aristotle rejected the ideas of liis mnster Plato as visionary; but he retained the prejudices that gave rise to them, and there- fore substituted something in their place, but under a different name,* and of a dif- ferent origin. He called the objects of intellect, intelli- gible species ; those of the memory and imagination, phantasms ; and those of the senses, sensible species. This change of the name* was indeed very small ; for the Greek word of Aristotle [sfSof ] which we translate species or form, is so near to the Greek word idea, both in its sound and significa- tion, that, from their etymology, it would not be easy to give them diffei'ent meanings. [388] Both are derived from the Greek word which signifies to see, and both may signify a vision or appearance to the eye. Cicero, who understood Greek well, often translates the Greek word ilea by the Latin word visio. But both words being used as terms of art — one in the Platonic system, the other in the Peripatetic — the Latin writers generally borrowed the Greek word idea to express the Platonic notion, and translated Aristotle's word, by the words species or forma ; and in this they have been followed in the modern languages. * Those forms or species were called intelli- gible, to distinguish them from sensible species, which Aristotle held to be the imme- diate objects of sense. He thought that the sensible species come from the external object, and defined a sense to be that which has the capacity to receive the form of sensible things without the mat- ter ; as wax receives the form of a seal with- out any of the matter of it. In like manner, he thought that the intellect receives the forms of things intelligible ; and he callsit the place of forms. * Reid seems not aware that Plato, and Aristotle in relation to Plato, employed ttie terms iloo; and iSia. almost as convertible. In fact, the latter usually combats the ideal theory of the former by the name of sfJoj — e. S-« Toi tiSv) x"^'?'-^") Tl^iriirf/.xra ya.^ £?■'■ M. Cousin, in a learned and ingenious paper of his " Noiiveaux Fragments," has endeavoured to shew that I'lato did not apply the two terms indifferently; and the- same has been attempted by Richter. But so many exceptions must be admitted, that, api a- rontly, no determinate rule can be established. — H. I take it to have been the opinion of Aris- totle, that the intelligible forms in the hu- man intellect are derived from the sensible by abstraction, and other operations of the mind itself. As to the intelligible forms in the divine intellect, they must have had another origin ; but I do not rememljer that he gives any opinion about them. He cer- taiidy maintained, however, that there is no intellection without intelligible species ;* no memory or inuvgination without phan- tasms ; no perception without sensible species. Treating of memory, he proposes a difficulty, and endeavours to resolve it — how a phantasm, that is a present object in the mind, should represent a thing that is past. [389] Thus, I think, it appears that the Per- ipatetic system of species and phantasms, as well as the Platonic system of ideas, is grounded upon this principle, that in every kind of thought there must be some object that really exists ; in every operation of the mind, something to work upon. Whether this immediate object be called an idea with Plato,-|- or a phantasm or species with Aris- totle — whether it be eternal and uncreated, or produced by the impressions of external objects — is of no consequence in the pre- sent argument. In both systems, it was thought impossible that the Deity could make the world without matter to work upon ; in both, it was thought impossible that an intelligent Being could conceive anything that did not exist, but by means of a model that really existed. The philosophers of the Alexandrian school, commonly called the latter Plato- nists, conceived the eternal ideas of things to be in the Divine intellect, and thereby avoided the absurdity of making them a principle distinct from and independent of the Deity ; but still they held them to exist really in the Divine mind as the objects of conception, and as the patterns and arche- types of things that are made. Modern philosophers, still persuaded that of every thought there must be an imme- diate object that really exists, have not deemed it necessary to distinguish by dif- ferent names the immediate objects of in- tellect, of imagination, and of the senses, but have given the common name of idta to them all. Whether these ideas be in the sensorium, or in the mind, or partly in the one and partly in the other; whether they exist when they are not perceived, or only when * There is ,even less reason to attribute such a theory to Aristotle in relation to the intellect than in relation to sense and imagination. See even his oldest commentator, the Aphrodi-ian, ni^}'^tjxr,s , f. I:i9, a. In fact, the greater number of those Peri, patetics who admitted species in thi? irude form for the latter, rejected I hem for the former. — H. \ See ahove, p. 26!, b, note *. — M. f388, 3S9l CH AF. II.] THEORIES CONCERNING CONCEPTION. 373 they are perceived ; wlietlier they are the workmanship of the Deity or of the mind itself, or of external natural causes — with regard to these points, different authors seem to have different opinions, and the same author sometimes to waver or l)e diflSdent ; but as to their existence, there seems to be great unanimity.* [390] So much is this opinion fixed in the minds of philosophers, that I doubt not but it will appear to most a very strange para- dox, or rather a contradiction, that men should think without ideas- That it has the appearance of a contra- diction, I confess. But tliis appearance arises from the ambiguity of the word idea. If the idea of a thingraeans only the thought of it, or the operation of the mind in think- ing about it, which is the most common meaning of the word, to think without ideas, is to think without thought, which is un- doubtedly a contradiction. But an idea, according to the definition given of it by philosophers, is not thought, but an object of thought, which really exists and is perceived. Now, whether is it a contradiction to say, that a man may think of an object that does not exist ? I acknowledge that a man cannot per- ceive an object that does not exist ; nor can he remember an object that did not exist ; but there appears to me no contradiction in his conceiving an object that neither does nor ever did exist. Let us take an example. I conceive a centaur. This conception is an operation of the mind, of which I am conscious, and to which I can attend. The sole object of it is a centaur, an animal which, I believe, never existed. I can see no contradiction in this.-f The philosopher says, I cannot conceive a centaur without having an idea of it in my mind. I am at a loss to understand what he means. lie surely does not mean that I cannot conceive it without conceiving it. This would make me no wiser. What then is this idea ? Is it an animal, half horse and half man ? No. Then I am certain it is not the thing I conceive. Per- haps he will say, that the ideals an image of the animal, and is the immediate object of my conception, and that tlie iuiimal is the mediate or remote object. J ['M\ ] To this I answer — First, I am certain there are not two objects of this conception, but one only ; and that one is as immediate an object of my conception as any can be. SfcomUy, This one object which I c(jn- ceive, is not the image of an animal — it is * Thi«, as already once and again staled, i» not correct. — II. t See al)Ovc, p. W>, b, note t, and Note B.— II. t On this, and the iiub«ef|iieMt reasoning in the present eha|>ter, t.ee Note B. — II. an animal. I know what it is to conceive an image of an animal, and what it is to conceive an animal ; and I can distinguish the one of these from the other without any danger of mistake. The thing I con- ceive is a body of a certain figure and colour, having life and spontaneous motion. The philosopher says, that the idea is an image of the animal ; but that it has neither body, nor colour, nor life, nor spontaneous motion. This I am not able to comprehend. Thirdly, I wish to know how this idea comes to be an object of my thought, when I cannot even conceive what it means ; and, if I did conceive it, this would be no evidence of its existence, any more than my conception of a centaur is of its exist- ence. Philosophers sometimes say tliat we perceive ideas, sometimes that we are con- scious of them. I can have no doubt of tlie existence of anything which I either perceive or of which I am conscious ;• but I cannot find that I either perceive ideas or am conscious of them. Perception and consciousness are very different operations, and it is strange that philosophers have never determined by which of them ideas are discerned- -f- This is as if a man should positively affirm that he perceived an object ; but whether by his eyes, or his ears, or his touch, he could not say. But may not a man who conceives a centaur say, that he has a distinct image of it in his mind ? I think he may. And if he means by this way of speaking what the vulgar mean, who never heard of the phi- losophical theory of ideas, I find no fault with it. [392] By a distinct image in the mind, the vulgar mean a distinct concep- tion ; and it is natural to call it so, on account of the analogy between an image of a thing and the conception of it. On ac- count of this analogy, obvious to all man- kind, this operation is called imagination, and an image in the mind is only a peri- phrasis for imagination. But to infer from this that there is really an image in the mind, distinct from the operation of con- ceiving the object, is to be misled by an analogical expression ; as if, from the phrases of deliberating and balancing things in the mind, we should infer that there is really a balance existing in the mind for weighing motives and arguments. The analogical words and phrases used in all languages to exjiress conci'i)tion, do, no doubt, facilitate their being taken in a literal sense. lUit, if we only attend carc- * This is not the case, unless it be admitted that we are conscious ol what wcpereeive— in other words, iniinediiitely eon'iit'^'' "I'the ixm.Kjn.—W. t lint the philosophers did not, \\V.v Hdd, make Conscioustiess one speciul lacnlty, and reicipllon anoiher ; nor ihd thry anil Iteid mean hy rnieption the same thing. — II. 374 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. LeSSAY IV. fully to what we are conscious of in this operation, we shall find no more reason to tliink that im.ages do really exist in our minds, than that balances and other me- chanical engines do. We know of nothing that is in the mind but by consciousness, and we are conscious of nothing but various modes of thinking ; such as understanding, willing, affection, passion, doing, suffering. If philosophers choose to give the name of an idea to any mode of thinking of which we are conscious, I have no objection to the name, but that it introduces a foreign word into our lan- guage without necessity, and a word that is very ambiguous, and apt to mislead. But, if they give that name to images in the mind, which are not thought, but only objects of thought, I can see no reason to think that there are such things in nature. If they be, their existence and their nature must be more evident than anything else, because we know nothing but by their means. I may add, that, if they be, we can know nothing besides them. For, from the existence of images, we can never, by any just reasoning, infer the existence of anything else, unless perhaps the existence of an intelligent Author of them. In this, Bishop Berkeley reasoned right. [393] In every work of design, the work must be conceived before it is executed — that is, before it exists. If a model, consisting of ideas, must exist in the mind, as the ob- ject of this conception, that model is a work of design no less than the other, of which it is the model ; and tlierefore, as a work of design, it must have been conceived before it existed. In every work of design, there- fore, the conception must go before the existence. This argument we applied be- fore to the Platonic system of eternal and immutable ideas, and it may be applied with equal force to all the systems of ideas. If now it should be asked, What is the idea of a circle ? I answer, It is the con- ception of a circle. What is the immediate object of this conception ? The immediate and the only object of it is a circle. But where is this circle ? It is nowhere. If it was an individual, and had a real ex- istence, it must have a place ; but, being an universal, it has no existence, and therefore no place. Is it not in the mind of him that conceives it ? The conception of it is in the mind, being an act of the mind ; and in common language, a thing being in the mind, is a figuratiTe expression, signify- ing that the thing is conceived or remem- bered. It may be asked. Whether this concep- tion is an image or resemblance of a circle ? I answer, I have already accounted for its being, in a figurative sense, called the image of a circle in the mind. If the question is meant in the literal sense, we must observe, that the word conception has two meanings. Properly it signifies that operation of the mind which we have been endeavouring to explain ; but sometimes it is put for the object of conception, or thing conceived. Now, if the question be understood in tho last of these senses, the object of this con- ception is not an image or resemblance of a circle ; for it is a circle, and nothing can be an image of itself. [394] If the question be — Whether the opera- tion of mind in conceiving a circle be an image or resemblance of a circle ? I think it is not ; and that no two things can be more perfectly unlike, than a species of thought and a species of figure. Nor is it more strange that conception should have no resemblance to the object conceived, than that desire should have no resem- blance to the object desired, or resentment to the object of resentment. I can likewise conceive an individual object that really exists, such as St Paul's Church in London. I have an idea of it ; that is, I conceive it. The immediate object of this conception is four hundred miles distant ; and I have no reason to think that it acts upon me, or that I act upon it ; but I can think of it notwithstanding. I can think of the first year or the last year of the Julian period. If, atter all, it should te thought that images in the mind serve to account for this facultv of conceiving things most distant in time and place, and even things which do not exist, which otherwise would be alto- gether inconceivable ; to this I answer, that accounts of things, grounded upon conjecture, have been the bane of true philosophy in all ages. Experience may satisfy us that it is an hundred times more probable that they are false than that they are true. This account of the faculty of conception, by images in the mind or in the brain, will deserve the regard of those who have a true taste in philosophy, when it is proved by solid arguments —/"ir.y/. That there are images in the. mind, or in the brain, of the things we conceive. Secondly, That there is a faculty in the mind of perceiving such images. Thirdly, That the perception of such images produces the conception of things most distant, and even of things that have no existence. And, fourthly, That the perception of individual images in the mind, or in the brain, gives us the concep- tion of universals, which are the attributes of many individuals. [395] Until this is done, the theory of images existing in the mind or in the brain, ought to be placed in the same category with the sensible species, materia prima of Aristotle, and the vortices of Des Cartes. cuAP. III.] MISTAKES CONCERNING CONCEPTION. 375 CHAPTER III. MISTAKES CONCEKNING CONCEPTION. 1. Writers on logic, after the example of Aristotle, divide the operations of the uuderstandmg into three : Simple Appre- hension, (which is another word for Con- ception,) Judgment, and Reasoning. They teach us, that reasouing is expressed by a syllogism, judgment by a proposition, and simple apprehension by a term only — that is, by one or more words which do not make a full proposition, but only the sub- ject or predicate of a proposition. If, by this they mean, as I tliink they do, that a proposition, or even a syllogism, may not be simply apprehended,* I believe this is a mistake. In all judgment and in all reasoning, conception is included. We can neither judge of a proposition, nor reason about it, unless we conceive or apprehend it. We may distinctly conceive a proposition, with- out judging of it at all. We may have no evidence on one side or the other ; we may have no concern whether it be true or false. In these cases we commonly form no judg- ment about it, though we perfectly under- stand its meaning. -f- A man may discourse, or plead, or write, for other ends than to find the truth. His learning, and wit, and invention may be employed, while his judgment is not at all, or very little. AVhen it is not truth, but some other end he pursues, judgment would be an impediment, unless for discovering the means of attaining his end ; and, there- fore, it is laid aside, or employed solely for that purpose. [39(>1 The business of an orator is said to be, to find out what is fit to persuade. This a man may do with much ingenuity, who never took the trouble to examine whether it ought to persuade or not. Let it not be thought, therefore, that a man judges of the truth of every proposition he utters, or hears uttered. In our commerce with the world, judgment is not the talent that bears the greatest price ; and, therefore, those who are not sincere lovers of truth, lay up this talent where it rusts and corru])ts, wjiile they carry others to market, for vvhich there is greater demand. 2. The division commonly made by logi- * Does Reid here mean, by apprchendinR Wm;i^/, apprchcudiiig in one ^implL• and indivisible act ? — 11. \ There is no concepti'in po^s blc withnut a judg- ment aHinning its (ideal) exisleiiee. 'I'here is no t/injicioiii/icss, in fact, possible without judj!inent. See above, p. 243, a, note *. It is to l)C observed, that Iteid uses conci']iti(in in the course of this chap, ler as convertible with uiiilrrxfiiiuliiir/ or caiiipriiifii. Sinn ; ;ind, therefore, as we sliall see, in a vaguer or m' re extensive rneaiiinK than the philosophers whose opinion he controvert". — II. cians, of simple apprehension, into Sensation, Imagination, and Pure Intellection, seems to me very improper in several respects. First, Under the word sensation, they include not only what is properly so called, but the perception of external objects by the senses. These are very difierent opera- tions of the mind ; and, although they are commonly conjoined by nature, ought to be carefully distinguished by philosophers. Secondly, Neither sensation nor the percep- tion of external objects, is simple apprehen- sion. Both includejudgment and belief, which are excluded from simple apprehension." Thirdly, They distinguish imagination from pure intellection by this, that, in imagination, the image is in the brain if in pure intellection, it is in the intellect. This is to ground a distinction upon an hypo- thesis. AV^e have no evidence that there are images either in the brain or in the in- tellect, [397] I take imagination, in its most proper sense, to signify a lively conception of objects of sight. + This is a talent of im- portance to poets and orators, and deserves a proper name, on account of its connection with those arts. According to this strict meaning of the word, imagination is dis- tinguished from conception as a part from the whole. AVe conceive the objects of the other senses, but it is not so proper to say that we imagine them. We conceive judg- ment, reasoning, propositions, and argu- ments ; but it is rather improper to say that we imagine these things. This distinction between imagination and conception, may be illustrated by an ex- ample, which Des Cartes uses to illus- trate the distinction between imagination and pure intellection. We can imagine a triangle or a square so clearly as to distinguish them from every other figure. But we cannot imagine a figure of a thou- sand equal sides and angles so clearly. The best eye, by looking at it, could not distin- guish it from every figure of more or fewer sides. And that conception of its appear- ance to the eye, which we ])roperly call im- agination, cannot be more disthict than the aiipearance it.self ; yet we can conceive a figure oi a thousand sides, and even can demonstrate the properties which distinguish it from all figures of more en- frwor sides. It is not by the eye, but by a superior fa- culty, that we form the notion of a great * See the last note.— II.' \ Hut not Ihe image, of whicli the mind is con- scious. Uy image or idea iii the brain, fiiicifS iiii- jircssa, SfC, was ineaiit only the iiiikiKiwn corporeal aiitecideiit of- the known imiilal (on»e(H.cnl, -the iinai;e or idea In the mind, tlie ,v;«(/<'.« iJiinssii . fiC. Ueid litre refers pi iiui)iHlly to the t'.irteslan doclrine. — II. X .See above, p. 'M'l, a, note ♦ ; and, lielnw. iiiide. p. W .- II. 37t) ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [^ESS^i AY IV number, such as a thousand. And a distinct uotion of this number of sides not being to be got by the eye, it is not imagined, but it is distinctly conceived, and easily distin- guished from every other number." 3. Simple apprehension is commonly re- presented as the first operation of the understanding ; and judgment, as being a composition or combination of simple appre- hensions. This mistake has probably arisen from the taking sensation, and the perception of objects by the senses, to be nothing but simple apprehension. They are, very pro- bably, the first operations of the mind ; but they are not simple apprehensions. -f" [398] It is generally allowed, that we cannot conceive sounds if we have never heard, nor colours if we have never seen ; and the same thing may be said of the objects of the other senses. In like manner, we must have judged or reasoned before we have the conception or simple apprehension of judgment and of reasoning. Simple apprehension, therefore, though it be the simplest, is not the first operation of the understanding ; and, instead of say- ing that the more complex operations of the mind are formed by compounding sim- ple apprehensions, we ought rather to say, that simple apprehensions are got by ana- lysing more complex operations, A similar mistake, which is carried through the whole of Mr Locke's Essay, may be here mentioned. It is, that our simplest ideas or conceptions are got im- mediately by the senses, or by conscious- ness, and the complex afterwards formed by compounding them. I apprehend it is far otherwise. Nature presents no object to the senses, or to consciousness, that is not complex. Thus, by our senses we perceive bodies of various kinds ; but every body" is a com- plex object ; it has length, breadth, and thickness ; it has figure, and colour, and various other sensible qualities, which are blended together in the same subject ; and I apprehend that brute animals, who have the same senses that we have, cannot sepa- rate the different qualities belonging to the same subject, and have only a complex and confused notion of the whole. Such also would be our notions of the objects of sense, if we had not superior powers of understanding, by which we can analyse the complex object, abstract every parti- cular attribute from the rest, and form a distinct conception of it. So that it is not by the senses imme- * See above, p. 3fi6,a, note *.— H. t They are not sintple npjrrehftuions, in one sense — that is, the objects are not iiicoriBpositc. But this was not the meaning in which the expression was used by the Logicians. — H. diately, but rather by the powers of ana> lysing and abstraction, that we get the most simple and the most distinct notions eveji of the objects of sense. This will be more fully explained in another place. [399] 4. There remains another mistake con- cerning conception, which deserves to be noticed. It is — That our conception of things is a test of their possibility, so that, what we can distinctly conceive, we may conclude to be possible ; and of what is im- possible, we can have no conception. This opinion has been held by philoso- phers for more than an hundred years, without contradiction or dissent, as far as I know ; and, if it be an error, it may be of some use to inquire into its origin, and the causes that it has been so generally re- ceived as a maxim whose truth could not be brought into doubt. One of the fruitless questions agitated among the scholastic philosophers in the dark ages' was — What is the criterion of truth ? as if men could have any other way to distinguish truth from error, but by the right use of that power of judging which God has given them. Des Cartes endeavoured to put an end to this controversy, by making it a fundamen- tal principle in his system, that whatever we clearly and distinctly perceive, is true.-f To understand this principle of Des Cartes, it must be observed, that he gave the name of perception to every power of the human understanding : and in explain- ing this very maxim, he tells us that sense, imagination, and pure intellection, are only different modes of jjerceiving, and, so the maxim was understood by all his followers. J The learned Dr Cudworth seems also to have adopted this principle: — "The cri- terion of true knowledge, says he, is only to be looked for in our knowledge and con- ceptions themselves : for the entity of all theoretical truth is nothing else but clear intelligibility, and whatever is clearly con- ceived is an entity and a truth ; but that which is false, divine power itself cannot make it to be clearly and distinctly under- stood. [400] A falsehood can never be clearly conceived or apprehended to be true." — " Eternal and Immutable Mora- lity," p. 172, &c. This Cartesian maxim seems to me to have led the way to that now under con- sideration, which seems to havebeen adopted as the proper correction of the former. When the authority of Des Cartes declined, men began to seeithat we may clearly and distinctly conceive what is not true, but * This was more a question with the Greek philo- sophers than with the schoolmen. — H. t In this, he proposed nothing new. -H. ij: i'hat is, in Oes Cartes' sigjiificalion of the word, different modes of bein" conscious. See above.— il. [.398-100] CUAl'. in.J MISTAKES CONCERNING CONCEPTION. 377 thought, that our conception, though not in all cases a test of truth, might be a test of possibility.* This indeed seems to be a necessary con- sequence of the received doctrine of ideas ; it being evident that there can bo no dis- tinct image, either in tlie mind or anywhere else, of that which is impossible. -f The ambiguity of the word coticeivr, which we observed, Essay I. chap. 1, and the com- mon phraseology of saying loe cannot con- ceive such a tliinij, when we would signify that we think it impossible, might likewise contribute to the reception of this doctrine. But, whatever was the origin of this opinion, it seems to prevail universally, and to be received as a maxim. " The bare having an idea of the propo- sition proves the thing not to be impossible ; for of an impossible proposition there can be no idea." — Dr Samuel Clarke. " Of that which neither does nor can exist we can have no idea." — Lord Bolinu- BROKE. " The measure of impossibility to us is inconceivableness, that of which we can have no idea, but that reflecting upon it, it appears to be nothing, we ])ronounce to be impossible." — Abkrnethv. [401] " In every idea is implied the possibility of the existence of its object, nothing being clearer than that there can be no idea of an impossibility, or conception of what can- not exist." — Dr Price- " Impossibile est cujus nuUam notionem formare possumus ; possibile e contra, cui aliqua respondet notio." — Wolfii Ontolo- GiA.:}: " It is an established maxim in metaphy- sics, that whatever the mind conceives, in- cludes the idea of possible existence, or, in other words, that nothing we imagine is absolutely impossible." — D. Hume. It were easy to muster up many otlior respectable authorities for this maxim, and I have never found one that called it in question. If the maxim be true in the extent wliicli * That is, of logical possibility— the absence of con. tradictioi). — H. ^ riiis is rather a strained inference. — H. :; 'I'hcse are not exactly Wolf's expressions. See '* Ontuldiiu," Ij ^ KhJ, 103; •' Philiisoiiliin /{iiti term. " Hence, it uually happensthat, when wecombine words logithcr, lo each of which, apart, a meanuiK or notion aii»wer«, we imagine we undirstan I wliiit we.ulier, lliough that which isdenoled by such com. billed words he impossihle. and coiiscipiinllv ran have no me.iniiiB. Kor tlinl which u impossible u 378 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS, [essay IV. that can be meant by simple apprehension or conception, when apphed to a proposi- tion. The axiom, therefore, amounts to this : — Every proposition, of which you un- derstand the meaning distinctly, is possible. I am persuaded that I understand as dis- tinctly the meaning of this proposition, //«v two sides of a trianijle are together equal to the third, as of this — Any tivo sides nf a triangle are totjether greater than, the third ; yet the first of these is impossible. Perhaps it will be said, that, though you understand the meaning of the impossible proposition, you cannot suppose or conceive it to be true. Here we are to examine the meaning of the phrases of supposing and conceiving a proposition to be true. I can certainly sup- pose it to be true, because I can draw con- sequences fnjrn it which I find to be impos- sible, as well as the proposition itself. If, by conceiving it to be true, be meant giving some degree of assent to it, how- ever small, this, I confess, I cannot do. But will it be said that every proposition to which I can give any degree of assent, is possible ? This contradicts experience, and, therefore, the maxim cannot be true in this sense. Sometimes, when we say that we cannot conceive a thing to be true, we mean by that expression, ihaX we judge it to be impossible. In this sense I cannot, indeed, conceive it to be true, that two sides of a triangle are equal to the third. I judge it to be impossible. If, then, we understand, in this sense, that maxim, that nothing we can conceive is impossible, the meaning will be, that nothing is impossible which we judge to be possible. But does it not often happen, that what one man judges to be possible, another man judges to be impos- sible ? The maxim, therefore, is not true in this sense. [403] I am not able to find any other meaning of conceiving a proposition, or of conceiving it to be true, besides these I have men- tioned. I know nothing that can be meant by having the idea of a proposition, but nothing at all, and of nothing there can be no idea. For instance, we have a notion of gold, as also of iron. But it is impossible that iron can at the same time 1 egold, consequently, neither can we have any notion of iron-goKl ; and yet we understand what people mean when they mention iron-gold. " In the instance alleged, it certainly strikes every one, at first, that the expre-sion iron. gold is an empty sound ; but yet there aiv a thousand instances in which it does not so easily strike. For example, when I say a rectilineal two-lined figure, a figure contained under two right lines, I am equallv well understood as when I say. a riglit-lined triangle, a figure c n- tained uni'er three right lines. .Audit should seem we had a distinct notion of both figures. However, as we shew in Geometry that two right lines can never contain space, it is also impossible to form a notion of a rectilineal two.lined figure; and conse- quently that expression is an empty sound."— F. .%. either the understanding its meaning, or the judging of its truth. I can understand a proposition that is false or impossible, as well as one that is true or possible ; and I find that men have contradictory judgments about what is possible or impossible, as well as about other things. In what sense then can it be said, that the having an idea of a proposition gives certain evidence that it is possible ? If it be said, that the idea of a proposition is an image of it in the mind, I think indeed there cannot be a distinct image, either in the mind or elsewhere, of that which is impossible ; but what is meant by the image of a proposition I am not able to compre- hend, and I shall be glad to be informed. 2. Every proposition that is necessarily true stands opposed to a contradictory pro- position that is impossible ; and he that conceives one conceives both. Thus a man who believes that two and three necessarily make five, must believe it to be impossible that two and three should not make five. He conceives both propositions when he believes one. Every proposition carries its contradictory in its bosom, and both ai'e conceived at the same time. " It is con- fessed," says Mr Hume, " that, in all cases where we dissent from any person, we con- ceive both sides of the question ; but we can believe only one." From this, it cer- tainly follows, that, when we dissent from any person about a necessary proposition, we conceive one that is imposible ; yet I know no philosopher who has made so much use of the maxim, that whatever we conceive is possible, as Mr Hume. A great part of his peculiar tenets is built upon it ; and, if it is true, they must be true. But he did not perceive that, in the passage now quoted, the truth of which is evident, he contradicts it himself. [404] 3. Mathematicians have, in many cases, proved some things to be possible, and others to be impossible, which, without demonstration, would not have been be- lieved. Yet I have never found that any mathematician has attempted to prove a thing to be possible, because it can be con- ceived ; or impossible, because it cannot be conceived.* Why is not this maxim applied to determine whether it is possible to square the circle ? a point about which very emi- nent mathematicians have differed. It is easy to conceive that, in the infinite series of numbers, and intermediate fractions, some one number, integral or fractional, may bear the same ratio to another, as the side of a square bears to its diagonal ;-|- yet, * All geometry is, in fact, founded on our intui. tions of space— tliat is, in commi.n language, on our conceptions of space and its relations. — H. t We are able to conceive nothing infinite; .nndwe inav supjKise, hut we cannot conceive, represent, or imaainr, the possibility in question. — H. [403, 404] CHAP. IV.] OF THE TRAIN OF THOUGHT IN THE MIND. 379 liowever conceivable this may be, it may be demonstrated to be impossible. 4. Mathematicians often require us to conceive things that are impossible, in order to prove them to be so. This is the case in all their demonstrations ad ahsurdum. Conceive, says Euclid, a right line drawn from one point of the circumference of a circle to another, to fall without the circle :* I conceive this — I reason from it, until I come to a consequence that is manifestly absurd ; and from thence conclude that the thing which I conceived is impossible. Having said so much to shew that our power of conceiving a proposition is no criterion of its possibility or impossibility, I shall add a few observations on the extent of our knowledge of this kind. 1. There are many propositions which, by the faculties God has given us, we judge to be necessary, as well as true. All mathematical propositions are of this kind, and many others. The contradictories of Buch propositions must be impossible. Our knowledge, therefore, of what is impossible, must, at least, be as extensive as our know- ledge of necessary truth. 2. By our senses, by memory, by testi- mony, and by other means, we know many things to be true which do not apjiear to be necessary. But whatever is true is pos- sible. Our knowledge, therefore, of what is possible must, at least, extend as far as our knowledge of truth. [405] 3. If a man pretends to determine the possibility or impossibility of things beyond these limits, let him bring proof. I do not say that no such proof can be brought. It has been brought in many cases, particu- larly in mathematics. But I say that his being able to conceive a thing, is no proof that it is possible. i" Mathematics afford many instanceB of impossibilities in the nature of things, which no man would have believed if they had not been strictly de- monstrated. Perhaps, if we were able to reason demonstratively in other subjects, to as great extent as in mathematics, we might find many things to be impossible, which we conclude without hesitation, to be pos- sible. It is possible, you say, that God might have made an universe of sensible and ra- tional creatures, into which neither natural nor moral evil should ever enter. It may be so, for what I know. But how do you know that it is possible ? That you can conceive it, I grant ; but this is no proof. * Euclid doos not require us to conceive or imaRine any such iinpossitjility. Tlie propiwiliori to which Rciri iinisi rcfc-r, is the second of the third Book ot the KIcint-iits. — II. t Not, ccrl.-iirily, that it is renlh/ ji/ixxilile, but that It is proljltmiiliidlh/ imnili/i'—i. e., involves no i iiii- tradictiun — violates no law if thought. i'hiii lallcr is that nosbibilitv nlonc in riiiifclion. — II. [40.V 40(i I cannot admit, as an argument, or even as a pressing difficulty, what is grounded on the supposition that such a thing is possible, when there is no good evidence tliat it is possible, and, for anything we know, it may, in the nature of things, be impossible. CHAPTER IV. OF THE TRAIN OF THOUGHT IN THE MIND. Every man is conscious of a succession of thoughts which pass in his mind while he is awake, even when they are not excited by external objects. [406] The mind, on this account, may be com- pared to hquor in the state of fermentation. When it is not in this state, being once at rest, it remains at rest, until it is moved by some external impulse. But, in the state of fermentation, it has some cause of motion in itself, which, even when there is no im- pulse from without, suffers it not to be at rest a moment, but produces a constant motion and ebullition, while it continues to ferment. There is surely no similitude between motion and thought ; but there is an analogy, so obvious to all men, that the same words are often applied to both ; and many modi- fications of thought have no name but such as is borrowed from the modifications of motion. Many thoughts are excited by the senses. The causes or occasions of these may be considered as external. But, when such external causes do not operate upon us, we continue to think from some internal cause. From the constitution of the mind itself there is a constant ebullition of thought, a constant intestine motion ; not only of thoughts barely speculative, but of scnti- ments,passions, and afi'ections, which attend them. This continued succession of thought has, by modern philosophers, been called the imagination. * I think it was formerly called the fancy, or the phanloay.-f If the old name be laid aside, it were to be wished that it had got a name less ambij;uous than that of imagination, a name which had two or three meanings besides. It is often called the Iraiu of ideas. This may lead one to think that it is a train of bare conceptions ; but this would surely be a mistake. It is made up of many other operations of iiiiiid, as well as of concep- tions, or ideas. * Hy some only, and that imjiropcrly.— 11. t 'Ihe l.atin liiui;!iii!<», W.1S iinplnytd liolli in ancient and niodcrn times to express «lial the Urecks -(leno. min.ited •I'«vT«ff-a. /V«/;i^i.«.v, ot whieli I'haii.ti/ i>r luiiiiii is a corruption, and now vniployed in a m"ie liniili'd Kcnse, wan a eoniiiioii n.inie for Imaninalion with lI.eoM liuKlisli uritcrs.— II. 380 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS Qessa V III. Memory, judgment, reasoning, passions, affections, and purposes — in a word, every operation of the mind, excepting tliose of sense — is exerted occasionally in tliis train of thouglit, and has its share as an ingre- dient : so that we must take the word idea in a very extensive sense, if we make the train of our thoughts to be only a train of ideas. [407] To pass from the name, and consider the thin"', we may observe, that the trains of thought in the mind arc of two kinds : they are either such as How spontaneously, like water from a fountain, without any exer- tion of a governing principle to arrange them ; or they are regulated and directed by an active effort of the mind, with some view and intention. Before we consider these in their order, it is proper to premise that these two kinds, however distinct in their nature, are for the most part mixed, in persons awake and come to years of understanding. On the one hand, we are rarely so vacant of all project and desiga as to let our thoughts take their own course, without the least check or direction. Or if, at any time, we should be in this state, some object will present itself, which is too interesting not to engage the attention and rouse the active or contemplative powers that were at rest. On the other hand, when a man is giving the most intense application to any specula- tion, or to any scheme of conduct, when he wills to exclude every thought that is fo- reign to his present purpose, such thoughts will often impertinently intrude upon him, in spite of his endeavours to the contrary, and occupy, by a kind of violence, some part of tlie time destined to another pur- pose. One man may have the command of his thoughts more than another man, and the same man more at one time than at another. But, I apprehend, in the best trained mind, the thoughts will sometimes be restive, sometimes capricious and self- willed, when we wish to have them most under command. [408] It has been observed very justly, that we must not ascribe to the mind the power of calling up any thought at pleasure, be- cause such a call or volition supposes that thought to be already in the mind ; for, otherwise, how should it be the object of volition ? As this must be granted on the one hand, so it is no less certain, on the other, thiit a man has a considerable power in regulating and disposing his own thoughts- Of this every man is conscious, and I can no more doubt of it than I can doubt whether I think at all. We seem to treat the thoughts that pre- sent themselves to the fancy in crowds, as a great man treats those that attend his levee. They are all ambitious of his at- tention : he goes round the circle, bestow- ing a bow upon one, a smile upon another ; asks a short question of a third ; while a fourth is honoured with a particular con- ference ; and the greater part have no par- ticular mark of attention, but go as they came. It is true, he can give no mark of his attention to those who were not there, but he has a sufficient number for making a choice and distinction. In like manner, a number of thoughts present themselves to the fancy spontane- ously ; but, if we pay no attention to them, nor hold any conference with them, they pass with the crowd, and are immediately forgot, as if they had never appeared. But those to which we think proper to pay at- tention, may be stopped, examined, and arranged, for any particular purpose we have in view. It may likewise be observed, that a train of thought, which was at first composed by application and judgment, when it has been often repeated, and becomes familiar, will present itself spontaneously. Thus, when a man has composed an air in music, so as to please his own ear, after he has played or sung it often, the notes will arrange themselves in just order, and it requires no effort to regulate their succes- sion. [409] Thus we see that the fancy is made up of trains of thinking — some of which are spontaneous, others studied and regulated, and the greater part are mixed of both kinds, and take their denomination from that which is most prevalent ; and that a train of thought which at first was studied and composed, may, by habit, present itself spontaneously. Having premised these things, let us return to those trains of thought which are spontaneous, which must be first in the order of nature. When the work of the day is over, and a man lies down to relax his body and mind, he cannot cease from thinking, though he desires it. Something occurs to his fancy ; that is followed by another thing ; and so his thoughts are carried on from one object to another, until sleep closes the scene. In this operation* of the mind, it is not faculty only that is employed; there are many that join together in its production. Sometimes the transactions of the day are brought upon the stage, and acted over again, as it were, upon this theatre of the imagination. In this case, memory surely acts the most considerable part, since the scenes exhibited are not fictions, butrealities, which we remember ; yet, in this case, the * J he word process might be here preferable. Opcratiim would denote that the mind is active in associating the train of thought. — H. [407-409] CHAP. IV.] OF THE TRAIN OF THOUGHT IN THE MIND. 381 memory does not act alone, other powers are employed, and attend upon their proper objects. The transactions remembered will be more or less interesting ; and we cannot then review our own conduct, nor that of others, without passing some judgment upon it. This we approve, that we disapprove. This elevates, that humbles and depresses us. Persons that are not absolutely indif- ferent to us, can hardly appear, even to the imagination, without some friendly or un- friendly emotion. We judge and reason about things as well as persons in such reveries. We remember what a man said and did ; frum this we pass to his designs and to his general character, and frame some hypothesis to make the whole con- sistent. Such trains of thought we may call historical. [410] There are others which we may call ro- mantic, in which the plot is formed by the creative power of fancy, without any regaril to what did or will happen. In these also, the powers of judgment, taste, moral senti- ment, as well as the passions and affections, come in and take a share in the execu- tion. In these scenes, the man himself com- monly acts a very distinguished part, and seldom does anything which he cannot ap- prove. Here the miser will be generous, the coward brave, and the knave honest. Mr Addison, in the '-Spectator," calls this play of the fancy, castle-building. The young politician, who has turned his thoughts to the affairs of government, be- comes, in his imagination, a minister of state. He examines every spring and wheel of the machine of government with the nicest eye and the most exact judgment. He finds a proper remedy for every disorder of the commonwealth, quickens trade arid manufactures by salutary laws, encourages arts and sciences, and makes the nation happy at home and respected abroad. He feels the reward of his good administration, in that self-approbation which attends it, and is happy in acquiring, by his wise and patriotic conduct,theblessingsof the present age, and the praises of those that are to come. It is probable that, upon the stage of imagination, more great exploits have been performed in every age than have been upon the stage of life from the beginning of the world. An innate desire of self-appro- bation is undoubtedly a part of the human constitution. It is a ])ovverful spur to worthy conduct, and is intended as such by the Author of our being. A man cannot he easy or haj)])y, unless this desire be in some measure gratified. Wiiile he con- ceives hims;elf worthless and base, he can relish no enjoyment. The humiliating, mortifying sentiment nmst be removed, and [+10-"U'^] this natural desire of self-approbation will either produce a noble effort to acquire real worth, which is its proper direction, or it will lead into some of those arts of self- deceit, which create a false opinion of worth. [411] A castle-builder, in the fictitious scenes of his fancy, will figure, not according to his real character, but according to the highest opinion he has been able to form of himself, and perhaps far beyond that opinion. For, in those imaginary conflicts, the passions easily yield to reason, and a man exerts the noblest efforts of virtue and magnanimity, with the same ease as, in his dreams, he flies through the air or plunges to the bot^ torn of the ocean. The romantic scenes of fancy arc most commonly the occupation of young minds, not yet so deeply engaged in life as to have their thoughts taken up by its real cares and business. Those active powers of the mind, wliioli are most luxuriant by constitution, or have been most cherislied by education, im- patient to exert themselves, hurry the thought into scenes that give them play ; and the boy commences in imagination, according to the bent of his mind, a general or a statesman, a poet or an orator. When the fair ones become castle-build- ers, they use different materials ; and, while the young soldier is carried into the field of Mars, where he pierces the thickest squad- rons of the enemy, despising death in all its forms, the gay and lovely nymph, whose heart has never felt the tender jiassion, is transported into a brilliant assembly, where she draws the attention of every eye, and makes an impression on tlie noblest heart. But no sooner has Cnpid's arrow found its way into her own heart, than the whole scenery of her imagination is changed. Balls and assemblies have now no charms. Woods and groves, the flowery bank and the crystal fountain, are the scenes she frequents in imagination. She becomes an Arcadian shepherdess, feeding her flock beside that of her Strejihon, and wants no more to complete her happiness. [412] In a few years the love-sick maid is transformed into the solicitous mother. Her smiling ofl'spring jilay aroimd her. She views them with a i)arent's eye. Her ima- gination immediately raises tlient to man- hood, and brings tiiem forth up. n the stage of life. One son makes a figure in the army, another shines at the bar ; her daughters are hapi>ily disposed of in mar- riage, and bring new alliances to the family. Her children's children riK' up before her, and venerate Inr grey liairs. Thus the spontaneous sallies of faney :iie as various as the cares and fears, the de- sires and ho]>eB, of man. 382 ON TUK INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay IV. Quicquid ap.iint homines, votum, tiinor, ir.i, voluptas, Gaudia, discursus: These fill up the scenes of fancy, as well as the page of the satirist. Whatever possesses the heart makes occasional ex- cursions into the imagination, and acts such scenes upon that theatre as are agreeable to the prevailing passion. The man of traffic, who has committed a rich cargo to the inconstant ocean, follows it in his thought, and, according as his hopes or his fears prevail, he is haunted with storms, and rocks, and shipwreck ; or he makes a happy and a lucrative voyage, and, before his vessel has lost sight of land, he has dis- posed of the profit which she is to bring at her return. The poet is carried into the Elysian fields, where he converses with the ghosts of Homer and Orpheus. The philosopher makes a tour through the planetary system, or goes down to the centre of the earth, and examines its various strata. In the devout man likewise, the great objects that possess his heart often play in his imagination : sometimes he is transjiorted to the regions of the blessed, from whence he looks down with pity upon the folly and the pageantry of human life; or he prostrates himself before the throne of the Most High with devout veneration ; or he converses with celestial spirits about the natural and moral kingdom of God, which he now sees only by a faint light, but hopes hereafter to view with a steadier and brighter ray. [413] In persons come to maturity, there is, even in these spontaneous sallies of fancj', some arrangement of thought ; and I con- ceive that it will be readily allowed, that' in those who have the greatest stock of know- ledge, and the best natural parts, even the spontaneous movements of fancy will be the most regular and connected. They have an order, connection, and unity, by ■which they are no less distinguished from the dreams of one asleep, or the ravings of one delirious on the one hand, than from the finished productions of art on the other. How is this regular arrangement brought about ? It has all the marks of judgment and reason, yet it seems to go before judg- ment, and to spring forth spontaneously. Shall we believe with Leibnitz, that the mind was originally formed like a watch wound up ; and that all its thoughts, pur- poses, passions, and actions, are effected by the gradual evolution of the original spring of the machine, and succeed each other in order, as necessarily as the motions and pulsations of a watch ? If a child of three or four years were put to account for the phsenomena of a watch, he V luld conceive that there is a little man withiii the watch, or some other little animal, that beats continually, and produces the motion. Whether the hypothesis of this young philosopher, in turning the watch- spring into a man, or that of the German philosopher, in turning a man into a watch- spring, be the most rational, seems hard to determine.* To account for the regularity of our first thoughts, from motions of animal spirits, vibrations of nerves, attractions of ideas, or from any other unthinking cause, whether mechanical or contingent, seems equally irrational. [414] If we be not able to distinguish the strongest marks of thought and design from the effects of mechanism or contingency, the consequence will be very melancholy ; foj it must necessarily follow, that we have no evidence of thought in any of our fellow men — nay, that we have no evidence of thought or design in the structure and go- vernment of the universe. If a good period or sentence was ever produced without having had any judgment previously em- ployed about it, why not an Iliad or .^neid ? They differ only in less and more ; and we should do injustice to the philosopher of Laputa, in laughing at his project of making poems by the turning of a wheel, if a con- currence of unthinking causes may produce a rational train of thought. It is, therefore, in itself highly probable to say no more, that whatsoever is regular and rational in a train of thought, which presents itself spontaneously to a man's fancy, without any'study, is a copy of what had been before composed by his own ra- tional powers, or those of some other person. We certainly judge so in similar cases. Thus, in a book I find a train of thinking, which has the marks of knowledge and judgment. I ask how it was produced ? It is printed in a book. This does not satisfy me, because the book has no knowledge nor reason. I am told that a printer printed it, and a compositor set the types. Neither does this satisfy me. These causes, per- haps, knew very little of the subject. There must be a prior cause of the composition. It was printed from a manuscript. True. But the manuscript is as ignorant as the printed book. The manuscript was written or dictated by a man of knowledge and judgment. This, and this only, will satisfy a man of common understanding ; and it appears to him extremely ridiculous to be- lieve that such a trahi of thinking could originally be produced by any cause that neither reasons nor thinks. [415] Whether such a train of thinking be printed in a book, or printed, so to speak, in his mind, and issue spontaneously from his fancy, it must have been composed with * The theory of our mental nssociationso'esmuch to the philosophers of Uic Leibnitziaii school.— H. [41.3-415] CHAP. IV.] OF THE TRAIN OF THOUGHT IN THE MIND. 383 judgmeut by himself, or by some otlier rational beiuj;. This, I thiuk, will be confirmed by tracing the progress of the human fancy as far back as we are able. We have not the means of knowing how the fancy is employed in infants. Their time is divided between the employment of their senses and sound sleep : so tluvt there is little time left for imagination, and the materials it has to work upon are probably very scanty. A few days after they are born, sometimes a few hours, we see them smile in their sleep. But what they smile at is not easy to guess ; for they do not smile at anything they see, when awake, for some months after they are born. It is likewise common to see them move their lips in sleep, as if they were sucking. These things seem to discover some working of the imagination ; but there is no reason to thiuk that there is any regular train of thought in the mind of infants. By a regular train of thought, I mean that which has a beginning, a middle, and an end, an arrangement of its parts, ac- cording to some rule, or with some inten- tion. Thus, the conception of a design, and of the means of executing it ; the con- ception of a whole, and the number and order of the parts. These are instances of the most simple trains of thought that can be called regular. Man has undoubtedly a power (whether we call it taste or judgment is not of any consequence in the present argument) whereby he distinguishes between a com- position and a heap of materials ; between a house, for instance, and a heap of stones ; between a sentence and a heap of words ; between a picture and a heap of colours. [41()J It does not appear to me that chil- dren have any regular trains of thought until this power begins to operate. Those who are born such idiots as never to shew any signs of this power, shew as little any .signs of regularity of thought. It seems, therefoic, tliat this power is connected with all regular trains of thought, and may be the cause of them- Such trains of thought discover tliem- selves in children about two years of age. They can then give attention to the opera- tions of older children in making their little houses, and ships, and other such things, in imitation of the works of men. 'i'hey are then capable of understanding a little of language, which shews both a regular train of thinking, and .some degree of abstraction. I think we may perceive a distinction between tlie faculties of cliildrcn of two or three years of age, and those of the most sagacious brutes. Tliey can then perceive design and regularity in the works of others, especially of older children ; their 14.16, 417] little minds are fired with the discovery; they are eager to imitate it, and never at rest till they can exhibit something of the same kind. When a child first learns by imitation to do something that requires design, how does he exult ! Pythagoras was not more happy in the discovery of his famous theo- rem. He seems then first to reflect upon himself, and to swell with self-esteem. His eyes sparkle. He is impatient to shew his performance to all about him, and thinks himself entitled to their applause. He is applauded by all, and feels the same emo- tion from this applause, as a Roman Con- sul did from a triumph. He has now a consciousness of some worth in himself. He assumes a superiority over those who are not so wise, and pays respect to those who are wiser than himself. He attempts something else, and is every day reaping new laurels. As children grow up, they are delighted with tales, with childish games, with designs and stratagems. Everything of this kind stores the fancy with a new re^tular train of thought, which becomes familiar by repeti- tion, so that one part draws the whole after it in the imagination. [417] The imagination of a child, like the hand of a painter, is long employed in copying the works of others, before it attempts any invention of its own. The power of invention is not yet brought forth ; but it is coming forward, and, like the bud of a tree, is ready to burst its integuments, when some accident aids its eruption. There is no power of the understanding that gives so much pleasure to the owner, as that of invention, whether it be employed in mech.mics, in science, in the conduct of life, iu poetry, in wit, or in the fine arts. One who is conscious of it, acquires thereby a worth and importance in his own eye which he had not liefore. He looks upon himself as one who formerly lived upon the bounty and gratuity of others, but who has now acquired some property of his own. When this power begins to be felt in the young mind, it has the grace of novelty added to its other charms, and, like the youngest child of the family, is caressed beyond all the rest. We may be sure, .hereforc, that, as soon as children are conscious of this power, they will exercise it iu such wa\s as are suited to their age, and to the objects they are employed about. 'I'his gives rise to innumerabk; new associations, and regular trains of thought, whii-h make the deej)er inq)ression ui)on the mind, as they are its exclusive property. I am aware that tlit^ powiT of invcntiou is distributed among men more unequally 384 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay iv. than almost any other. When it is able to produce anything that is interesting to man- kind we call it genius ; a talent which is the lot of very few. But there is, perliaps, a lower kind or lower degree of invention that is more common. However this may be, it must be allowed that the power of invention in those who have it, will produce many new regular trains of thought ; and these being expressed in works of art, in writing, or iu discourse, will be copied by others. [418] Thus, I conceive the minds of children, as soon as they have judgment to distin- guish what is regular, orderly, and connected, from a mere medley of thought, are fur- nished with regular trains of thinking by these means. First and chiefly, by copying what they see in the works and in the discourse of others. Man is the most imitative of all animals ; he not only imitates with inten- tion, and purposely, what he thinks has any grace or beauty, buteven without intention, he is led, by a kind of instinct, which it is difficult to resist, into the modes of speakini^, thinking, and acting, which he has been ac- customed to see in his early years. The more children see of what is regular and beautiful in what is presented to them, the more they are led to observe and to imitate it. This is the chief part of their stock, and descends to them by a kind of tradition from those who came before them ; and we shall find that the fancy of most men is furnished from those they have conversed with, as well as their religion, language, and manners. Secoii'lly, By the additions or innovations that are properly their own, these will be greater or less, in proportion to their study and invention ; but in the bulk of mankind are not very considerable- Every profession and every rank in life, has a manner of thinkhig, and turn of fancy that is proper to it ; by which it is character- ised in comedies and works of humour. Tile bulk of men of the same nation, of the same rank, and of the same occupation, are cast as, it were, in the same mould. Tliis mould itself changes gradually, but slowly, by new inventions, by intercourse with strangers, or by other accidents.* [419] The condition of man requires a longer infancy and youth than that of other ani- mals ; for this reason, among others, that almost every station in civil society requires a multitude of regular trains of thought, to " * Non ad rationera sed adsitniUtudiiiemcompo- nimur," says Seneca; and Sihiller — " Man— he is aye an imitative creature. And lie who is the foremost leads the flock." There would be no end of quotations to the same eftect.— H. be not only acquired, but to be made so familiar by frequent repetition, as to pre- sent themselves spontaneously when there is occasion for them. The imagination even of men of good parts never serves them readily but in things wherein it has been much exercised. A minister of state holds a conference with a foreign ambassador with no greater emo- tion than a professor in a college prelects to his audience. The imagination of each presents to him what the occasion requires to be said, and how. Let them change plivces, and both would find themselves at a loss. Tiie habits which the human mind is capable of acquiring by exercise are won- derful in many instances ; in none more wonderful than in that versatility of imagin- ation which a well-bred man acquires by being much exercised in the various scenes of life. In the morning he visits a friend in affliction. Here his imagination brings forth from its store every topic of consola- tion ; everything that is agreeable to the laws of friendship and sympathy, and no- thing that is not so. From thence he drives to the minister's levee, where imagination readily sugi^ests what is proper to be said or replied to every man, and in what man- ner, according to the degree of acquaint- ance or familiarity, of rank or dependence, of opposition or concurrence of interests, of confidence or distrust, that is between them. Nor does all this employment hinder him from carrying on some design with much artifice, and endeavouring to penetrate into the views of others through the closest dis- guises. From the levee he goes to the Housp of Connnons, and speaks upon the affairs of the nation ; from thence to a ball or assembly, and entertains the ladies- His imagination puts on the friend, the courtier, the patriot, the fine gentleman, with more ease than we put off one suit and put on another. [420] This is the effect of training and exer- cise. For a man of equal parts and know- ledge, but unaccustomed to those scenes of public hfe, is quite disconcerted when first brought into them. His thoughts are put to flight, and he cannot rally them. There are feats of imagination to be learned by application and practice, as won- derful as the feats of balancers and rope- dancers, and often as useless. When a man can make a hundred verses standing on one foot, or play three or four games at chess at the same time without seeing the board, it is probable he hath spent his life in acquiring such a feat. How- ever, such unusual phsenomena shew what habits of imagination may be acquired. When such habits are acquired and per- fected, they are exercised without any labo- [418-4.20] CHAP. IV. 1 OF THE TRAIN OF THOUGHT IN THE MIND. SPo rious eflFort ; like the habit of playing upon an instrument of music There are innu- merable motions of the fingers upon the stops or keys, which must be directed in one particular train or succession. There is only one arrana;ement of those motions that is ri_'ht, while there are ten thousand that are wrong, and would spoil the music. The musician tliinks not in the least of the arrangement of those motions ; he has a dis- tinct idea of the tune, and wills to play it. The motions of the fingers arrange them- selves so as to answer his intention. In like manner, when a man speaks upona subject with wliich he is acquainted, there is a certain arrangement ot his thoughts and words necessary to make his discourse sen- sible, pertinent, and grammatical. In every sentence there are more rules of granmiar, logic, and rhetoric that may be transgressed, than there are words and letters. He speaks without thinking of any of those rules, and yet observes them all, as if they were all in his eye. [421] This is a habit so similar to that of a player on an instrument, that I think both must be got in the same way — that is, by much practice, and the power of habit. \\'hen a man speaks well and methodi- cally upon a subject without study and with perfect ease, I believe we may take it for granted that his thoughts run in a beaten track. There is a mould in his mind — which has been formed by much practice, or by study— for this very subject, or for some other so similar and analogous that his discourse falls into this mould with ease, ftud takes its form from it. Hitherto we have considered the opera- tions of fancy that are either spontaneous, or, at least, require no laborious effort to guide and direct them, and have endeav- oured to account for that degree of regu- larity and arrangement which is found even in them. The natural powers of judgment and invention, the pleasure that always attends the exercise of those powers, the means we have of improving them by hni- tatlon of others, and the effect of practice and habits, seem to me sufficiently to account for this phenomenon, without sup- posing any unaccountable attractions of ideas by which they arrange themselves. But we are able to direct our thoughts in a certain course, so as to perform a destined task. Kvery work of art has its model framed in the imagination. Here the " Iliad" of Homer, the " Kei-ublic" of Plato, the " Priiicipia" of Newton, were fabi'icated. Shall we believe that those works took the form in which they now api)ear of them- selves ? — that the sentiments, the manners, and the passions arr:inKed tlieinselves at once in the mind of Homer, so as to form [421-4^^3] the " Iliad ?" Was there no more effort in the composition than there is in telling a well-known tale, or singing a favourite song ? This cannot be believed, [422] Granting that some happy thought first sugfjested the design of singing the wrath of Achilles, yet, surely, it was a matter of judgment and choice where the nairaion should begin and where it should end. Granting that the fertility of the poet's imagination suggested a variety of rich ma- terials, was not judgment necessary to select what was proper, to reject what was im- proper, to arrange the materials into a just composition, and to adapt them to each other, and to the design of the whole ? No man can believe that Homer's ideas, merely by certain sympathies and antipa- thies, by certain attractions and repulsions inherent in their natures, arranged them- selves according to the most perfect rules of epic poetry; and Newton's, according to the rules of mathematical composition- I should sooner believe that the poet, after he invoked his muse, did nothing at all but listen to the song of the god less. Poets, indeed, and other artists, must make their works appear natural; but nature is the perfection of art, and tlieie can be no just imitation of nature without art. When the building is finished, the ruhlish, the scafl'olds, the tools and engines are carried out of sight ; but we know it could not have been reared without them. Thetrain of thinking, therefore, is eajable of being guided and directed, much in the same manner as the horse we ride. The horse has his strength, his agility, and his mettle in himself; he has been taught cer- tain movements, and many useful habits, that make him more subservient to our purposes and obedient to our will ; but to accomplish a journey, he must be directed by the rider. In like manner, fancy has its original powers, which are very dift'erent in diflerent persons ; it has likewise more regular mo- tions, to which it has been trained by along course of disci])liue and exercise, and by which it may, c J lemi,orr, and without much effort, produce things that have a consid- erable degree of beauty, regularity, and design. [423] But the most perfect works of design are never extemporary. Our first thoughts are reviewed ; we place them at a proper dis tance; examine eve.y part, anti take a complex view of the whole. By our criti- cal faculties, we perceive this Jiart to bo rcdunilant, that deficient ; liere is a want of nerves, there a want ol .Irlicacy ; this is ob.scure, that too diffuse. Things are mar- shalled anew, according to a second and more deliberate judgment ; what was defi- cient, is supplied ; what was dish)™tcd, i» 2 386 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POVFERS. [essay IV, put in joint ; redundances are lopped off, and the whole polished. Though poets, of all artists, make the highest claim to inspiration ; yet, if we be- lieve Horace, a competent judge, no pro- duction in that art can have merit which has not cost such labour as this in the birth. " Vos O! Pompilms sanguis, c:irmcn reprehendite quod non Multa dies, et multa litura coercuit, atque Perf'ectum decies non castigavit ad unguem." The conclusion I would draw from all that has been said upon this subject is. That everything that is regular in that train of thought which we call fancy or imagination, from the little designs and reveries of children to the grandest pi'u- ductious of human genius, was originally the offspring of judgment or taste, applied with some effort greater or less. What one person composed with art and judg- ment, is imitated by another with great ease. What a man himself at first com- posed with pains, becomes by habit so familiar as to offer itself spontaneously to his fancy afterwards. But nothing that is regular was ever at first conceived without design, attention, and care. [424] I shall now make a few reflections upon a theory which has been applied to account for tliis successive train of thought in the mind. It was hinted by Mr Hobbes, but has drawn more attention since it was dis- tinctly explained by Mr Hume. That author* thinks that the train of thought in the mind is owing to a kind of attraction which ideas have for other ideas that bear certain relations to them. He thinks the complex ideas — which are the common subjects of our thoughts and rea- .soning— are owing to the same cause. The relations which produce this attraction of ideas, he thinks, are these three only — to wit, causation, contiguity in time or place, and similitude. He asserts that these are the only general principles that unite ideas. And having, in another place, occasion to take notice of contrariety as a principle of connection among ideas, in order to recon- cile this to his system, he tells us gravely, that contrariety may perhaps be considered as a mixture of causation and resemblance. That ideas which have any of these three relations do mutually attract each other, so that one of them being presented to the fancy, the other is drawn along with it — this he seems to think an original property «)f the mind, or rather of the ideas, and tlierefore inexplicable. -f * He should have said thii author, for Hume is referred to.^H. t S e above, p. S9I, b, note f. The history of the doctrine of Association has never yet been at all adequately developed. Some of the most remark. First, I observe, with regard to tliis theory, that, although it is true that the thought of any object is apt to lead us to the thought of its cause or effect, of things contiguous to it in time or place, or of things resembling it, yet this enumeration of the relations of things which are apt to lead us from one object to another, is very inaccurate. The enumeration is too large upon his own principles ; but it is by far too scanty in reality. Causation, according to his philo- sophy, implies notliing more than a con- stant conjunction observed between the cause and the effect, and, therefore, conti- guity must include causation, and his three principles of attraction are reduced to two. [425] But when we take all the three, the enu- meration is, in reality, very incomplete. Every relation of things has a tendency, more or less, to lead the thought, in a thinking mind, from one to the other ; and not only every relation, but every kind of contrariety and opposition. What Mr Hume says — that contrariety may perhaps be considered as a mi.xture " of causation and resemblance" — I can as little compre- hend as if he had said that figure may per- haps be considered as a mixture of colour and sound. Our thoughts pass easily from the end to the means ; from any truth to the evi- dence on which it is founded, the conse- quences that may be drawn from it, or the u.se that may be made of it. From a part we are easily led to think of the whole, from a subject to its rjualities, or from things related to the relation. Such transitions in thinking nmst have been made thousands of times by every man who thinks and reasons, and thereby become, as it were, beaten tracks for the imagination. Not only the relations of objects to each other influence our train of thinking, but the relation they bear to the present tem- per and disposition of the mind ; their re- lation to the habits we have acquired, whether moral or intellectual ; to the com- pany we have kept, and to the business in which we have been chiefly employed. The same event will suggest very different re- flections to different person.", and to the same person at different times, according as he is in good or bad humour, as he is lively or dull, angry or pleased, melanclioly or cheerful. Lord Karnes, in his " Elements of Criti- cism," and Dr Gerard, in his " Essay on Genius," have given a much fuller and juster enumeration of the causes that in- fluence our train of thinking, and I have able speculations on this matter are wholly unknown. Of these I can, at present, sav nothing. — H. See Notes D * *, D • * *. ' [424, 425] CHAP. IV.] OF THE TRAIX OF THOUGHT IN THE MIND. 387 nothing to add to what they have said on this subject. Secondli/, Let us consider how far this attraction of ideas must be resolved into original ijualities of human nature. [426] I believe the original principles of the mind, of which we can give no account but that such is our constitution, are more in number than is commonly thouglit. But we ought not to multiply them without necessity. That trains of thinking, which, by fre- quent repetition, have become familiar, should spontaneously offer themselves to our fancy, seems to require no other origi- nal quality but the power of habit.* In all rational thinking, and in all rational discourse, whether serious or facetious, the thought must have some relation to what went before. Every man, therefore, from the dawn of reason, nmst have been accus- tomed to a train of related objects. These please the understanding, and, by custom, become like beaten tracks which invite the traveller. As far as it is in our power to give a direction to our thoughts, which it is un- doubtedly in a great degree, they will be directed by the active principles common to men — by our appetites, our passions, our affections, our reason, and conscience. And that the trains of thinking in our minds are chiefly governed by these, according as one or another ]irevails at the time, every man will find in his experience. If the mind is at any time vacant from every passion and desire, there are still some objects that are more acceptable to us than others. The facetious man is pleased with surprising similitudes or con- trasts ; the philosopher with the relations of tilings that are subservient to reasoning ; the merchant with what tends to profit; and the politician with what may mend the state. A good writer of comedy or romance can feign a train of thinking for any of the per- sons of liis fable, whicii aiijjoars very natu- ral, and is approved by the best judges. Now, what is it that entitles such a fiction to ajiprobation ? Is it that the autlior has given a nice attention to the relations of causation, contiguity, and similitude in tlie ideas? [427] This surely is the least part of its merit. But the ciiief part con- sists in this, that it corresponds perfectly with the general character, tiie rank, tlie habits, the present situation and passions of the person. If this be a just way of judging in criticism, it follows necessarily, that tiic circumstances last mentioned have tlie cliief influence in suggesting our trains of thouglit. * We can as well explain Habit by Aitociatlon, «« A»«ociatinn by Ila! il— H. It cannot be denied, that the state of the body has an influence upon our imagination, according as a man is sober or drunk, ivs he is fatigued or refreshed. Crudities and indigestion are said to give uneasy dreams, and have probably a like effect upon the waking thoughts. Opium gives to some persons pleasing dreams and pleasing im- aginations when awiike, and to others such as are horrible and distressing. These influences of the body upon the mind can only be known by experience, and I believe we can give no account of them. Nor can we, perhaps, give any reason whj we must think without ceasing while we are awake. I believe we are likewise origi- nally disposed, in imagination, to pass from any one object of thought to others that are contiguous to it in time or place. This, I think, may be observed in brutes and in idiots, as well as in children, before any habit can be acquired that might account for it. The sight of an object is apt to suggest to the imagination what has been ' seen or felt in conjunction with it, even when the memory of that conjunction is gone. Such conjunctions of things influence not only the imagination, but the belief and the passions, especially in children and in brutes ; and perliaps all that we call memory in brutes is something of this kind. They expect events in the same order and succession in which they happened before ; and by this expectation, their actions and passions, as well as their thoughts, are re- gulated. [428] A horse takes fright at the place where some oljject frighted him before. We are apt to conclude from this that lie remembers the former accident. But perhaps there is only an association formed in his mind between the (ilace and the passion of fear, without any distinct remembrance. I\Ir Locke has given us a very good chapter upon the association of ideas ; and by the examples he has given to illustrate this doctrine, 1 tliink it a])pears that very strong associations may be formed at once — not of ideas to ideas only, but of ideas to passions and emotions ; atid that strong as- sociations are never formed at once, but when accompanied by some strong passion or emotion. I believe this nmst be resolved into the constitution of our nature. Mr Hume's opinion — that the complex ideas, which are tlie coiiiiiion objects of discourseaiid reasoning, are forniid bythoso original attractions of ideas to which ho aKcrilx.'s tlie train of tliduglits in the iniiid — will come under consideration in ttiiotlicr place. To put an end to our remarks upon tliis tlieory of i\lr Hume, I think he has real merit in bringing this curious suliject under 'i c U 388 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay IV. thft view of philosophers, and carrying it a certain length. But I see nothing in this the )ry that should hinder us to conclude, that everything in the trains of our thought, which bears the marks of judgment and reason, has been the product of judgment and reason previously exercised, either by the person himself, at that or some former time, or by some other person. The at- traction of ideas will be the same in a man's second thoughts upon any subject as in his first. Or, if some change in his circum- stances, or in the objects about him, should make any change in the attractions of his ideas, it is an equal chance whether the second be better than the first, or whether they be worse. 'But it is certain that every man of judgment and taste will, upon a review, correct that train of thought which first presented itself If the attractions of ideas are the sole causes of the regular arrangement of thought in the fancy, there is no Hse for judgment or taste in any com- position, nor indeed any room for their operation. [429 J There are other reflections, of a more practical nature and of higher importance, to which this subject leads. I believe it will be allowed by every man, that our happiness or misery in life, that our improvement in any art or sciencewhich we profess, and that our improvement in real virtue and goodness, depend in a very great degree on the train of thinking that occupies the mind both in our vacant and in ouF more svrious hours. As far, there- fore, as the direction of our thoughts is in our power, (and that it is so in a great measure, cannot be doubted) it is of the last importance to give them tliat direction which is most subservient to those valuable pur- poses. AVhat employment can he have worthy of a man, whose imagination is occupied only about things low and base, and grovels in a narrow field of mean, unanimating, and uninteresting objects, insensible to those finer and more delicate sentiments, and blind to those more enlarged and nobler views which elevate the soul, and make it conscious of its dignity. How different from him whose imagina- tion, like an eagle in her flight, takes a wide prospect, and observes whatever it presents, that is new or beautiful, grand or important ; whose rapid wing varies the scene every moment, carrying him sometimes through the fairy regions of wit and fancy, some- times through the more regular and sober walks of science and philosophy 1 The various objects which he surveys, according to their different degrees of beauty and dignity, raise in him the lively and agreeable emotions of taste. Illustrious human characters, as they pass in review, clothed with their moral qualities, touch his heart still more dee])ly. They not only awaken the sense of beauty, but excite the sentiment of approbation, and kindle the glow of virtue. While he views what is truly great and glorious in human conduct, his soul catches the divine flame, and burns with desire to emulate what it admires. [430] The human imagination is an ample theatre, upon which everythir.-g in human life, good or bad, great or mean, laudable or base, is acted. In children, and in some frivolous minds, it is a mere toy-shop. And in some, who exercise their memory without their judg- ment, its furniture is made up of old scraps of knowledge, that are thread-bare and worn out. In some, this theatre is often occupied by ghastly superstition, with all her train of Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimeeras dire. Sometimes it is haunted with all the infernal demons, and made the forge of plots, and rapine, and murder. Here everything that is black and detestable is first contrived, and a thousand wicked designs conceived that are never executed. Here, too, the furies act their part, taking a severe though secret vengeance upon the self-condemned criminal. How happy is that mind in which the light of real knowledge dispels the phantoms of superstition ; in which the belief and rever- ence of a perfect all-governing mind casts out all fear but the fear of acting wrong ; in which serenity and cheerfulness, inno- cence, humanity, and candour, guard the im- agination against the entrance of every un- hallowed intruder, and invite more.amiable and- worthier guests to dwell ! There shall the Muses, the Graces, and the Virtues fix their abode ; for everything that is great and worthy in human conduct must have been conceived in the imagina- tion before it was brought into act- And many great and pood designs have been formed there, which, for want of power and opportunity, have proved abortive. The man whose imagination is occupied by these guests, must be wise ; he must be good ; and he must be happy. [431 ] [4-29-431] CHAP. l.J OF GENERAL WORDS. 389 ESSAY V. OF ABSTRACTION. CHAPTER I. OF GENERAL WORDS. The words we use in language are either general words or proper names. Proper names are intended to signify one individual only. Such are the names of men, king- doms, provinces, cities, rivers, and of every other creature of God, or work of man, which we choose to distinguish from all others of the kind, by a name appropriated to it. All the other words of language are general words, not appropriated to signify any one individual thing, but equally related to many. Under general words, therefore, I com- prehend not only those which logicians call general terms — that is, such general words as may make the subject or the predicate of a proposition, but likewise their auxiliaries or accessories, as the learned Mr Harris calls them ; such as |)repositions, conjunc- tions, articles, which are^all general words, though they cannot properly be called gejie- ral terms. In every language, rude or polished, general words make the greatest part, and proper names the least. Grammarians have reduced all words to eight or nine classes, wliich are called parts of sjieech. Of these there is only one — to wit, that of nouns — wherein proper names are found. [432] Alt jiiououfis, vrLs, pnrlirip/es, ad- vrbs, articL s, prepositions, conjuncti ins, and iii'eij'cti.ni, are general word.s. Of nouns, all adjec'.tvns are general words, and the greater part of sulistanlivPs. Every .sub- stantive that has a plural number, is a gene- ral word ; for no projier name can have a plural number, because it signifies only one individual. In all the fifteen books of Euclid's Elements, there is not one word that is not general ; and the same may be said of many large volumes. At the same time, it must be acknowledged, that all tlie objects we perceive are individ- uals. Every object of sense, of memory, or of consciousness, is an individual object. All tlie good tilings we enjoy or desire, and all the evils we feel or fear, must come from individuals ; and I think we may venture to say, that every creature which Cied h.'is made, in the heavens above, or in the earth be- neath, or in the waters under the earth, is an individual.* How comes it to pass, then, that, in all languages, general words make the greatest part of the language, and proper names but a very small and inconsiderable part of it. This seemingly strange plia;nomenon may, I think, be easily accounted for by the fol- lowing observations : — First, Though there be a few individuals that are obvious to the notice of all men, and, therefore, have proper names in all languages — such as the sun and moon, the earth and sea — yet the greatest part of the things to which we think fit to give proper names, are .local ; known perhaps to a vil- lage or to a neighbourhood, but unknown to the greater part of those who speak tho same language, and to all the rest of man- kind. The names of such things being con- fined to a corner, and having no names answering to them in other languages, are not .iccounted a part of the language, any more than the customs of a particular ham- let are accounted part of the law of the nation. [433] For this reason, there are but few proper names that belong to a language. It is next to be considered wliy there must be many general words in every language. Secondly. It may be observed, that every individual object that falls within our view has various attributes ; and it is by them that it becomes useful or hurtful to us. We know not the essence of any individual object ; all the knowledge we can attain of it, is the knowledge of its attributes — its quantity, its various qualities, its various relations to other tliuigs, its place, its situation, and motions. It is by such attri- butes of things only lliat we can coiiimuni- cate our knowledge of them to otiiers. By their attributes, our hopes or fears for them are regulated ; and it is only by attention to their attributes tliat we can make them subservient to our end.s ; and therefore wo give names to such attributes. Now, all attributes must, from their nature, be e.tpressed by general words, and are .so expressed in all languag<'s. In the ancient philosophy, attributes in general were called by two names which express * Thii nncthiui liai wcllrxprciied : — " Omnr. quoit at, fo rfuod cut, tinijiilarc ft," — 1 1. 3U0 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWEIIS. ["essay their nature. Tiiey were called uuiversa/s, because they might belong equally to many individuals, and are not confined to one. They were also called predicables, because whatever is predicated, that is, affirmed or denied of one subject, may be of more, and therefore is an universal, and expressed by a general word. A predicable therefore signifies the same thing as an attribute, with this difference only, that the fir»t is Latin, the last English.* The attributes we find either in the creatures of God or in the works of men, are common to many indi- duals. We either find it to be so, or i)re- sume it may be so, and give them the same name in every subject to which they belong. There are not only attributes belonging to individual subjects, but there are likewise attributes of attributes, which may be called 6econdary attributes. Most attributes are capable of different degrees and different modifications, which must be expressed by general words. [434] Thus it is an attribute of many bodies to oe moved ; but motion may be in an endless variety of directions. It may be quick or slow, rectilineal or curviliueal ; it may be equable, or accelerated, or retarded. As all attributes, therefore, whether pri- mary or secondary, are expressed by general words, it ioUows that, in every proposition we express in language, what is affirmed or denied of the subject of the proposition must be expressed by general words : and that the subject of the proposition may often be a general word, will appear from the next observation. Thirdly, The same faculties by which we distinguish the diff'erent attributes belong- ing to the same subject, and give names to them, enable us likewise to observe, that many subjects agree in certain attri- butes while they differ in others. By this means we are enabled to reduce individuals which are infinite, to a limited number of classes, which are called kinds and sorts ; and, in the scholastic language, genera and species. Observing many individuals to agree in certain attributes, we refer them all to one class, and give a name to the class. This name comprehends in its signification not one attribute only, but all the attributes which distinguish that class; and by affirm- ing this name of any individual, we affirm it to have all the attributes which charac- terise the class : thus men, dogs, horses, elephants, are so many diff'erent classes of animals. In like manner we marshal other substances, vegetable and inanimate, into classes. * Tliey are bo.h Latin, or both English. The only difference is, that the one is oi technical, the other of popular application, and that the former expresses as potential wliat the latter iioes as actual. — H. Nor is it only substances that we thus form into classes. We do the same with regard to qualities, relations, actions, affec- tions, passions, and all other things. When a class is very large, it is divided into subordinate classes in the same man- ner. [4;i5] The higher class is called a genus or kind : the lower a species or stjrt of the higher. Sometimes a species is still subdivided into subordinate species ; and this subdivision is carried on as far as is foundconvenientforthe purpose of language, or for the improvement of knowledge. In this distribution of things into genera and species, it is evident that the name of the species comprehends more attributes than the name of the genus. The species comprehends all that is in the genus, and those attributes likewise which distinguish that species from others belonging to the same genus ; and the more subdivisions we make, the names of the lower become still the more comprehensive in their significa- tion, but the less extensive in their appli- cation to individuals. Hence it is an axiom in logic — that the more extensive any general term is, it is the less comprehensive ; and, on the contrary, the more comprehensive, the less extensive. Thus, in the following series of subordinate general terms — Animal — Man — French- man — Parisian, every subsequent term com- prehends in its signification all that Ls in the preceding, and something more ; and every antecedent term extends to more individuals than the subsequent. Such divisions and subdivisions of things into genera and spec es with general names, are not confined to the learned and polished languages ; they are found in those of the rudest tribes of mankind. From which we learn, that the invention and the use of general words, both to signify the attributes of things, and to signify the genera and species of things, is not a subtile invention of philosophers, but an operation which all men perform by the light of common sense. Philosophers may speculate about this ope- ration, and reduce it to canons and aphor- isms ; but men of common understanding, without knowing anything of the philosophy of it, can put it in practice, in like manner as they can see objecfs, and make good use of their eyes, although they know nothing of the structure of the eye, or of the theory of vision. [4'i()] Every genus, and every species of things, may be either the subject or the predicate of a proposition — nay, of innumerable pro- positions ; for every attribute common to the genus or species may be affirmed of it ; and the genus may be affirmed of every species, and both genus and species of every individual to which it extends. Thus, of man it maybe affirmed, that lie [t34-43ti] CHAP. 11.] OF GENERAL CONCEPTIONS. 391 is an animal made up of body and mind ; that he is of few davs, and full of trouble ; that he is capable of various improvements in arts, in knowledge, and in virtue. In a ■word, everything common to the species may be affirmed of man ; and of all such propositions, which are innumerable, man is the subject. Again, of every nation and tribe, and of every uidividual of the human race that is, or was, or shall be, it may be affirmed that they are men. In all such propositions, which are innumerable, man is the predi- cate of the proposition. We observed above an extension and a comprehension in general terms ; and that, in any subdivision of things, the name of the lowest species is most comprehensive, and that of the highest genus most exten- sive. I would now observe, that, by means of such general terms, there is also an ex- tension and compreht-nsion of propositions, which is one of the noblest powers of lan- guage, and fits it for expressing, with great ease and expedition, the highest attainments in knowledge, of which the human under- standing is capable. When the predicate is a. (/etiiia or a speciis, the proposition is more or less comprehen- sive, according as the predicate is. Thus, when I say that this seal is gold, by this single proposition I affirm of it all the pro- perties which that metal is known to have. When I say of any man that he is a mathematician, this appellation compre- hends all the attributes that belong to liiui as an animal, as a man, and as one who has studied mathematics. When I say that the orbit of the planet Mercury is an ellipsis, I thereby affirm of that orbit all the properties which Apoilonius and other geometricians have discovered, or may discover, of that species of figure. [437] Again, when the subject of a proposition is a genus or a xpecien, the proposition is more or less extensive, according as the subject is. Thus, when I am taught that the three angles of a plane triangle are equal to two right angles, this properly ex- tends to every species of plane triangle, and to every individual plane triangle tliat did, or does, or can exist. It is by means of such extensive and comprehensive propositions, that human knowledge is condensed, as it were, into a size adajited to the cajiacity of the human mind, with great addition to its beauty, and without any diminution of its dibtinct- ness and perspicuity. General propositions in science may lie compared to tiie seed of a plant, which, according to some jiliil(i'ro[iiitrH, lias not only the whole future ])hiHt incio.sed within it, but the seeds fif tiiat plant, ami tlic |il:iiit.s that shall spring from them through all future generations. But the similitude falls short in this re- spect, that time and accidents, not in our power, must concur to disclose the contents of the seed, and bring them into our view ; whereas the contents of a general proposi- tion may be brought forth, ripened, and exposed to view at our pleasure, and in an instant. Thus the wisdom of ages, and the most sublime theorems of science, may be laid up, like an Iliad in a nut-shell, and trans- mitted to future generations. And this noble purpose of language can only be ac- complished by means of general words annexed to the divisions aad subdivisions of things. [438] What has been said in this chapter, I think, is sufficient to shew that there can be no language, not so much as a single pro- position, without general words ; that they must make the greatest part of every lan- guage ; and that it is by them only that language is fitted to express, with wonder- ful ease and expedition, all the treasures of human wisdom and knowledge. CHAPTER II. OF GENERAL CONCEPTIONS. As general words are so necessary in language, it is natural to conclude that there must be general conceptions, of which they are the signs. Words are empty sounds when they do not signify the thoughts of the speaker; and it is only from their signification that they are denominated geiu '*1. Every word that is spoken, considered merely as a sound, Ls an individual sound. And it can only be called a general word, because that which it signifies is general. Now, that which it signifies, is conceived by the mind both of the speaker and hearer, if the word have a distinct meaning, and be distinctly under- stood. It is, therefore, impossible that words can have a general signification, un- less there be conceptions in the mind of the speaker and of the hearer, of things that are general. It is to such that I give the name of general conceptions ; and it ouglit to be oliserved, that tliey take this denomination, not from the act of the mind in conceiving, which is an individual act, but from the object or thing conceived, which is general. We are, therefore, hero to consider whether we have such general conceiitions, and how they arc fdrmed. | l.'l!) ) 'J"o ht'gin witii the ciinccplion.'^ e.\prc.^hed by general Ifrms — that is, by such grntraj words a.s m:i_\ lie llir suliji<'t i>r llir prrdi- 392 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay v. cate of a proposition. They are either attributes of things, or they are genera or sprcies of tilings. It is evident, with respect to all the indi- viduals we are acquainted with that we have a more clear and distinct conception of their attributes than of the subject to which those attributes belong. Take, for instance, any individual body we have access to know — what conception do we form of it ? Everyman may know this from his consciousness. He will find that he conceives it as a thing that has length, breadth, and thickness, such a figure and such a colour ; that it is hard, or soft, or fluid ; that it has such qualities, and is fit for such purposes. If it is a vegetable, he may know where it grew, what is the form of its leaves, and flower, and seed. If an animal, what are its natural instincts, its manner of life, and of rearing its young. Of these attributes, belonging to this indi- vidual and numberless others, he may surely have a distinct conception ; and he will find words in language by which he can clearly and distinctly express each of them. If we consider, in like manner, the con- ception we form of any individual person of our acquaintance, we shall find it to be made up of various attributes, which we ascribe to him ; such as, that he is the son of such a man, the brother of such another ; that he has such an employment or otriee ; has such a fortune ; that he is tall or short, well or ill made, comely or ill favoured, young or old, married or unmarried ; to this we may add his temper, his character, his abilities, and perhaps some anecdotes of his history. Such is the conception we form of indi- vidual persons of our acquaintance. By such attributes we describe them to those who know them not ; and by such attri- butes historians give us a conception of the personages of former times. Nor is it pos- sible to do it in any other way [440] All the distinct knowledge we have or can attain of any individual is the know- ledge of its attributes; for we know not the essence of any individual. This seems to be beyond the reach of the human facul- ties. Now, every attribute is what the ancients called an universal. It is, or may be, com- mon to various individuals. There is no attribute belonging to any creature of God which may not belong to others ; and, on this account, attributes, in all languages, are expressed by general words. It appears, likewise, from every man's experience, that he may have as clear and distinct a conception of such attributes as we have named, and of innumerable others, as he can have of any individual to which tiiey belong. Indeed, the attributes of individuals is all that we distinctly conceive about them. It is true, we conceive a subject to which the attributes belong ; but of this subject, when its attributes are set aside, we have but an obscure and relative* conception, whether it be body or mind. This was before observed with regard to bodies. Essay II. chap. 19, [p. 1122] to which we refer ; and it is no less evident with regard to minds. What is it we call a mind ? It is a thinking, iiitelligent, active being. Granting that thinking, intelli- gence, and activity, are attributes of mind, I want to know what the thing or being is to which these attributes belong ? To this question I can find no satisfying answer. The attributes of mind, and particularly its operations, we know clearly ; but of the thing itself we have only an obscure no- tion. [441] Nature teaches us that thinking and reasoning are attributes, which cannot exist without a subject ; but of that subject I be- lieve the best notion we can form implies little more than that it is the subject of such attributes. Whether other created beings may have the knowledge of the real essence of created things, so as to be able to deduce their at- tributes from their essence and constitution, or whether this be the prerogative of him who made them, we cannot tell ; but it is a knowledge which seems to be quite be- yond the reach of tlie human faculties. We know the essence of a triangle, and from that essence can deduce its properties. It is an universal, and might have been conceived by the human mind though no individual triangle had ever existed. It has only what Mr Locke calls a nominal essence, which is expressed in its definition. But evervthing'that exists has a real essence, which is above our comprehension ; and, therefore, we cannot deduce its properties or attributes from its nature, as we do in the triangle. We must take a contrary road in the knowledge of God's works, and satisfy ourselves with their attributes as facts, and with the g-eneral conviction that there is a subject to which those attributes belong. Enough, I think, has been said, to shew, not only that we may have clear and dis- tinct conceptions of attributes, but that they are the only things, with regard to individuals, of which we have a clear and distinct conception. The other class of general terms are those that signify the f/m/'ra and species into which we divide and subdivide things. Anr'j if we be able to form distinct conceptions of attributes, it cannot surely be denied that we mny have distinct conceptions oi genera * See above, p. 322, note.— H. [140, 441] CHAP. "] OF GENERAL CONCEPTIONS. 393 and sjitiries ; because they are only collec- tions of attributes wliich we conceive to exist in a subject, and to which we give a general name. [442] If the attributes comprehended under that general name be distinctly conceived, the thing meant by the name must be distinctly conceived. And the name may justly be attributed to every individual which lias those attriluites. Thus, I conceive distinctly what it is to have wings, to be covered with feathers, to lay eggs. Suppose then that we give the name of bird to every animal that has these three attributes. Here undoubtedly my conception of a bird is as distinct as my notion of the attributes which are common to this species : and, if this be admitted to be the definition of a bird, tliere is nothing I conceive more distinctly. If I had never seen a bird, and can but be made to under- stand the definition, I can easily apply it to every individual of the species, without danger of mistake. When thinss are divided and subdivided by men of science, and names given to the genera and species, those names are defined. Thus, the genera and species of plants, and of other natural bodies, are accurately de- fined by the writers in tlie vaiious branches of natural history ; so that, to all future generations, the definition will convey a dis- tinct notion of the genus or species defined. There are, without doubt, many words signifying genera and species of things, which have a meaning somewhat vague and indistinct ; so that those who speak the same language do not always use them in the same sense. But, if we attend to the cause of this indistinctness, we shall find that it is not owing to their being general terms, but to this, that there is no defini- tion of them that lias authority- 'i'lieir meaning, therefore, has not been learned by a definition, but by a kind of induction, by observing to what individuals they are apiilied by tliose who unti(in of things common to many individuals—that is, \se have distinct general concepti(uis. We must here beware of the ambiguity of the word coHir/ilidu, which Homi'times signifies the act of the mind in conceiving, sometimes the thing conceived, which is the oiiject of that act." If tlio word be taken *' riiit ia«t liliouM lie callcil Concfpt, whirh »ii» n icrm 111 im- wilh tin- old IiikIhIi |ihilressions. The first signifies an individual quality really existing, and is not a general con- ception, though it be an abstract one : the second signifies a general conception, wliicli iinpli<-s no existence, but ni:iy be |>rc(licul((l of everything that is white, and in tiie [ii8-4.50] same sense. On this account, if one should say that the whiteness of this sheet is the whiteness of another sheet, every man per- ceives this to be absurd ; but when he says both sheets are white, this is true and per- fectly understood. The conception of white- ness implies no existence ; it would remain the same though everything in the universe that is white were annihilated. [449] It appears, therefore, that the general names of qualities, as well as of other at- tributes, are applicable to many individuals in the same sense, which cannut be if there be not general conceptions signified by such names. If it should be asked, how early, or at what period of life men begin to form general conceptions ? I answer. As soon as a child can say, with understanding, that he has two brothers or two sisters — as soon as he can use the plural number — he must liave general conceptions ; for no iudividual can have a plural number. As there are not two individuals in nature that agree in everything, so there are very few that do not agree in some things. We take pleasure from very early years in ob- serving such agreements. One great branch of what we call wit, which, when innocent, gives pleasure to every good-natured man, consists in discovering unexpected agree- ments in things. The author of Iludibras could discern a property common to the morning and a boiled lobster — that both turn from black to red. Swift could see something common to wit and an old cheese. Such unexpected agreements may shew wit ; but there are iimumerable agreements of things which cannot escape the notice of the lowest understanding ; such as agree- ments in colour, magnitude, figure, features, time, place, age, and so fortli. These agree- ments are the foundation of so many com- mon attributes, which are found in the rudest languages. The ancient jihilosophers called these universals, or predicables, and endeavouied to reduce them to five classes — to wit, Genus, Species, Specific Difference, Pro- perties, and Accidents. IVrhajis there may 1)0 more classes of universals or attributes — for eimmcrations, so very general, are sel- dom complete : but every attribute, common to several individuals, may be expressed by a general term, which is the sign of a general conception. |4r)0| How prone men are ti) form general ct to confound an ob- ject of conception with the cunccption of rounfryman DalKirno : and from UalsArnn It (• liiKhly probable I lint Wilkins borrowed the lilo.i. Hut fvi'ii IJal(!»riio w 2 404 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. Lessay v. that object. But tlie danger of doing tliis must be much greater when the object of conception is called a conception. The Peripatetics gave to such objects of conception the names of universals, and of predicables. Those names had no ambi- guity, and I think were much more fit to express what was meant by them than the names we use. It is for tliis reason that I liave so often used the word attribute, which has the same meaning with predicable. And, for the same reason, I have thought it necessary repeat- edly to warn the reader, tliat wlien, in com- pUance with custom, I speak of general notions or general conceptions, I always mean things conceived, and not the act of the mind in conceiving them. The Pytliagoreans and Platonists gave the name of ideas to such general objects of conception, and to nothiiig else. As we borrowed the word idea from them, so that it is now familiar in all the languages of Europe, I think it would have been happy if we had also borrowed their meaning, and liad used it only to signify what they meant by it. I apprehend we want an unambigu- ous word to distinguish things barely con- ceived from things that exist. If the word idea was used for this purpose only, it would be restored to its original meaning, and supply that want. We may surely agree with the Platonists in the meaning of the word idea, without adopting their theory concerning ideas. We need not believe, with them, that ideas are eternal and self-existent, and that they have a more real existence than the things we see and feel. [473] They were led to give existence to ideas, from the common prejudice that everything which is an object of conception must really exist ; and, having once given exist- ence to ideas, the rest of their mysterious system about ideas followed of course ; for things merely conceived have neither be- ginning nor end, time nor place ; they are subject to no change ; they are the patterns and exemplars according to which the Deity made everything that he made ; for the work must be conceived by the artificer before it is made. These are undeniable attributes of the ideas of Plato ; and, if we add to them that of real existence, we have the whole myste- rious system of Platonic ideas. Take away the attribute of existence, and suppose them not to be things that exist, but things tliat are barely conceived, and all the mystery is removed ; all that remains is level to the human understanding. The word essence came to be much used among the schoolmen, and what the Pla- tonists called the idea of a species, they called its essence. The word essentia is said to have been made by Cicero ; but even his authority could not give it cur- rency, until long after his time. It came at last to be used, and the schoolmen fell into much the same opinions concerning essences, as the Platonists held concerning; ideas. The essences of things were held to be UTicreated, eternal, and iinmutable. ]Mr Locke distinguishes two kinds of essence, the real and the nominal. By the real essence, he means the constitution of an individual, which makes it to be what it is. This essence must begin and end with the individual to which it belongs. It is not, therefore, a Platonic idea. But what Mr Locke calls the nominal essence, is the constitution of a species, or that which makes an individual to be of such a species ; and this is nothing but that combination of attributes which is signified by the name of the species, and which we conceive without regard to existence. [474] The essence of a species, therefore, is what the Platonists called the idea of the species. If the word idea be restricted to the meaning which it bore among the Plato- nists and Pythagoreans, many things which I\Ir Locke has said with regard to ideas will be just and true, and others will not. It will be true that most words (in- deed all general words) are the signs of ideas ; but proper names are not : they signify individual things, and not ideas. It will be true not only that there are general and absti'act ideas, but that all ideas are general and abstract. It will be so far from the truth, that all our simple ideas are got immediately, either from sensation or from consciousness, that no simple idea is got by either, without the co-opera- tion of other powers. The objects of sense, of memory, and of consciousness, are not ideas but individuals ; they must be anal- ysed by the understanding into their simple ingredients, before we can have simple ideas ; and those simple ideas must be again combined by the understanding, in distinct parcels, with names annexed, in order to give us complex ideas. It will be probable not only that brutes have no ab- stract ideas, but that they have no ideas at all. I shall only add that the learned author of the origin and progress of language, and, perlmps, his learned friend, Mr Harris, are the "lily modern authors 1 have met with wlio restrict the word idea to this meaning. Their acquaintance with ancient philosophy led fhem to this. What pity is it that a word which, in ancient philosophy, had a distinct meaning, and which, if kept to that meaning, would have been a real ac- quisition to our language, should be used by the moderns in so vague and ambiguous a manner, that it is more apt to perplex [473, 474] <;map. V I.] OPINIONS ABOUT UNIVERSALS. 405 and darken our speculations, than to convey useful knowledge ! From all that has been said about ab- stract and general conceptions, I think we may draw the following conclusions con- cerning them. [475] First, That it is by abstraction that the mind is furnished with all its most simple and most distinct notions. The simplest objects of sense appear both complex and indistinct, until by abstraction they are analysed into their more simple elements ; and the same may be said of the objects of memory and of consciousness. Secondly, Our most distinct complex notions are those that are formed by com- pounding the simple notions got by abstrac- tion. Thirdly, Without the powers of abstract- ing and generalising, it would be impossible to reduce things into any order and method, by dividing them into genera and species. Fourthly, Without those powers there could be no definition ; for definition can only be applied to universals, and no indi- vidual can be defined. Fifthly, Without abstract and general notions there can neither be reasoning nor language. Sixthly, As brute animals shew no signs of being able to distinguish the various attributes of the same subject ; of being able to class things into genera and species : to define, to reason, or to communicate their thoughts by artificial signs, as men do — I must think, with Mr Locke, that they have not the powers of abstracting and generalising, and that, in this particular, nature has made a specific difi'erence be- tween them and the human species. CHAPTER VI. OPINIONS OF PHILOSOPHERS ABOUT UNIVERSALS. In the ancient philos()i)liy, the doctrine of universals — that is, of tilings whicli we ex- press by general terms — makes a great figure. The ideas of the Pythagoreans and Pla- tonists, of which so much has been already said, were universals. [47fj] All science is employed about universals as its object. 1 1 was thouglit that there can be no science, unless its object be something real and immutable ; and therefore those who paid homage to truth and science, maintained that ideas or universals have a real iind immutable existence. The sceptics, on the contrary, (for there were sceptical jiliilosophers in tjiose early days,) maintained that all things are mu- table and in a perpetual fluctuation ; and, from this principle, inferred that there is [475-*77] no science, no truth ; that all is uncertain opinion. Plato, and his masters of the Pythagorean school, yielded this with regard to ol)jects of sense, and acknowledged that there could be no science or certain knowledge con- cerning them. But they held that there are objects of intellect of a superior order and nature, which are permanent and im- mutable. These are ideas, or universal natures, of which the objects of sense are only the images and shadows. To these ideas they ascribed, as I have already observed, the most magnificent attributes. Of man, of a rose, of a circle, and of every species of things, they believed that there is one idea or form, which ex- isted from eternity, before any individual of the species was formed ; that this idea is the exemplar or pattern, according to which the Deity formed the individuals of the species ; that every individual of the species participates of this idea, which constitutes its essence ; and that this idea is likewise an object of the human intellect, when, by due abstracti(m, we discern it to be one in all the individuals of the species. Thus the idea of every species, though one and immutable, might be considered in three different views or respects : Jirst, As having an eternal existence before there was any individual of the species ; secondly, As existing in every individual of that spe- cies, without division or multiplication, and making the essence of the sjiecies ; and, thirdly, As an object of intellect and of science in man. [477] Such I take to be the doctrine of Plato, as far as I am able to comprehend it. His disciple Aristotle rejected the first of these views of ideas as visionary, but difl'ered little from his master with regard to the two last. He did not admit the existence of universal natures antecedent to the ex- istence of iiidividuals : but he held that every individual consists of matter and form ; that the form (which I take to be what Plato calls the idea) is common to all the individuals of the species ; and that the human intellect is fitted to receive the forms of things as objects of contem])lati()n. Such profound speculations about the nature of universals, we find even in the first ages of philosophy* I wish I coulil make them more intelligible to myself and to the reader. The division of universals into five classes — to wit, genus, sjiecies, specific ditt'erence, properties, and accidents — is likewise very ancient, and I conceive was borrowed by the Peripatetics from the Pythagorean school. + * Difrorciit pliilosi |)her» h:.ve iiminliilncHl tint Aristitlf was a Itr.-iliht, a ('<)llcc|ltuull^t, niid .1 Nii- iii:ii»lii>t, 111 Hie stric iht 6C'ii-i'.— H. \ I'liis |iri)(ir(th i> 1 llic «(i|i|icni'iiin llml ttir »ii|>- I otilitiuui rylliitgorcaii trotiKCi arc gcniiiiK'. — II. 406 ON THE INTKLLECTUAL POWERS. [_ESSAY V. Porphyry has given us a very distinct treatise upon these, as an introduction to Aristotle's categories. But he has omitted the intricate metaphysical questions that were agitated about their nature : such as, whether genera and species do really exist in nature, or whether they are only con- ceptions of the human mind. If they exist in nature, whether they are corporeal or incorporeal ; and whether they are inherent in the objects of sense, or disjoined from them. These questions, he tells us, for brevity's sake, he omits, because they are very profound, and require accurate discus- sion. It is probable that these questions exercised the wits of the philosophers till about the twelfth century. [478J About that time, Roscelinus or Rusce- linus, the master of the famous Abelard, introduced a new doctrine — that there is nothing universal but words or names. For this, and other heresies, he was much persecuted. However, by his eloquence and abilities, and those of his disciple Abe- lard, the doctrine spread, and those who followed it were called Nominalists.* His antagonists, who held that there are things that are really universal, were called Realists. The scholastic philosophers, from the be- ginning of the twelfth century, were divided into these two sects. Some few took a middle road between the contending parties- That universality which the Realists held to be in things themselves. Nominalists in names only, they held to be neither in things nor in names only, but in our conceptions. On this account they were called Concep- tualists : but, being exposed to the batteries of both the opposite parties, they made no great figure. -f When the sect of Nominalists was like to expire, it received new life and spirit from Occam, the disciple of Scotus, in the fourteenth century. Then the dispute about universals, a parte rei, was revived with the greatest animosity in the schools of Britain, France, and Germany, and carried on, not by arguments only, but by bitter reproaches, blows, and bloody affrays, until the doctrines of Luther and the other Re- formers turned the attention of the learned world to more important subjects. After the revival of learning, Mr Hobbes adopted the opinion of the Nominalists.^: * Abelard was not a Nominalist like Roscelinus; but held a doctrine, intermediate between absolute Nominalism and Realism, corresponding to the opinion since called Conceptualism. A flood of light has bei'n thrown upon Abelard's doctrines, hy M. Cousin's introduction to his recent publication of the unedited works of that illustrious thinker. — H. t The Liter Nominalists, of the school of Occam, were really Conceptualists in our sense of the term. — H. t Hobbes is justly said by Leibnitz to have bicn tpsif Nowinalibus nominalior. They were really Conceptu alists.-. H , " Human Nature," chap 5, § 6—" It is plain, therefore," says he, "that there is no- thing universal but names." And in his " Leviathan," part i. chap 4, " There being nothing universal but names, proper names bring to mind one thing only ; universals recall any one of many." Mr Locke, according to the division be- fore mentioned, I think, may be accounted a Conceptualist. He does not maintain that there are things that are universal ; but that we have general or universal ideas which we form by abstraction ; and this power of forming abstract and general ideas, he conceives to be that which makes the chief distinction in point of understanding, between men and brutes. [479] Mr Locke's doctrine about abstraction has been combated by two very powerful antagonists. Bishop Berkeley and Mr Hume, who have taken up the opinion of the Nom- inalists. The former thinks, " That the opinion that the mind hath a power of form- ing abstract ideas or notions of things, has had a chief part in rendering speculation intricate and perplexed, and has occasioned innumerable errors and difficulties in almost all parts of knowledge." That " abstract' ideas are like a fine and subtile net, which has miserably perplexed and entangled the minds of men, with this peculiar circum- stance, that by how much the finer and more curious was the wit of any man, by so much the deeper was he like to be en- snared, and faster held therein." That, " among all the false principles that have obtained in the world, there is none hath a more wide influence over the thoughts of speculative men, than this of abstract gene- ral ideas." The good bishop, therefore, in twenty- four pages of the introduction to his " Prin- ciples of Human Knowledge," encoimters this principle with a zeal proportioned to his apprehension of its malignant and ex- tensive influence. That the zeal of the sceptical philosopher against abstract ideas was almost equal to that of the bishop, appears from his words, " Treatise of Human Nature," Book I. part i. § 7 : — " A very materi.al question has been started concerning abstract or general ideas — whether they be general or particular, in the mind's conception of them. A great philosopher" (he means Dr Berke- ley) " has disputed the received opinion in this particular, and has asserted that all general ideas are nothing but particular ones annexed to a certain term, which gives them a more extensive signification, and makes them recall, upon occasion, other individuals which are similar to them. As I look upon this to be one of the greatest and most valuable discoveries that have been made of Ittte years in the republic of letters, 1 [478, 4-791 CHAP. VI.] OPINIONS ABOUT qNIVERSALS. 407 ehall here endeavour to confirm it by some arguments, which, I hope, will put it beyond all doubt and controversy." [480] I shall make an end of this subject, with some reflections on what has been said upon it by these two eminent philosophers. 1. First, I apprehend that we cannot, with propriety, be said to have abstract and general ideas, either in the popular or in the philosophical sense of that word. In the popular sense, an idea is a thought ; it is the act of the mind in thinking, or in con- ceiving any object. This act of the mind is always an individual act, and, therefore, there can be no general idea in this sense. In the philosophical sense, an idea is an image in the mind, or in the brain, which, in Mr Locke's system, is the immediate ob- ject of thought ; in the system of Berkeley and Hume, the only object of thought. I believe there are no ideas of this kind, and, therefore, no abstract general ideas. In- deed, if there were really such images in the mind or in the brain, they could not be general, because everything that really exists is an individual. Universals are neither acts of the mind, nor images in the mind. As, therefore, there are no general ideas in either of the senses in which the wm-d idea is used by tlie moderns, Berkeley and Hume have, in this question, an advantage over Mr Locke ; and their arguments against him are good ad Imminem. They saw farther than he did into the just conse- quences of the hypothesis concerning ideas, which was common to them and to him ; and they reasoned justly from this hypo- thesis when they concluded from it, that there is neither a material world, nor any such power in the human mind as that of abstraction, [481] A triangle, in general, or any other uni- versal, might be called an idea by a Plato- nist ; but, in the style of modern i)hilo- sopliy, it is not an idea, nor do we ever ascribe to ideas the properties of triangles. It is never said of any idea, that it has three sides and three angles. We do not speak of equilateral, isosceles, or scalene ideas, nor of right-angled, acute-angled, or obtuse-angled ideas. And, if these attri- butes do not belong to ideas, it follows, necessarily, that a triangle is not an iilea. The same reasoning may be applied to every other universal. Ideas are said to have a real existence in the mind, at least while we think of tliem ; but universals have no real existence. When we ascribe existence to them, it is not an existence in time or [)lacc, imt exist- ence in some individual sulijcct ; and this existence means no more but that tlu^y are truly attributes of such a Hubj<,'ct. 'J'licir existence is nothing Imt prfdicability, or the [ iSO-iS^] capacity of being attributed to a subject. The name of predieables, which was given them in ancient philosojihy, is that which most properly expresses their nature. 2. I think it must be granted, in the second place, that universals cannot be the objects of imagination, when we take that word in its strict and proper sense. '* I find," says Berkeley, " I have a faculty of imagining or representing to myself the ideas of those particular tilings I liave per- ceived, and of variously compounding and dividing them. I can imagine a man with two heads, or the upper parts of a man jomed to the body of a horse. I can imagine the hand, the eye, the nose, each by itself, abstracted or separated from the rest of the body. But then, whatever liuiul or eye I imagine, it nuist have some particular shape or colour. Likewise, the idea of a man that I frame to myself nuist be either of a white, or a black, or a tawny ; a straight or a crooked ; a tall, or a low, or a middle-sized man." I believe every man will find in himself what this ingenious author found — that he cannot imagine a man without colour, or stature, or shape. [482] Imagination, as we before observed, pro- perly signifies a conception of the appear- ance an object wouUl make to the eye if actually seen." An universal is not an object of any external sense, and therefore cannot be imagined ; but it may be dis- tinctly conceived. When Mr Pope says, " The proper study of mankind is man," I conceive his meaning distinctly, though I neither imagine a black or a white, a crooked or a straight man. Tlie distinction between conce])tion and imagination is real, though it be too often overlooked, and the words taken to be .synoninious. I can con- ceive a thing that is impossible,-)- but I cannot distinctly imagine a thing that is imjiossible. I can conceive a proposition or a demonstration, but I cannot imagine either. I can conceive understanding and will, virtue and vice, and other attributes of mind, but 1 cannot imagine them. In like manner, I can distinctly conceive uni- versals, but I cannot imagine theni.:|: As to the manner how we conceive uni- versals, I confess my ignorance. I know not how I hear, or see, or remember, and as little do I know how I conceive things that have no existence. In all our original * See above, p. :Wi, a, iioic— H. t .Ste above, p. .'fTT, I), iioti'.— II. % IinaRin.itiDii niid Concept iiiii ari> dislinciiiiihcd, but tlic latter Mm\\l not to lie used in the vanue and extenkive kiKMiCieatiiin o( Ueiil. Tlie (lii,eriiniii;iliiin in (|uestic>n is liest made in the Gcriiiaii lnii|{ini|(0 of philciMipliy, where tlietermn JiiyrilK' (Cnneeptioin) are utroniily conlrnMed with Aiiiirniiiiiiiiiii-ii (Iiitul. tionii), llililiii (liiiMKen), *. :)Ci.'). I>, note j. Ill' reiidei ni.iy loiiip.irB ."^tewanV" K oinenlt," I. p. ilCi. — H. 408 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay faculties, the fabric and manner of operation is, I apprehend, beyond our comprehension, and perhaps is perfectly understood by him only who made them. But we ought not to deny a fact of which we are conscious, though we know not how it is brought about. And I think we may be certain that universals are not conceived by means of images of them in our minds, because there can be no image of an uni- versal. 3. It seems to me, that on this question Mr Locke and his two antagonists have divided the truth between them. He saw very clearly, that the power of forming ab- stract and general conceptions is one of tlie most distinguishing powers of the human mind, and puts a specific difference between man and the brute creation. But he did not see that this power is perfectly irrecon- cileable to his doctrine concerning ideas. [483] His opponents saw this inconsistency ; but, instead of rejecting the hypothesis of ideas, they explain away the power of ab- straction, and leave no specific distinction between the human understanding and that of brutes. 4. Berkeley," in his reasoning against abstract general ideas, seems unwillingly or unwarily to grant all that is necessary to support abstract and general concep- tions. '' A man," he says, " may consider a figure merely as triangular, without attend- ing 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 inconsist- ent idea of a triangle." If a man may consider a figure merely as triangular, he must have some concep- tion of this object of his consideration ; for no man can consider a thing which he dues not conceive. He has a conception, there- fore, of a triangular figure, merely as such. I know no more that is m i.mt by an abstract general conception of a triangle. He that considers a figure n.erely as tri- angular, must understand what is meant by the word triangular. If, to the conception he joins to this word, he adds any particu- lar 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 quality of angles or relation of sides. The Bishop, in like manner, grants, " That we may consider Peter so far forth as man, or so far forth as animal, without * On Reid's critici-m of Berkeley, see Stewart, {Ekmentt, II. p. 110, *q.)— H. framing the forementioned abstract idea, in as much as all that is perceived is not considered." It may here be observed, that he who considers Peter so far forth as man, or so far forth as animal, must con- ceive the meaning of those abstract general words man and animal, and he who con- ceives the meaning of them has an abstract general conception. [484] From these concessions, one would be apt to conclude that the Bishop thinks that we can abstract, but that we cannot frame abstract ideas ; and in this I should agree with him. But I cannot reconcile his con- cessions with the general principle he lavs down before. " To be plain," says he, '' I deny that I can abstract one from another, or conceive separately those qualities which it is impossible should exist so separated." This appears to me inconsistent with the concessions above mentioned, and incon- sistent with experience. If we can consider a figure merely as triangular, without attending to the parti- cular quality of the angles or relation of the sides, this, I think, is conceiving separately things which cannot exist so separated : for surely a triangle cannot exist without a particular quality of angles and relation of sides. And it is well known, from ex- perience, that a man may have a distinct conception of a triangle, without having any conception or knowledge of many of the properties without which a triangle cannot exist. Let us next consider the Bishop's notion of generalising.* He does not absolutely deny that there are general ideas, but only that there are abstract general ideas. "An idea," he says, " which, considered in it- self, is particular, becomes general, by be- ing made to represent or stand for all other particular ideas of the same sort. To make this plain by an example : Suppose a geo- metrician is demonstrating the method of cutting a line in two equal parts. He draws, for instance, a black line, of an inch in length. This, which is in itsilf a parti- cular line, is, nevertheless, with regard to its signification, general ; since, as it is there used, it represents all particular lines whatsoever ; so that what is demonstrated of it, is demonstrated of all lines, or, in other words, of a line in general. And as that particular line becomes general by be- ing made a sign, so the name line, which, taken absolutely, is particular, by being a sign, is made general." [485] Here I observe, that when a particular idea It made a sign to represent and stand for all of a sort, this supposes a distinction of things into sorts or ppecies. To be of a sort implies having those attributes which * See Stewart, {Elements, II p. 126.)— H. [t83-485] CHAP. VI.] OPINIONS ABOUT UNIVERSALS. 409 characterise tlie 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 attributes which distinguish it The conception of a sort, therefore, is an ab- stract general conception. The particular idea cannot surely be made a sign of a thing of wliich we have no con- ception. I do not say that you must have an idea of the sort, but ^ui-el} oui;ht to understand or conceive what it means, when you make a particular idea a repre- sentative of it ; otherwise your particular idea represents, you know not what When I demonstrate any general pro- perty of a triangle, such as, that the three angles are equal to two right angles, I must understand or conceive distinctly what is common to all triangles. I must distinguish the common attributes of all triangles from those wherein particular triangles may differ. And, if I conceive distinctly what is common to all triangles, without confounding it with what is not so, this is to form a general con- ception of a triangle. And without this, it is impossible to know that the demonstra- tion extends to all triangles. The Bishop takes particularnotice of this argument, and makes this answer to it : — •' Though the idea I have in view, whilst I make the demonstration, be, for instance, that of an isosceles rectangular triangle, whose sides are of a determinate length, I may nevertheless be certain that it extends to all other rectilinear triangles, of what sort or bigness soever ; and that because neither the right angle, nor the equality or determinate length of the sides, are at all concerned in the demonstration." [480] But, if he do not, in the idea he has in view, clearly distinguish what is common to all triangles from what is not, it would be impossible to discern whether something that is not common be concerned in the demonstration or not. In order, therefore, to perceive that the demonstration extends to all triangles, it is necessary to have a distinct conception of what is common to all triangles, excluding from that concep- tion all that is not common. And this is all I understauil by an abstract general conception of a triangle. Berkeley catches an advantage to his side of the question, from what Mr Locke ex- presses (too strongly indeed) of the difficulty of framing abstract general ideas, and the pains and skill necessary for that purpose. From which tlie Bishop infers, that a thing so dilKeult cannot be necessary for com- munication ljy language?, which is so easy and familiar to all sorts of men. There may be some abstract ami general conceptioHH that are difficult, or even bc- yond the reach of persons of weak under- standing ; but there are innumerable which are not beyond the reach of children. It is impossible to learn language witliout acquiring general conceptions ; for there cannot be a single sentence without them. I believe the forming these, and being able to articulate the sounds of language, make up the whole difficulty that children find in learning language at first. But this difficulty, we see, they are able to overcome so early as not to remember the pains it cost them. They have the strongest inducement to exert all their labour and skill, in order to understand and to be understood ; and they no doubt do so. [487] The labour of forming abstract notions, is the labour of learning to sjieak, and to understand what is spoken. As the words of every language, excepting a few proper names, are general words, the minds of children are furnished witli general con- ceptions, in proportion as they learn the meaning of general words. I believe most men have hardly any general notions but those which are expressed by the general words they hear and use in conversation. The meaning of some of these is learned by a definition, wliich at once conveys a distinct and accurate general conception. The meaning of other general words we collect, by a kind of induction, from the way in which we see them used on various occasions by those who understand the language. Of these our conception is often less distinct, and in different persons is perhaps not perfectly the same. " Is it not a hard thing," says the Bishop, "that a couple of children cannot prate to- gether of their sugar-iilumbs and rattles, and the rest of their little trinkets, till they have first tacked together numberless in- consistencies, and so formed in their minds abstract general ideas, and annexed them to every connnon nann; they make use of?" However liard a thing it may be, it is an evident truth, that a couple of children, even about their sugar- plumbs a:id their rattles, cannot prate so as to understand and be understood, until they have learned to conceive the meaning of many general words — and this, I think, is to have general concei)tions. 5. Having considered the sentiments of Bishop Jk-rlcclcy on this suljcft, let us next attend to tliose of Mr lliime, as they are expressed Part I. § 7, " Treatise of Human Nature." He agrees perfectly with the Bishop, " That all general ideas are nothing but particular ones annexeil to a certain term, which gives them a more extensive signification, and makes thi-m recall, upon occasion.othi-rinilividiials which are similar to them. [JUllj A particular 410 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay v. idea becomes general, by being annexed to a general term ; that is, to a term, which, from a customary conjunction, has a rela- tion to many other particular ideas, and readily recalls them in the imagination. Abstract ideas are therefore in themselves individual, however they may become general in their representation. The image in the mind is only that of a particular object, though the application of it in our reason- ing be the same as if it was universal." Although Mr Hume looks upon this to be one of the greatest and most valuable discoveries that has been made of late years in the republic of letters, it appears to be no other than the opinion of the nominal- ists, about which so much dispute was held from the beginning of the tweltth century down to the Reformation, and which was afterwards supported by Mr Hobbes. I shall briefly consider the argu- ments by which Mr Hume hopes to have put it beyond all doubt and controversy. First, He endeavours to prove, by three arguments, that it is utterly impossible to conceive any quantity or quality, without forming a precise notion of its degrees; This is indeed a great undertaking ; but, if he could prove it, it is not sufficient for his purpose — for two reasons. First, Because there are many attributes of things, besides quantity and quality ; and it is incumbent upon him to prove that it is impossible to conceive any attribute, without forming a precise notion of its degree. Each of the ten categories of Aristotle is a genus, and may be an attri- bute. And, if he should prove of two of them — to wit, quantity and quality— that there can be no general conception of them ; there remain eight behind, of which this must be proved. [489] The other reason is, because, though it were impossible to conceive any quantity or quality, without forming a precise notion of its degree, it does not follow that it is impossible to have a general conception even of quantity and quality. The con- ception of a pound troy is the conception of a quantity, and of the precise degree of that quantity ; but it is an abstract general conception notwithstanding, because it may be the attribute of many individual bodies, and of many kinds of bodies. He ought, therefore, to have proved that we cannot conceive quantity or quality, or any other attribute, without joining it inseparably to some individual subject. This remains to be proved, which will be found no easy matter. For instance, I conceive what is meant by a Japanese as distinctly as what is meant by an English- man or a Frenchman. It is true, a Japan- ese is neither quantity nor quality, but it is an attribute common to every individual of a populous nation. I never saw an in- dividual of that nation ; and, if I can trust my consciousness, the general term does not lead me to imagine one individual of the sort as a representative of all others. Though Mr Hume, therefore, undertakes much, yet, if he could prove all he under- takes to prove, it would by no means be sufficient to shew that we have no abstract general conceptions. Passing this, let us attend to his argu- rneiits for proving this extraordinary posi- tion, that it is impossible to conceive any quantity or quality, without forming a pre- cise notion of its degree. The first argument is, that it is impossi- ble to distinguish things that are not ac- tually separable. " The precise lenstii of a line is not different or distinguishable from the line." [490] I have before endeavoured to shew, that things inseparable in their nature may be- distinguished in our conception. And we need go no farther to be convinced of this, than the instance here brought to prove tlie contrary. The precise length of a line, he says, is not distinguishable from the line. When I say. This is a line, I say and mean one thing. When I say. It is a line of three inches, I say and mean another thing. If this be not to distinguish the precise length of the line from the line, I know not what it is to distinguish. Second argument — " Every object of sense — that is, every impression — is an in- dividual, having its determinate degrees of quantity and quality. But whatever is true of the impression is true of the idea, as they differ in nothing but their strength and vivacity." The conclusion in this argument is, in- deed, justly drawn from the premises. If it be true that ideas diff"er in nothing from objects of sense, but in strength and viva- city, as it must be granted that all the ob- jects of sense are individuals, it will cer- tainly follow that all ideas are individuals. Granting, therefore, the justness of this conclusion, I beg leave to draw two other conclusions from the same premises, which will follow no less necessarily. First, If ideas diff"er from the objects of sense only in strength and vivacity, it will follow, that the idea of a lion is a lion of less strength and vivacity. And hence may arise a very important question. Whether the idea of a lion may not tear in pieces, and devour the ideas of sheep, oxen, and horses, and even of men, women, and children ? Secoiidh/, If ideas diff'er only in strength and vivacity from the objects of sense, it will follow that objects merely conceived, are not ideas ; for such objects diff"er from the objects of sense in respects of a very [4.89, 490] CHAP. Vl.^ OPINIONS ABOUT UNI VERSA LS. 411 different nature from strength and vivacity. [491] Every object of sense must have a real existence, and time and place. But things merely conceived may neither have existence, nor time nor place ; and, there- fore, though there should be no abstract ideas, it does not follow that things abstract and general may not be conceived. The third argument is this : — " It is a principle generally received in philosophy, that everything in nature is individual ; and that it is utterly absurd to suppose a tri- angle really existent which has no precise proportion of sides and angles. If this, therefore, be absurd in fact and reality, it must be absurd in idea, since notliing of which we can form a clear and distinct idea is absurd or impossible." I acknowledge it to be impossible that a triangle should really exist wjiich has no precise proportion of sides and angles ; and impossible that any being should exist which is not an individual being ; for, I think, a being and an individual being mean the same thing : but that there can be no attributes common to many indivi- duals I do not acknowledge. Thus, to many figures that really exist it may be common that they are triangles ; and to many bodies that exist it may be common that they are fluid. Triangle and fluid are not beings, they are attributes of beings. As to the principle here assumed, that nothing of which we can form a clear and distinct idea is absurd or impossible, I refer to what was said upon it, chap. 3, Essay IV. It is evident that, in every mathema- tical demonstration, ad ahsunlnm, of which kind almost one-half of mathematics con- sists, we are required to sujiposc, and, con- sequently, to conceive, a thing that is im- possible. From that supposition we reason, until we come to a conclusion that is not only impossible but absurd. From this we infer that the proposition supposed at first is impossible, and, therefore, that its con- tradictory is true. [492] As this is the nature of all demonstra- tions, ad a'usurdum, it is evident, (I do not say that we can have a clear and distinct idea,) but that we can clearly and distinctly conceive things impossible. The rest of I\Ir Hume's discourse uj)()n this subject is employed in explaining how an individual idea, annexed to a general term, may serve all the purposes in reason- ing which have been ascribed to abstract general idcis " Wlien we have found a resemblance among several objects that often occur to us, we ajjply the same name to all of theni, whatever differences we may observe in the degrees of their quantity and quality, and whatever other diflerences may appear among theui. Afler we hrivc acqiiind :i [4Sl-4ft.Sl custom of this kind, the hearing of that name revives the idea of one of these ob- jects, and makes the imagination conceive it, with all its circumstances and propor- tions." But, along with this idea, there is a readiness to survey any other of the indi- viduals to which the name belongs, and to observe that no conclusion be fonned con- trary to any of tli( in. If any such conclu- sion is formed, those individual ideas which contradict it immediately crowd in upon us, and make us perceive the lalschood of tlie proposition. If the mind suggests not al- ways these ideas upon occasion, it proceeds from some imperfection in its faculties ; and such a one as is often the source of false reasoning and sophistry. This is, in substance, the way in which he accounts for what he calls " the fore- going paradox, that some ideas are parti- cular in their nature, but general in their representation." Upon this account I shall make some remarks. [493] 1. He allows that we find a resemblance among several objects, and such a resem- blance as leads us to apply the same name to all of them. This concession is suffi- cient to shew that we have general concep- tions. There can he no resemblance ii» objects that have no common attribute; and, if there be attributes belonging in com- mon to several objects, and in man a fa- culty to observe and conceive these, and to give names to them, this is to have general conceptions. I believe, indeed, we may have an indis- tinct perception of resemblance without knowing wherein it lies. Thus, I may see a resemblance between one face and an- other, when 1 cannot distinctly say in what feature they resemble ; but, by analysing the two faces, and comparing feature with feature, I may form a distinct notion of that which is common to both, A painter, being accustomed to an analysis of this kind, would have formed a distinct notion of this resemblance at iirst sight ; to another num it may require some attention. There is, therefore, an indistinct notion of resemblance when we compare the objects only in gross : and this 1 believe brute ani- mals nuiy have. There is also a distinct notion of resemblance wIkmi we analyse the objects into their ditl'erent attrilmtcs, and perceive them to agree in some while they differ in others. It is in this case only that we give a name to the attributes wherein they agree, whicli must be a common n:inie, because the thing sigiufied by it is common. 'J'luis, when I compare cubes of dilfetcnt matter, I perceive them to have this iitiri- bute in common, that they are compro- bended under six ciiual s(imiri's and this attribute only is signitiid by applying the name orCTUAL POWERS. [essa V pare clean linen with snow, I perceive them to agree in colour ; and when I apply the name of white to both, this name signifies neither snow nor clean linen, but the attri- bute which is common to both. 2. The author says, that when we have found a resemblance among several objects, we apply the same name to all of them. [494] It must here be observed, that there are two kinds of names which the author seems to confound, though they are very diiferent in nature, and in the power they have in language. There are proper names, and there are common names or appellatives. The first are the names of individuals. Tlie same proper name is never applied to several individuals on account of their simi- litude, because the very intention of a pro- per name is to distinguish one individual from all others ; and hence it is a maxim in grammar that proper names have no plural number. A proper name signifies nothing but the individual whose name it is ; and, when we apply it to the individual, we neither affirm nor deny anything con- cerning him. A common name or appellative is not the name of any individual, but a general term, signifying something that is or may be common to several ir.dividuals. Common names, therefore, signify common attri- butes. Thus, when I apply the name of son or brother to several persons, this sig- n'fies and affirms that this attribute is common to all of them. From this, it is evident that the apply- ing the same name to several individuals on account of their resemblance, can, in consistence with grammar and common sense, mean nothing else than the express- ing, by a general term, something tliat is common to those individuals, and which, therefore, may be truly affirmed of them all. 3. The author says, "It is certain that we form the idea of individuals whenever we use any general term. The word raises up an individual idea, and makes the ima- ghmtion conceive it, with all its particular circumstances and proportions." This fact he takes a great deal of pains to account for, from the effect of custom. [495] But the fact should be ascertained before we take pains to account for it, I can see no reason to believe the fact ; and I think a farmer can talk of his sheep and his black cattle, without conceiving, in his imagina- tion, one individual, with all its circum- stances and proportions. If this be true, the whole of his theory of general ideas falls to the ground. To me it appears, that when a general term is well understood, it is only by accident if it suggest some indi- vidual of the kind; but this effect is by no means constant. I understand perfectly what mathemati- cians call a line of the fifth order ; yet I never conceived in my imagination any one of the kind in all its circumstances and pro- portions. Sir Isaac Newton first formed a distinct general conception of lines of the tliird order ; and afterwards, by great labour and deep penetration, found out and de- scribed the particular species comprehended under that general term. According to Mr Hume's theory, he must first have been acquainted with the particulars, and then have learned by custom to apply one general name to all of them. The author observes, " That the idea of an equilateral triangle of an inch perpen- dicular, may serve us in talking of a figure, a rectilinear figure, a regular figure, a tri- angle, and an equilateral triangle. " T answer, the man that uses these general terms either understands their meaning, or he does not. If he does not understand their meaning, all his talk about them will be found only without sense, and the par- ticular idea mentioned cannot enable him to speak of them with understanding. If he understands the meaning of the general terms, he will find no use for the particular idea. 4. He tells us gravely, " That in a globe of white marble the figure a: id the colour are undistinguishable, and are in effect the same," [496] How foolish have mankind been to give different names, in all ages andin all languages, to things undistinguish- able, and in effect tliesame ? Henceforth, in all books of science and of entertainment, we may substitute figure fur colour, and colour for figure. By this we shall make numberless curious discoveries, without danger of error. * [497] * The whole controversy ot Nominalism and Con- ceptualisra is founded on the arnbit;uiiy of the terms employed. The oiiposite pariiis are substantially at one. Hart our British phiiosopherg been aware of the Leibriitzian distinction o( lutiiilive and Sy»iboli- cal knowlcdg ; and had we, like (he Germans, dilfi-rent terms, like Beyriff a.' dAnschaminri, to de note different kinds ot thought, there wniild have bein as little ditfc-rence of opinion in regard to tlie natuie of general n tions in this country as in the Empire, with us. Idea, Notion, Conceition, ^^. are confounded, or applied by dirfcreni phnosophirs I in different si uses. 1 must put the reader on his guard against J)r Thomas brown's sp cidaiions on this subject. His own doctrine of universals, in so far as It IS peculiar, is self-c ntradictory ; and nothing can be more erroneous than his statement of the doc- trine held by others, especially by the Nominalists. — H, [494-497] THAP. 1."] OF JUDGMENT IN GENERAL. 413 ESSAY VI. OF JUDGMENT CHAPTER I. OF JUDGMENT IN GENERAL. Judging is an operation of the mind so familiar to every man who hath understand- ing, and its name is so common and so well understood, that it needs no definition. As it is impossible by a definition to give a notion of colour to a man who never saw colours ; so it is impossible by any defini- tion to give a distinct notionof judgment to a man who has not often judged, and who is not capable of reflecting attentively upon this act of his mind. The best use of a de- finition is to prompt him to that reflection ; and without it the best definition will be apt to mislead him. The definition commonly given of judg- ment, by the more ancient writers in logic, was, that it is an act of the mind, tvhereiy onothirifi is affirmed or denied of another. I believe this is as good a definition of it as can be given. Why I prefer it to some later definitions, will afterwards appear. Without pretending to give any other, / shall make two remarks upon it, and then offer some general observations on this subject. [498] 1- It is true that it is by aflSrmation or denial that we express our judgments ; but there may be judgment which is not ex- pressed. It is a solitary act of the mind, and the expression of it by affirmation or denial is not at all essential to it. It may be tacit, and not expressed. Nay, it is well known that men may judge contrary to what they affirm or deny ; the definition therefore must be understood of mental af- firmation or denial, which indeed is only another name for juugment. 2. Atrirniation and denial is very often the expression of testimony, which is a dif- ferent act of the mind, and ought to be distinguished from judgment. A judge asks of a witness what he knows of such a matter to which he was an eye or ear-witness. He answers, by aftirming or denying something But his answer does not express his judgment; it is his testimony. Again, I ask a man Iiisoj inion in a matter of science or of criticrism. His answer is not testimony ; it is the expres sion of his judgment. 'I'cstimony is a social .act, and it is essen [498, 4-99] tial to it to be expressed by words or signs. A tacit testimony is a contradiction : but there is no contradiction in a tacit judgment; it is complete without being expressed. In testimony a man pledges his veracity for what he affirms ; so that a false testi- mony is a lie : but a wrong judgment is not a lie ; it is only an error. I believe, in all languages, testimony and judgment are expressed by the same form of speech. A proposition affirmative or negative, with a verb in wh."it is called the indicative mood, expresses both. To dis- tinguish them by the form of speech, it would be necessary that verbs sli^uld have two indicative moods, one for testimony, and another to express judgment. [499] I know not that this is found in any lan- guage. And the reason is — not surely that the vulgar cannot distinguish the two, for every man knows the ditt'erencc between a lie and an error of judgment — but that, from the matter and circumstances, we can easily see whether a man intends to give his tes- timony, or barely to express his judgment. Although men must have judged in many cases before tribunals of justice were erected, yet it is very probable that there were tribunals before men began to specu- late about judgment, and that the word may be borrowed from the i)ractice of tribunals. As a judge, after taking the proper evidence, piisses sentence in a cause, and that sent- ence is called his judgment, so the mind, with regard to whatever is true or false, passes sentence, or determines according to the evidence that apjiears. Some kinds of evidence leave no mom for doubt. Sent- ence is passed immediately, without seek- ing or hearing any contrary evidence, because the thing is certain and notoiious. In other cases, there is room for weighing evidence on both sides, bi fore sentence is passed. The analogy between a tribunal of justice, and tlii.^ inward trilmnal of the mind, is too obvidus to escape the notice of any man who ever appeared bel'dro a jtulge. yVnd it is probable that tlie word jiidi/wen', as well asniany other words we use in 8|>c:iK- ing of this ojk ration of miml, are grounded on this analii;:y. Having premised these things, that it ni.'iy be clearly undtrstoud what I mean by iurlgmcnt, 1 proceeil tii make Bome genenii observalimiH concerning it. 414 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essa y VI. First, Judgment is an act of the mind, specifically different from simple apprehen- sion, or the bare conception of a thing.* It would be unnecessary to observe this, if some philosophers had not been led by their theories to a contrary opinion. [500] Although there can be no judgment with- out a conception of the things about which we judge, yet conception may be without any judgment.-|- Judgment can be expressed by a proposition only, and a proposition is a complete sentence ; but simple apprehen- sion may be expressed by a word or words, which make no complete sentence. When simple apprehension is employed about a proposition, every man knows that it is one thing to apprehend a proposition — that is, to conceive what it means — but it is quite another thing to judge it to be true or false. It is self-evident that every judgment must be either true or false ; but simple apprehension, or conception, can neither be true nor false, as was shewn before. One judgment may be contradictory to another ; and it is impossible for a man to have two judgments at the same time, which he perceives to be contradictory. But con- tradictory propositicMis may be conceived:}: at the same time without any difficulty. That the sun is greater than the earth, and that the sun is not greater than the earth, are contradictory propositions. He that apprehends the meaning of one, apprehends the meaning of both. But it is impossible for hun to judge both to be true at the same time. He knows that, if the one is true, tile other must be false. For these reasons, I hold it to be certain that judgment and simple apprehension are acts of the mind specifically different. Secondly, There are notions or ideas that ought to be referred to the faculty of judg- ment as their source ; because, if we had not that faculty, they could not enter into our minds ; and to those tliat have that faculty, and are capable of reflecting upon its operations, they are obvious and familiar. Among these we may reckon the notion of judgment itself ; the notions of a propos- ition — of its subject, predicate, and copula; of affirmation and negation, of true and false ; of knowledge, belief, disbelief, opi- nion, assent, evidence. From no source could we acquire these notions, but from reflecting upon our judgments. Relations of things make one great class of our notions or ideas ; and we cannot have the idea of any relation without some exercise of judg- ment, as will appear afterwards. [501] Thirdli/, In persons come to years of * Which, however, implies a judgment .ifErming lt8 subjective reality— an existential judgment.— H. t See last note, and above, p. ■.i4;j,a, note *, and n- 3-5, a, notef.— H. ti-'ee above, p. 377, b, ii,,te.~H understanding, judgment necessarily accom- panies all sensation, perception by the senses, consciousness, and memory, but not conception.* I restrict this to persons come to the years of understanding, because it may be a ques- tion, whether infants, in the first period of life, have any judgment or belief at all." The same question may be put with regard to brutes and some idiots. This question is foreign to the present subject ; and I say nothing here about it, but speak only of persons who have the exercise of judg- ment. In them it is evident that a man who feels pain, judges and believes that he is really pained. The man who perceives an object, believes that it exists, and is what he distinctly perceives it to be ; nor is it in his power to avoid such judgment. And the like may be said of memory, and of consciousness. Whether judgment ought to be called a necessary concomitant of these operations, or rather a part or in- gredient of them, I do not dispute ; but it is certain that all of them are accompanied with a determination that something is true or false, and a consequent belief. If this determination be not judgment, it is an operation that has got no name; for it is not simple apprehension, neither is it reasoning ; it is a mental affirmation or negation ; it may be expressed by a propo- sition affirmative or negative, and it is accompanied with the firmest belief. These are the characteristics of judgment ; and I must call it judgment, till I can find another name to it. The judgments we form are either of things necessary, or of things contingent. That three times three is nine, that the whlj] Tlie fundamental articles of his system are, that all the perceptions of the human mind are either im])ressions or ideas, a)id that ideas are only faint copies of impres- sions. The idea of a right line, therefore, is only a faint copy of some line that has been seen, or felt by touch ; and the faint copy cannot be more perfect than the original. Now of such right lines, it is evident that the axioms of geometry arc not precisely true ; for two lines that are straight to our sight or touch may include a space, or they may meet in more points than one. If, therefore, we cannot form any notion of a straight line more accurate than that which we have from the senses of sight and touch, geometry has no solid foundation. If, on the other hand, the geometrical axioms are ]n-ecisely true, the idea of a right line is not copied from any impression of sight or touch, but must have a different origin and a more perfect standard. As the geometrician, by reflecting only upon the extension and figure of matter, forms a set of notions more accurate and scientific than any which the senses exhi- bit, so the natural philosopher, reflecting upon other attributes of matter, forms another set, such as those of density, quan- tity of matter, velocity, momentum, fluidity, elasticity, centres of gravity, and of oscilla- tion. These notions are accurate and scientific ; but they cannot enter into a mind that has not some degree of judg- ment, nor can we make them intelligible to children, until they have some ripeness of understanding. In navigation, the notions of latitude, longitude, course, leeway, cannot be made intelligible to children ; and so it is with regard to the terms of every science, and of every art about which we can reason. They have had their five senses as perfect as men for years before they are capable of distinguishing, comparing, and perceiv- ing the relations of things, so as to be able to form such notions. They acquire the intellectual powers by a slow progress, and by imperceptible degrees ; and by means of them, learn to form distinct and accurate notions of things, which the senses could never have imparted. [510] Having said so nmch of the notions we get from the senses alone of the olijecta of sense, let us next consider what notions we can have from consciousness alone of the operations of our minds. Mr Locke very i)roperly calls conscious- ness an internal sense. It gives the like innnediateknowledgeoflhingsin tiie mind — that is, of ourftwn thoughts and feelings — as the senses give us of things external. 'I'iiere is this dilleren'*-, however, that an '2 K 'J 420 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [eSSAV VI. external object may be at rest, and the sense may be employed about it for some time. But the objects of consciousness are never at rest : the stream of thought flows like a river, without stopping a mo- ment ; the whole train of thought passes in succession under the eye of consciousness, which is always employed about the present. But is it consciousness that analyses com- plex operations, distinguishes their different ingredients, and combines them in distinct parcels under general names ? This surely is not the work of consciousness, nor can it be performed without reflection,* recollect- ing and judging of what we were conscious of, and distinctly remember. This reflec- tion does not appear in children. Of all the powers of tlie mind, it seems to be of the latest growth, whereas consciousness is coeval with the earliest. "f Consciousness, being a kind of internal sense, can no more give us distinct and accurate notions of the operations of our minds, than the external senses can give of external objects. Reflection upon the operations of our minds is the same kind of operation with that by which we form dis- tinct notions of external objects. They differ not in their nature, but in this only, that one is employed about external, and the other about internal objects ; and both may, with equal propriety, be called reflec- tion. [517] Mr Locke has restricted the word reflec- -* See above, p. 2^2, a, note *.— H. t See above, p. 239, b Asa corollary of this truth, Mr Stewart makes the following observations, in which he is supported by every competent authority in education. The two northern universities have long witlidrawn themselves from the reproach of placing Physics last in their curriculum of arts. In that of Edinbureh, no order is prescribi d ; but in St Andrew's and Glasgow, the class of Physics still stands after those of Mental Philosophy. 'J his absurdity is, it is to be observed, altogether of a modern intro- duction For, when our Scotti'^h universities were lounded, and long alter, the pliilosophv of mind was taught by the h'rofessor of Physics. " I apprehend," says Mr Stewart, "that the study of the mind should form the last branch of the education of youth ; an order wh'Ch nature herself seems to point out, by what I have already remarked v/itli respect to the developcment of our faculties. Alter the under, standing is well stored with [larticular fdcis, and has been conversant with particular scientific pur. suits, it will be enabled to speculate concerning its own powers with additional arivartage, and will run no hazard in intlulging too far in such inquiries. Nothing can be mure absurd, on this as well as on many other accounts, than the common practice which is followed in our universities, [in some only,] of beginning a course of philosophical education with the study of Logic. If thisorder were completely re- versed ; and if the s'.udy of Logic were delayed till after the mind of 'he student was well stored with particular facts in Physics, in Chemistry, in Natural and Civil History, his atiention might be led with the most important advantage, and without any dan. ger to his pon er of observation, 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 improvements of which his mind is susceptible."— H. tion to that which is employed about the operations of our minds, without any authority, as I think, from custom, the arbiter of language. For, surely, I may reflect upon what I have seen or heard, as well as upon what I have thought.* The word, in its proper and common meaning, is eqtially applicable to objects of sense, and to objects of consciousness. -f* He has likewise confounded reflection with con- sciousness, and seems not to have been aware that they are different powers, and appear at very different periods of life X If that eminent philosopher had been aware of these mistakes about the meaning of the word reflection, he would, I think, have seen that, as it is by reflection upon the operations of our own minds that we can form any distinct and accurate notions of them, and not by consciousncbs without reflection, so it is by reflection upon the objects of sense, and not by the senses without reflection, that we can form dis- tinct notions of them. Reflection upon any- thing, whether external or internal, makes it an object of our intellectual powers, by which we survey it on all sides, and form such judgments about it as appear to be just and true. I proposed, in the third place, to consi- der our notions of the relations of things : and here I think, that, without judg- ment, we cannot have any notion of rela- tions. There are two ways in which we get the notion of relations. The first is, by com- paring the related objects, when we have before had the conception of both. By this comparison, we perceive the relation, either immediately, or by a process of reasoning. That my foot is longer than my finger, 1 perceive immediately ; and that three is the half of six. This immediate perception is immediate and intuitive judgment. That the angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are equal, I perceive by a process of reason- ing, in which it will be acknowledged there is judgment. Another way in which we get the notion of relations (which seems not to have occur- red to Mr Locke) is, when, by attention to one of the related objects, we perceive or judge that it must, from its nature, have a certain relation to something else, which before, perhaps, we never thought of; and thus our attention to one of the related ob- * See note before last, and note at p. 347, b. — H. t Mr Stewart makes a curious mistatement of the moaning attached by Reid to the word Reflection, if this passage and others are taken into accounl.^See Ekments, I. p. lOii, note t-— H. X Consciousness and lipflection cannot be analysed into difTerent powers. Reflection is only, in Locke's meaning of the word, (and this is the more correct,) | Consciousness, concentrated by an act of Will on the • lihjenomena of mind — ?'. e., internal Attention ; in i Reid's, what is it but Attention in general ?— H. ; [517] ' CHAP. u.] OF COMMON SP:\SE. 4-21 jects produces the notion of a correlate, and of a certain relation between them. [518] Thus, when I attend to colour, figure, weight, I cannot help judging these to be qualities which cannot exist without a sub- ject ; tliat is, something which is coloured, figured, heavy. If I had not perceived such things to be qualities, I should never have had any notion of their subject, or of their relation to it. By attending to the operations of think- ing, memory, reasoning, we perceive or judge that there must be something which thinks, remembers, and reasons, which we call the mind. When we attend to any change tliat happens in Nature, judgment informs us that there must be a cause of this change, which had power to produce it ; and thus we get the notions of cause and effect, and of the relation between them. ^V aeu we attend to body, we per- ceive that it cannot exist without space ; hence we get the notion of space, (which is neither an object of sense nor of conscious- ness,) and of the relation which bodies have to a certain portion of unlimited space, as their place. I apprehend, therefore, that all our no- tions of relations may more properly be ascribed to judgment as their source and origin, than to any other power of the mind. We must first perceive relations by our judgment, before we can conceive them without judghig of them ; as we must first perceive colours by sight, before we can conceive them without seeing them. I think Mr Locke, when he comes to speak of the ideas of relations, does not say that they are ideas of sensation or reflection, but only that they terminate in, and are concerned about, ideas of sensation or re- flection. [519] The notions of unity and number are so abstract, that it is impossible they should enter into the mind until it has some degree of judgment. We see with what difficulty, and how slowly, children learn to use, with understanding, the names even of small numbers, and how they exult in this acqui- sition when they have attained it. Every number is conceived by the relation which it bears to unity, or to known combinations of units ; and upon that account, as well as on account of its abstract nature, all distinct notions of it require some degree of judgment- In its proper place, I shall have occasion to shew tiiut judgment is an ingredient in all determinations of taste, in ail moral determinations, and in many of our jias- sions and affections. So that this openi- tion, after we come to have any exercise of judgment, mixes with most of the operations (if our minds, and, in analysing them, cannot i)e overlooked without confusion and error. (^.518-.520] CHAPTER II. OF COMMON SENSE. The word sense, in common language, seems to have a different meaning from that which it has in the writings of philosophers ; and those different meanings are apt to bo confounded, and to occasion embarrassment and error. Not to go back to ancient philosophy upon this point, modern philosophers consider sense as a power that has nothing to do with judgment. Sense they consider as the power by which we receive certain ideas or im- pressions from objects ; and judgment as tile power by which we compare those ideas, and perceive their necessary agree- ments and disagreements. [520] The external senses give us the idea of colour, figure, sound, and other qualities of body, primary or secondary. Mr Locke gave the name of an internal sense to con- sciousness, because by it we have the ideas of thought, memory, reasoning, and other operations of our own minds. Dr Hutche- son of Glasgow, conceiving that we have simple and original ideas which cannot be unputed either to the external senses or to consciousness, introduced other internal senses ; such as the sense of harmony, the sense of beauty, and the moral sense. Ancient philosopliers also spake of mternal senses, of which memory was accounted one. But all those senses, whether external or internal, have been represented by philo- sophers as the means of furnishing our minds with ideas, without including any kind of judgment. Dr Hutcheson defines a sense to be a determination of the mind to receive any idea from the presence of an object independent on our will. " By this term (sense) philosophers, in general, have denominated those faculties in consequence of which we are liable to feelings relative to ourselves only, and from which they have not pretended to draw any conclusions concerning the nature ofthiiigs ; whereas trutii is not relative, but absolute and real (Dr Priestlv's " Examination of Dr Rcid," &c., p. 12:j".) On the contrary, in common language, sense always implies judgment. A mini of sense is a man of judgment. Good sense is good judgment. Nonsense is what is evidently contrary to right judgment. Com- mon sense is tlnit degree of judgment which is common to men with whom we can con- verse and traiisai't business. Seeing and hearing, Ijy philosophers, arc called senses, because wo liavc ideiw by * On Common Stme, name niul thing, icc Note A. — II. 422 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [^HSSAV VI. thein ; by the vulgar tliey are called senses, because we judge by them. We judge of colours by the eye ; of sounds by the ear ; of beauty and deformity by taste ; of right and wrong in conduct, by our moral sense or conscience. [521] Sometimes philosophers, who represent it as the sole province of sense to furnish us with ideas, fall unawares into the popu- lar opinion that they are judging faculties. Thus Locke, Book IV. chap. 2 :— " And of this, (that the quality or accident of colour doth really exist, and hath a being without me,) the greatest assurance I can possibly have, and to which my faculties can attain, is the testimony of my eyes, which are the proper and sole judges of this thing." This popular meaning of the word sense is not peculiar to the English language. The corresponding words in Greek, Latin, and, I believe, in all the European languages, have the same latitude. The Latin words sentire, sententla, sensa,* sensus, from the last of which the English word sense is borrowed, express judgment or opinion, and are applied indifi'erently to objects of exter- nal sense, of taste, of morals, and of the understanding. I cannot pretend to assign the reason why a word, which is no term of art, which is familiar in common conversation, should have so different a meaning in philosophical writings. I shall only observe, that the philosophical meaning corresponds perfectly with the account which Mr Locke and other modern philosophers give of judgment. For, if the sole province of the senses, external and internal, be to furnish the mind with the ideas about which we judge and reason, it seems to be a natural consequence, that the sole province of judgment should be to compare those ideas, and to perceive their necessary relations. These two opinions seem to be so con- nected, that one may have been the cause of the other. I apprehend, however, that, if both be true, there is no room left for any knowledge or judgment, either of the real existence of contingent things, or of their contingent relations. To return to the popular meaning of the word sense. I believe it would be much more difficult to find good authors who never use it in that meaning, than to find such as do. [522] We may take Mr Pope as good authority for the meaning of an English word. He uses it often, and, in his " Epistle to the Earl of Burlington," ha3 made a little de- scant upon it. * What floes smsa mean? Is it an erratum, or does he refer to sensa, once only, I believe, employed by Cicero, and interpreted by Nonius Marcellus, as " qux seiitiuntur V" — H. " Oft have you hinted to your broiher Peer, A certaui truth, which many liuy too dear: Something there is more needful than expense, And something previous ev'ti to laste— 'tis sense. Good sense, winch only is the gift.of heaven. And, though no science, fairly worth the seven ; A light which in yourself you must perceive, Jones and Le Notre have it not to give." This inward light or sense is given by heaven to different persons in different de- grees. There is a certain degree of it which is necessary to our being subjects of law and government, capable of managing our own affairs, and answerable for our conduct towards others : this is called common sense, because it is common to all men with whom we can transact business, or call to account for their conduct. The laws of all civilised nations distin- guish those who have this gift of heaven, from those who have it not. The last may have rights which ought not to be violated, but, having no understanding in themselves to direct their actions, the laws appoint them to be guided by the understanding of others. It is easily discerned by its effects in men's actions, in their speeches, and even in their looks ; and when it is made a question whether a man has this natural gift or not, a judge or a jury, upon a short conversation with him, can, for the most part, determine the question with great assurance. The same degree of understanding which makes a man capable of acting with com- mon prudence in the conduct of life, makes him capable of discovering what is true and what is false in matters that are self-evident, and which he distinctly apprehends. [523] All knowledge, and all science, must be built upon principles that are self-evident ; and of such principles every man who has common sense is a competent judge, when he conceives them distinctly. Hence it is, that disputes very often terminate in an appeal to common sense. While the parties agree in the first prin- ciples on which their arguments are ground- ed, there is room for reasoning ; but when one denies what to the other appears too evident to need or to admit of proof, rea- soning seems to be at an end ; an appeal is made to common sense, and each party is left to enjoy his own opinion. There seems to be no remedy for this, nor any way left to discuss such appeals, unless the decisions of common sense can be brought into a code in which all reason- able men shall acquiesce. This, indeed, if it be possible, would be very desirable, and would supply a desideratum in logic ; and why should it be thought impossible that reasonable men should agree in things that are self-evident ? All that is intended in this chapter is to explain the meaning of common sense, that it may not be treated, as it has been by some, as a new principle, or as a word with- [52 1 -.523] CHAP. II. J OF COMMON SENSE. 423 out any meaning. I have endeavoured to shew that sense, in its most common, and therefore its most proper meaning, signifies judgment, though pliilosophers often use it in anotlier meaning. From this it is natural I to tiiinlv that common sense should mean I common judgment; and so it really docs. What the precise limits are which divide conmion judgment from what is beyond it on the one hand, and from what falls short of it on the other, may be difficult to de- termine ; and men may agree in the mean- ing of the word who have different opinions about those limits, or who even never thought of fixing them. This is as intel- ligible as, that all Englishmen should mean the same thing by the county of York, though perhaps not a hundredth part of them can point out its precise limits. [524] Indeed, it seems to me, that common sense is as unaml>iguous a word and as well understood as the county of York. We find it in innumerable places in good writers ; we hear it on innumerable occasions in con- versation ; and, as far as I am able to judge, always in the same meaning. And this is probably the reason why it is so seldom defined or explained. Dr Johnson, in the authorities he gives, to shew that the word ieM*e signifies under- standing, soundness of faculties, strength of natural reason, quotes Dr Bentley for what may be called a definition of connnon sense, though probably not intended for that pur- pose, but mentioned accidentally : " God hath endowed mankind with power and abilities, which we call natural light and reason, and common sense." It is true that common sense is a popular and not a scholastic word ; and by most of those who have treated systematically of the powers of the understanding, it is only occasionally mentioned, as it is by other writers. Hut I recollect two philosojihical writers, who are exceptions to this remark. One is Buffier, who treated largely of com- mon sense, as a principle of knowledge, above fifty years ago. The other is Bishop Berkeley, who, I think, has laid as much stress upon conmion sense, in opposition to the doctrines of philosoi>hers, as any philo- sopher that has come after him. If the reader chooses to look back to Essay II. chap. 10, he will be satisfied of this, from the quotations there made for another pur- pose, which it is unnecessary here to repeat. Men rarely ask what common sense is ; because every man believes hiit. ;lf pos- sessed of it, and "Would tnKe it for an inijiut- ation upon his umlerstanding to be thought tinacquainted with it. Yet I remember two very eminent authors who have put this question ; and it is not improper to hear theirsentiments ujion a subji'ctso freipieiitly mentioned, and so rarely cai.vassed. [.'>2r»] f rtdi-.'i^a 1 It is well known that Lord Shaftesbury gave to one of his Treatises the title of '■ Sensus Communis; an Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humour, in a Letter to a Friend ;" in which he puts his friend in mind of a free conversation wiih some of their friends on the subjects of morality and religion. Amidst the difi'erent opinions started and maintained with great life and ingenuity, one or other would, every now and then, take the liberty to appeal to conmion sense. Every one allowed the appeal ; no one would ofter to call the authority of the court in question, till a gentleman whose good understanding was never yet brought ni doubt, desired the company, very gravely, that they would tell him what common sense was. " If," said he, '' by the word sense, we were to understand opinion and judgment, and by ihe word amnion, the generality or any considerable part of mankind, it would be hard to discover where the sul)ject of common sense could lie ; for that which was according to the sense of one part of mankind, was against the sense of another. And if the majority were to determine com- mon sense, it would change as often as men changed. That in religion, connnon sense was as hard to determine as cath lie or orihiddx. What to one was absurdity, to another was dem(. nitration. " In policy, if jdain British or Dutch sense were riglit, Turkish and French must certainly be wrong. And as mere non- sense as passive obedience seemed, we found it to be the connnon sense of a great party amongst ourselves, a greater party in Europe, and perhaps the greatest part of all the world besides. As for morals, the difference was still wider ; for even the philosophers could never agree in one and the same system. A nd some even of our most admired modern philosophers had fairly told us that virtue and vice had no other law or measure than mere fashion and vogue." [52«] This is the substance of the gentleman's speech, which, I ajjprehend, explains the meaning of the word perfectly, and contains all that has been said or can be said against the authority of connnon sense, and the propriety of appeals to it. As there is no mention of any answer inmiediafely made to this speech, we might be ai)t to conclude that the noble author adopted the sentiments of the intellif;cnt gentleman whose si>((cli he rerite.'i. But the contrary is manifest, from the title of SrnMi.s Cowiniini.s given to bis Essay, from his frequent use of the word, and from the whole tenor of the lOssay. 'I'lie author appears to have a doulile in- tention in that EHsay, correMponding tti the double title pri'lived toil, (In.' intention 424 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay VI, is, to justify the use of wit, humour, and ridicule, in discussing among friends the gravest subjects- " I can very well sup- pose," says he, " men may be frighted out of their wits ; but I have no apprehen- sion they .should be laughed out of them. I can hardly imaguie that, in a pleasant way, they should ever be talked out of their love for socitty, or reasoned out of humanity and common sense." The otlier intention, signified by the title Sensu^ Cuinmuiiiti, is carried on band in hand with the first, and is to shew that common sense is not so vague and uncertain a thing as it is represented to be in the Bceptir«al speech before recited. " I will try," su} s he, " what certain knowledge or assurance of things may be recovered in that very way, (to wit, of humour,) by which all certainty, you thought, was lost, and an endless scepticism introduced. " [ 52? ] He gives some criticisms upon the word sen.sus commrinis in Juvenal, Horace, and Seneca ; and, after shewing, in a facetious way throughout the treatise, that the fun- damental principles of moi-als, of politics, of criticism, and of every branch of knowledge, are the dictates of common sense, he sums up the whole in these words : — " That some moral and philosophical truths there are so evident in themselves that it would be easier to imagine half mankind run mad, and joined precisely in the same species of folly, than to admit anything as truth which should be advanced against such natural knowledge, fundamental reason and common sense. " And, on taking leave, he adds : — " And now, my friend, sliould you find I had moralised in any tolerable manner, according to common sense, and without canting, I should be satisfied with my performance." Another eminent writer who has put the question what common sense is, is Fenelon, the famous Archbishop of Cambray. That ingenious and pious author, having had an early prepossession in favour of the Cartesian philosophy, made an attempt to establish, on a sure foundation, the meta- physical arguments which Des Cartes had invented to prove the being of the Deity. For this purpose, he begins with the Carte- sian doubt. He proceeds to find out the truth of his own existence, and then to ex- amine wherein the evidence and certainty of this and other such primary truths con- sisted. This, according to Cartesian prin- ciples, he places in the clearness and dis- tinctness of the ideas. On the contrarj', he places the absurdity of the contrary pro- positions, in their being repugnant to his clear and distinct' ideas. To illustrate this, he gives various ex- amples of questions manifestly absurd and ridiculons, which every man of common understanding would, at first sight, perceive to be so ; and then goes on to this purpose. " What is it that makes these questions ridiculous ? Wherein does this ridicule precisely consist ? It will, perhaps, be replied, that it consists in this, that they shock common sense. But what is this same connnon sense ? It is not the first notions that all men have equally of the same things. [528] This connnon sense, which is always and in all places the same ; which prevents inquiry ; which makes in- quiry in some cases ridiculous ; which, in- stead of inquiring, makes a man laugh whether he will or not ; which puts it out of a man's power to doubt : this sense, which only waits to be consulted — which shews itself at the first glance, and imme- diately discovers the evidence or the absurd- ity of a question — is not this the same that I call my ideas ? " Behold, then, those ideas or general notions, which it is not in my power eitlier to contradict or examine, and by which I examine and decide in every case, insomuch that I laugh instead of answering, as often as anything is proposed to me, which is evi- dently contrary to what these imnmtable ideas represent" I shall only observe upon this passage, that the interpretation it gives of Des Cartes' criterion of truth, whether just or not, is the most intelligible and the most favourable I have met with. I beg leave to mention one passage from Cicero, and to add two or three from late writers, which shew that this word is not become obsolete, nor has changed its meaning. " De Oratore," lib. 3 — " Oranes enim tacito quodam sensu, sine ulla arte aut ratione, in artibus ac rationibus, recta ac prava dijudicant. Idque cum faciant in picturis, et in signis, et in aliis cperibus, ad quorum intelligentiam a natura minus hab- ent instrument!, tum multo ostendunt niagis in verborum, numerorum, vocumque judi- cio ; quod ea sint in communibus infixa sensibus ; neque earum rerum quemquam funditus natura voluit expertem." " Hume's " Essays and Treatises," vol. I- p. 5 " But a philosopher who proposes only to represent the common sense of mankind in more beautiful and more engag- ing colours, if by accident he commits a mistake, goes no farther, but, renew ing his appeal to common sense, and the natural sentiments of the mind, returns into the right path, and secures himself from any dangerous illusion." [529] Hume's " Enquiry concerning the Prin- ciples of Morals," p. 2 " Those who have refused the reality of moral distinctions may be ranked among the disingenuous dis- putants. The only way of converting an [ 527-52P] CHAP. Ji.J OF COMMON SENSE. 425 antagonist of this kind is to leave him to lumself: for, finding that nobody keeps up the controversy with him, it is probable he vnW at last, of himself, from mere weariness, come over to the side of common sense and reason." Priestley's " Institutes," Preliminary Essav, vol. i. p. 27 — " Because common sense is a sufficient guard against many errors in religion, it seems to have been taken for granted that that common sense is a sufficient instructor also, whereas in fact, without positive instruction, men would naturally have been mere savages with respect to religion ; as, without similar in- struction, they would be savages with re- spect to the arts of life and the sciences. Common sense can only be compared to a ; judge ; but what can a judge do without evidence and proper materials from which to form a judgment ?" Priestley's '• Examination of Dr Reid," &c. page 127. — " Cut should we, out of complaisance, admit that what has hitherto been called judgment may be called sense, it is makinjr too free with the established signification of words to call it common sense, which, in common acceptation, has long been appropriated to a very different thing — viz , to that capacity for judging of common things that persons of middling capacities are capable of." Page 129. — " I should, therefore, expect that, if a man was 60 totally deprived of common sense as not to be able to distinguish truth from false- hood in one case, he would be equally in- capable of distinguishing it in another." [530] From this cloud of testimonies, to which hundreds might be added, I apprehend, that whatever censure is thrown upon those who have spoke of comnu'ii sense as a prin- ciple of knowledge, or who have appealed to it in matters that are self-evident, will fall light, when there are so many to share in it. Indeed, the authority of this tribunal is too sacred and venerable, and has pre- scription too long in its favour to be now wuely called in question. Those who are disposed to do so, may remember the shrewd saying of Mr Ilobbes — " When reason is against a man, a man will bo against rea- son." This is equally ai)plicable to com- mon sense. From the account I nave given of the meaning of this term, it is easy to judge both of the proper use and of the abuse of it. It is absurd to conceive that there can be any ojiposition between reason and com- mon sense." It is indeed the first-jjorii of , Reason ; and, as they are commonly joined * Sec above, p. UX), b, note t ; «i>i.— H. . [.5.30, .'i.SlJ -..-;./pir''' together in speech and in writing, they are j inseparable in their nature. jlcv^^ We ascribe to reason two offices, or two | ,rs degrees. The first is to judge of things | ][ -'- self-evident ; the second to draw conclusions )/ "" that are not self-evident from those that i ^^' arc. The first of these is the province, and ' the sole province, of common sense ; and, ,■▼* therefore, it coinciiles with reason in its whole extent, and is only another name for one branch or one degree of reason. Per- J haps it may be said, Why then should you ' give it a particular name, since it is acknow- ledged to be only a degree of reason ? It would be a sufficient answer to this. Why do you abolish a name which is to be found in the language of all civilized nations, and has acquired a right by prescription ? Such an attempt is equally foolish and ineflectual. Every wise man will be apt to think that aname>\liich is found in all languages as far back as we can trace them, is not with- out some use. [531] But there is an obvious reason why this degree of reason should have a name ap- propriated to it ; and that is, that, in the greatest part of mankind, no other degree of reason is to be found. It is this degree that entitles them to the denomination of reasonable creatures. It is this degree of reason, and this only, that makes a man capable of managing his own affairs, and answerable for his conduct towards others. There is therefore the best reason why it should have a name appropriated to it. These two degrees of reason dift'er in other respects, which would be sufficient to entitle them to distinct names. The first is purely the gift of Heaven. And where Heaven has not given it, no education can supjily the want. The se- cond is learned by practice and rules, when the first is not wanting. A man who has cf)mmon sense may bo taught to reason. But, if he has not that gilt, no teaching will make him able either to judge of first prin- ciples or to reason from them. I have only this farther to observe, that the province of common sense is more ex- tensive in refutation than in confirmation. A conclusion drawn by a train of just rea- soning from true principles cannot possibly contradict any decision of common sense, because truth will always be consistent with itself. Neither can such a conclu- sion receive any confirmation from com- mon sense, because it is not within its juris- diction. But it is possible that, by setting out from false principles, or by an error in reasoning, a man may bo U'd !<• a conclu- sion that contradicts the decisions of com- mon sense. In this case, the conolunon is within the jurisdictitm of common sense, though the reasoniuK on which it wan 426 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [kssay VI. grounded be not ; and a man of common sense may fairly reject the conclusion with- out being able to shew the error of the rea- eoning that led to it. [532] Thus, if a mathematician, by a process of intricate demonstration, in which some false step was made, should bo brought to this conclusion, that two quantities, which are both equal to a third, are not equal to each other, a man of common sense, with- out pretending to be a judge of the demon- stration, is well entitled to reject the con- clusion, and to pronounce it absurd. CHAPTER IIL SENTIMENTS OF PHILOSOPHERS CONCERNING JUDGMENT. A DIFFERENCE about the meaning of a word ought not to occasion disputes among philosophers ; but it is often very proper to take notice of such differences, in order to prevent verbal disputes. There are, in- deed, no words in language more liable to ambiguity than those by which we express the operations of the mind ; and the most candid and judicious may sometimes be led into different opinions about their precise meaning. I hinted before what I take to be a pecu- liarity in Mr Locke with regard to the meaning of the word judgment, and men- tioned what, I apprehend, may have led him into it. But let us hear himself. Essay, book iv. chap. 14 : — " The faculty which God has given to man to supply the want of clear and certain knowledge, where that cannot be had, is judgment ; whereby the mind takes its ideas to agree or disagree ; or, which is the same, any proposition to be true or false, without perceiving a de- monstrative evidence in the proofs. Thus the mind has two faculties conversant about truth and falsehood. First, Knowledge, whereby it certainly perceives, and is un- doubtedly satisfied of, the agreement or disagreement of any ideas. Secondbj, Judgment, which is the putting ideas to- gether, or separating them from one an- other in the mind, when their certain agree- ment or disagreement is not perceived, but presumed to be so." [533] Knowledge, I think, sometimes signifies things known ; sometimes that act of the mind by which we know them. And in like manner opinion sometimes signifies things believed ; sometimes the act of the mind by which we believe them. But judgment is the faculty which is exercised in both these acts of the mind. In knowledge, we judge without doubting ; in opinion, with some mixture of doubt. But I know no authority, besides that of Mr Locke, for calling knowledge a faculty, any more than for calling opinion a faculty. Neither do I think that knowledge is confined within the narrow limits which Mr Locke assigns to it ; because the far greatest part of what all men call human knowledge, is in things which neither ad- mit of intuitive nor of demonstrative proof, I have all along used the word judt/ment in a more extended sense than Mr Locke does in the passage above-mentioned. I understand by it that operation of mind by which we determine, concerning anything that may be expressed by a proposition, whether it be true or false. Every propo- sition is either true or false ; so is every judgment. A proposition may be simply conceived without judging of it. But when there is not only a conception of the pro- position, but a mental affirmation or nega- tion, an assent or dissent of the understand- ing, whether weak or strong, that is judg- ment. I think that, since the days of Aristotle, logicians have taken the word in that sense, and other writers, for the most part, though there are other meanings, which there is no danger of confounding with this. [534] We may take the authority of Dr Isaac Watts, as a logician, as a man who under- stood English, and who had a just esteem of Mr Locke's Essay. Logic. Introd. page 5 — " Judgment is that operation of the mind, wherein we join two or more ideas together by one affirmation or negation ; that is, we either affirm or deny (his to be that. So: this tree is hi(7, and Nule It. In regard to the doctrine of Idtiu, as liild by the |ihllo>o|iheri, «ee above, and Note (.', Ko. — i i. [.53.5- ./i?] object of the understanding when a man thinks, or whatever the mind can be em- ployed about in thinking. Here there is no room left for objects of the mind that are not ideas. The same definition is often repeated throughout the Essav. Some- times, indeed, tlie word immediate is added as in the passage now under consideration ; but there is no intimation made that it ought to be understood when it is not expressed. Now, if it had really been his ojjinion that there are objects of thought which are not ideas, this definition, which is the ground- work of the whole Essay, would have been very improper, and apt to mislead his reader. Secondly, He has never attempted to shew how there can be objects of thought which are not immediate objects ; and, indeed, this seems impossible. For, what- ever the object be, the man either thinks of it, or he does not. There is no medium between these. If he thinks of it, it is an immediate object of thought while he thinks of it. If he does not think of it, it is no object of thouglit at all. Every object of thought, therefore, is an immediate object of thought, and the word immediate, joined to objects of thought, seems to be a mere expletive. Tliirdly, Tho\i^\ Malebranche and Bishop Berkeley believed that we have no ideas of minds, or of the operations of minds, and that we may think and reason about them without ideas, this was not the opinion of Mr Locke. He thought that tliere are ideas of minds, and of their operations, as well as of the objects of sense ; that the mind perceives nothing but its own ideas, and that all words are tlie signs of ideas. A fourth reason is. That to suppose that he intended to limit the antecedent (iroposi- tion by the word immediate, is to impute to him a blunder in reasoning, which I do nt)t think Mr Locke could have connnitted ; for what can be a more glaring paralogism than to infer that, since ideas are partly, though not solely, the objects of thought, it is evident that all our knowledge is only conversant about them. If, on the con- trar}', he meant that ideas are the only ob- jects of thought, then the conclusion drawn is perfectly just and obvious ; and he might very well say, that, since it is idea^oiilg Ih'it the mind does or can contemplate, it is eri- dent that our knuicledge is only conversant about them. |5;{71 As to the Conclusion itself, I have oidy to observe, that, though he e.v tends it only to what he calls knowleilgo, and not to what lie calls judgment, there is the same reuhon for extending it to both. It is true of judgment, as well as of knowli'dge, that it can only 1m> conver.'':int ;iljoiit oV)jtcts of the mind, or alioul lliingH 428 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [[ess/ \T VI. which the mind can contemplate. Judg- ment, as well as knowledge, supposes the conception of tlio object about which we judge ; and to judge of objects that never were nor can be objects of the mind, is evi- dently impossible. This, therefore, we may take for granted, that, if knowledge be conversant about ideas only, because there is no other object of the mind, it must be no less certain that judg- ment is conversant about ideas only, for the same reason. Mr Locke adds, as the result of his rea- soning, " Knowledge, then, seems to me to be nothing but the perception of the con- nection and agreement, or disagreement and repugnancy, of any of our ideas. In this alone it consists." This is a veiy important point, not only on its own account, but on account of its necessary connection with his system con- cerning ideas, which is such as that both must stand or fall together ; for, if there is any part of human knowledge which does not consist in the perception of the agree- ment or disagreement of ideas, it must fol- low that there are objects of thought and of contemplation which are not ideas. 1538] This point, therefore, deserves to be care- fully examined. With this view, let us first attend to its meaning, which, I think, can hardly be mistaken, though it may need some explication. Every point of knowledge, and every judgment, is expressed by a proposition, wherein something is affirmed or denied of the subject of the proposition. By perceiving the connection or agree- ment of two ideas, I conceive, is meant per- ceiving the truth of an affirmative proposi- tion, of which the subject and predicate are ideas. In like manner, by perceiving the disagreement and repugnancy of any two ideas, I conceive is meant perceiving the truth of a negative proposition, of which both subject and predicate are ideas. This I take to be the only meanhig the words can bear, and it is confirmed by what Mr Locke says in a passage already quoted in this chapter, that " the mind, taking its ideas to agree or disagree, is the same as taking any proposition to be true or false."' Therefore, if the definition of knowledge given by Mr Locke be a just one, the sub- ject, as well as the predicate of every pro- position, by which any point of knowledge is expressed, must be an idea, and can be nothing else ; and the same must hold of every proposition by which judgment is expressed, as has been shewn above. Having ascertained the meaning of this definition of human knowledge, we are next to consider how far it is just. First, I would observe that, if the word idea be taken in the meaninB- which it had at first among the Pythagoreans and Pla- tonists, and if by knowledge be meant only abstract and general knowledge, (which I believe Mr Locke had chiefly in his view,) I think the proposition is true, that such knowledge consists solely in perceiving the truth of propositions whose subject and predicate are ideas. [539] By ideas here I mean things conceived i abstractly, without regard to their existence. We commonly call them abstract notions, abstract conceptions, abstract ideas — the Peripatetics called them universals ; and the Platonists, who knew no other ideas, called them ideas without addition. Such ideas are both subject and predicate in every proposition which expresses ab- stract knowledge. The whole body of pure mathematics is an abstract science ; and in every mathe- matical proposition, both subject and pre- dicate are ideas, in the sense above explained. Thus, when I say the side of a square is not commensurable to its diagonal — in this proposition the side and the diagonal of a square are the subjects, (for, being a rela- tive proposition, it must have two subjects.) A square, its side, and its diagonal, are ideas, or universals ; they are not indivi- duals, but things predicable of many indi- viduals. Existence is not included in their definition, nor in the conception we form of them. The predicate of the proposition is commensvrahle, which must be an univer- sal, as the predicate of every proposition is so. In other branches of knowledge, many abstract truths may be found, but, for the most part, mixed with others that are not abstract. I add, that I apprehend that what is strictly called demonstrative evidence, is to be found in abstract knowledge only. This was the opinion of Aristotle, of Plato, and, I think, of all the ancient philosophers ; and I be- lieve in this they judged right. It is true, we often meet with demonstration in astro- mony, in mechanics, and in other branches of natural philosophy ; but, I believe, we shall always find that such demonstrations are grounded upon principles of supposi- tions, which have neither intuitive nor demonstrative evidence. [540] Thus, when we demonstrate that the path of a projectile in vacuo is a parabola, we suppose that it is acted upon with the saroe force and in the same direction through its whole path by gravity. This is not intuitively known, nor is it demon- strable ; and, in the demonstration, we rea- son from the laws of motion, which are principles not capable of demonstration, but grounded on a different kind of evidence. Ideas, in the sense above explained, are creatures of the mind ; they are fabricated [638-540] CHAP, in.] SENTIMENTS CONCERNING JUDGMENT 429 by its rational powers ; we know their nature and their essence — for they are nothing more than they are conceived to be ; — and, because they are perfectly known, we can reason about them with the highest degree of evidence. And, as they are not things that exist, but thing's conceived, thev neither have place nor time, nor are they liable to change. When we say that they are in the mind, this can mean no more but that they are conceived by the mind, or that they are objects of thought. The act of conceiving them is, no doubt, in the mind ; the things conceived have no place, because they have not e.Kistence. Thus, a circle, considered ab.stractly, is said figuratively to be in the mind of him that conceives it ; but in no other sense than the city of London or the kingdom of France is said to be in his lainJ when he thinks of those objects. Place and time belong to finite things that exist, but not to things that are barely con- ceived. They may be objects of concep- tion to intelligent beings in every place and at all times. Hence the Pythagoreans and Platouists were led to think that they are eternal and omnipresent. If they had ex- istence, they must be so ; for they have no relation to any one place or time, which they have not to every place and to every time. The natural prejudice of mankind, that what we conceive must have existence, led those ancient philosophers to attribute ex- istence to ideas ; and by this they were led into all the extravagant and mysterious parts of their system. When it is purged of these, I apprehend it to be the only in- telligible and rational system concerhing ideas. [ 54 1 ] I agree with them, therefore, that idea-s are iranuitaliiy tiie same in all times and places ; for this means no more but that a circle is always a circle, and a square always a square. I agree with them that ideas are the pat- terns or exemplars by which everything was made that had a beginning : for an intelligent artificer nmst conceive his work before it is made ; he makes it according to that conception ; and the tiling conceived, before it exists, can only be an idea. I agree with them that every species of tilings, considered abstractly, is an idea ; and th.-it the idea of tlie species is ni every indiviiliial of the species, without division or multiplication. This, indeed, is expressed somewhat mysteriously, according to the manner of the sect ; but it may easily be explained. Every idea is an attribute ; and it is a common way of speaking to say, that the attribute is in every subject of which it may L5U-.'il.:^] truly be affirmed. Thus, to he above fifty years if age is an attribute or idea. This attribute may be in, or aflirmed of, fifty difterent individuals, and be tiie same in all, without division or multiplication. I think that not only every species, but every genus, jiigher or lower, and every attribute considered abstractly, is an idea. These are things conceived without regard to existence ; they are niiiversals, and, there- fore, ideas, according to the ancient mean- ing of that word. [542] It is true that, after the Platonists en- tered into disputes with the Peripatetics, in order to defend the existence of eternal ideas, they found it prudent to contract the line of defence, and maintained only that there is an idea of every species of natural things, but not of the genera, nor of things artificial. They were unwilling to multijily beings beyond what was necessary ; but in this, I think, they departed from the genuine principles of their system. The definition of a species is nothing but the definition of the geiiUS, with the addition of a specific ditlerence ; and the division of things into species is the work of the mind, as well as their division into genera and classes. A species, a genus, an order, a class, is only a combination of at- tributes made by the mind, and calleil by one name. There is, therefore, the same reason for giving the name of idea to every attribute, and to every species and gemis, whether higher or lower : these are oidy more complex attributes, or combinations of the more simple. And, though it might be improper, without necessity, to multiply beings which they believed to have a real existence, yet, had they seen that ideas are not things that exist, but things that are conceived, they would have a])i)re- hended no danger nor expense from their number. Simple attributes, species, and genera, lower or higher, are all things conceived without regard to existence ; they are uni- versals ; they are expressed by general words ; and have an equal title to be called by the name of ideas. I likewise a;^ree with those ancient jilii- losoi)hers that ideas are the object, and iho sole object, of science, strictly so called — that is, of demonstrative reasoning. And, as ideas are imnuitable, so their agreements and disagreements, and all their relations and attributes, are imnuitable. All mathematical truths are ininiutubly true. Like the ideas about which tliey are conversant, they have no relation to time or jilacc, no dependence upon existiiice or change. That the angles of a plane tri- angle arc equal to two right angles always was, and always will be, true, though no triangle had ever oxiuted. | ^>i'.i ] 430 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS [essay VI. The same may be said of all abstract truths : on that account they have often been called eternal truths ; and, for the same reason, the Pythagoreans ascribed eternity to the ideas about which they are conversant. They may very properly be called necessary truths ; because it is im- possible they should not be true at all times and in all phices. Such is the nature of all truth that can be discovered, by perceiving the agreements and disagreements of ideas, when we take that word in its primitive sense. And that Mr Locke, in his detinition of knowledge, had chiefly in his view abstract truths, we may be led to think from the examples he gives to illustrate it. But there is another great class of truths, which are not abstract and necessary, and, therefore, cannot be perceived in tlie agree- ments and disagreements of ideas. These are all the truths we know concerning the real existence of things — the truth of our own existence— of the existence of other things, inanimate, animal, and rational, and of their various attributes and relations. These truths may be called contingent truths. I except only the existence and attributes of the Supreme Being, which is the only necessary truth I know regarding existence. All otlier beings that exist depend for their existence, and all that belongs to it, upon the will and power of the first cause ; therefore, ne'ther their existence, nor their nature, nor anything that befalls them, is necessary, but contingent. But, although the existence of the Deity be necessary, I apprehend we can only de- duce it from contingent truths. The only arguments for the existence of a Deity which I am able to comprehend, are ground- ed upon the knowledge of my own existence, and the existence of other finite beings. But these are contingent truths. [544] I believe, therefore, that by perceiving agreements and disagreements of ideas, no contingent truth whatsoever can be known, nor the real existence of anything, not even our own existence, nor the existence of a Deity, which is a necessary truth. Thus I have endeavoured to shew what knowledge may, and what cannot be attained, by per- ceiving the agreements and disagreements of ideas, when we take that word in its primitive sense. We are, in the nexl place, to consider, whether knowledge consists in perceiving the agreement or disagreement of ideas, taking ideas in any of the senses in which the word is used by Mr Locke and other modern philosophers. L Very often the word idea is used so, that to have the idea of anything is a peri- phrasis for conceiving it. In this sense, an idea is not an object of thought, it is thought itself. It is the act of the mind by which we conceive any object. And it is evident that this could not be the meaning which Mr Locke had in view ui his definition of knowledge. 2. A second meaning of the word idea is that which Mr Locke gives in the intro- duction to his Essay, when he is making an apology for the frequent use of it : — " It be- ing that term, I think, which serves best to stand for whatsoever is the object of the understanding when a man thinks, or what- ever it is which a man can be employed about in thinking." By this definition, indeed, everything that can be the object of thought is an idea. The objects of our thoughts may, I tliink, be reduced to two classes. The first class comprehends all those objects which we not only can think of, but which we believe to have a real existence : such as the Creator of all things, and all his creatures that fall within our notice. [545] I oan think of the sun and moon, the earth and sea, and of the various animal, vegetable, and inanimate productions with which it hath pleased the bountiful Creator to enrich our globe. I can think of myself, of my friends and acquaintance. I think of the author of the Essay with high esteem. These, and such as these, are objects of the understanding which we believe to have real existence. A second class of objects of the under- standing which a man may be employed about in thinking, are things which we either believe never to have existed, or which we think of without regard to their existence. Thus, I can think of Don Quixote, of the Island of Laputa, of Oceana, and of Utopia, which I believe never to have ex- isted. Every attribute, every species, and every genus of things, considered abstractly, without any regard to their existence or non-existence, may be an object of the understanding. To this second class of objects of the understanding, the name of idea does very properly belong, according to the primitive sense of the word, and I have already con- sidered what knowledge does and what does not consist in perceiving the agree- ments and disagreements of such ideas. But, if we take the word idea in so ex- tensive a sense as to comprehend, not only the second, but also the first class of objects of the understanding, it will undoubtedly be true that all knowledge consists in per- ceiving the agreements and disagreements of ideas : for it is impossible that there can be any knowledge, any judgment, any opinion, true or false, which is not employed about the objects of the understanding. But whatsoever is an object of the under- f541., 545] CHAP. 111.] SENTIMENTS CONCERNING JUDGMENT. 431 standing is au idea, according to this second meaning of the word. Yet I am persuaded that Mr Locke, in his definition of knowledge, did not mean that the word idea should extend to all those things which we commonly consider as ob- jects of the understanding. [o-lG] Though Bishop Berkeley believed that sun, moon, and stars, and all material things, are ideas, and nothing but ideas, Mr Locke nowhere professes this opinion. He be- lieved that we liave ideas of bodies, but not that bodies are ideas. In like manner, he believed that we have ideas of minds, but not that minds are ideas. When he in- quired so carefully into the origin of all our ideas, he did not surely mean to find the origin of whatsoever may be the object of the understanding, nor to resolve the origin of everything that may be an object of understanding into sensation and reflec- tion. 3. Setting aside, therefore, the two mean- ings of the word idea, before mentioned, as meanings which Mr Locke could not have in his view in the definition he gives of knowledge, the only meaning that could be intended in this place is that which I before called the philosophical meaning of the word idea, which hath a reference to the theory commonly received about the manner in which the mind perceives external objects, and in which it remembers and conceives objects that are not present to it. It is a very ancient opinion, and has been very generally received among philosophers, that we can- not perceive or think of such objects im- mediately, but by the medium of certain images or representatives of them really existing in the mind at the time. To those images the ancients gave the name of species and phantasms. Modern philosophers have given them the name of ideas- " 'Tis evident," says Mr Locke, book iv., chap. 4, " the niiiid knows not things immediately, but only by tlie intervention of tlie ideas it has of them." And in the same paragraph he puts this question : " IIow shall the mind, when it perceives notliing but its own ideas, know that they agree with things themselves ?" [547] This theory I have already considered, in treating of perception, of memory, and of conception. The reader will there find the reasons tliat lead me to think that it has no solid foundation in reason, or in attentive reflection upon those operations of our minds ; that it contradicts tlie im- mediate dictates of our natural faculties, which are of higher autliority than any tiieory ; that it lias takon its rise from the i same prejudices wiiich led all the ancient I philosophers to think that the Deity could not make tliis world witliout some eternal matter to wurk ujion, and which led tlic Pythagoreans and Platonists to think that he could not conceive the plan of the world he was to make without eternal ideas really existing as patterns to work by ; and tliat this theory, when its necessary consequences are fairly pui-sued, leads to absolute scep- ticism, though those consequences were not seen by most of the philosophers who have adopted it. I have no intention to repeat what nas before been said upon those points ; but only, taking ideas in this sense, to make some observations upon the definition which Mr Locke gives of knowledge. First, If all knowledge consists in per- ceiving the agreements and disagreements of ideas — that is, of representative images of things existing in the mind — it obviously follows that, if there be no such ideas, there can be no knowledge. So that, if there should be found good reason for giving up this philosophical hypothesis, all knowledge must go along with it. I hope, however, it is not so : and that, though this hypothesis, like many others, should totter and fall to the ground, know- ledge will continue to stand firm upon a more permanent basis. [548] The cycles and epicycles of the ancient astronomers were for a thousand years thought absolutely necessary to explain the motions of the heavenly bodies. Yet now, when all men believe them to have been mere fictions, astronomy has not fallen with them, but stands upon a more rational foundation than before. Ideas, or images of things existing in the mind, have, for a longer time, been thought necessary for explaining the operations of the understand- ing. If they should likewise at last be found to be fictions, human knowledge and judgment would sufi'er nt)tliing by being disengaged from an unwieldy hypothesis. Mr Locke surely did not look upon the ex- istence of ideas as a philoisophical hypo- thesis. He thought that we are conscious of their existence, otherwise he would not have made the existence of all our know- ledge to depend upon the existence of ideas. Secondly, Supposing this hypothesis to be true, I agree with Mr Locke that it is an evident and necessary conseiiuence that our knowledge can bo conversant about ideas only, and must consist in perceiving their attributes and relations. For notliing can be more evident than this, that all knowledge, and all judgment and opinion, nuist be about things wliich are or may be immediate olijocts of our thought. What cannot be the object of thougiit, or the object of the mind in tiiiiiking, cannot be the object of knowledge or of o|)iiiioii. Everything we can know of any object, must be either some attribute of tlie object, or some relation it bears to some oilier 432 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [^ESSAY VI. object or objects. By the agreements and disagreements of objects, I apprehend Mr Locke intended to express both their attri- butes and their relations. If ideas then be the only objects of thought, the consequence is necessary, that they must be the only objects of knowledge, and all knowledge must consist in perceiving their agreements and disagreements — that is, their attributes and relations. The use I would make of tliis conse- quence, is to shew that the hypothesis must be false, from which it necessarily follows. For if we have any knowledge of things that are not ideas, it will follow no less evidently, that ideas are not the only objects of our thoughts. [549] Mr Locke has pointed out the extent and limits of human knowledge, in his fourth book, with more accuracy and judgment than any philosopher had done before ; but he has not confined it to the agreements and disagreements of ideas. And I cannot help thinking that a great part of that book is an evident refutation of the principles laid down in the beginning of it. Mr Locke did not believe that he himself was an idea ; that his friends and acquaint- ance were ideas ; that the Supreme Being, to speak with reverence, is an idea ; or that the sun and moon, the earth and the sea, and other e-sxternal objects of sense, are ideas. He believed that he had some cer- tain knowledge of all those objects. His knowledge, therefore, did not consist solely in perceiving the agreements and disagree- ments of his ideas ; for, surely, to perceive the existence, the attributes, and relations of things, which are not ideas, is not to per- ceive the agreements and disagreements of ideas. And, if things which are not ideas be objects of knowledge, they must be objects of thought. On the contrary, if ideas be the only objpcts of thought, there can be no knowledge, either of our own existence, or of the existence of external objects, or of the existence of a Deity. This consequence, as far as concerns the exibtence of external objects of sense, was afterwards deduced from the theory of ideas by Bishop Berkeley with the clearest evi- dence ; and that author chose ratlier to adopt the consequence than to reject the theory on which it was grounded. But, with I'egard to the existence of our own minds, of other minds, and of a Supreme Mind, the Bishop, that he might avoid the consequence, rejected a part of the theory, and maintained that we can think of minds, of their attributes and relations, without ideas. [550] Mr Hume saw very clearly the conse- quences of this theory, and adopted them in his speculative moments ; but candidly acknowledges that, in the common busi- ness of life, he found himself under a neces- sity of believing with the vulgar. His "Treatise of Human Nature" is the only system to which the theory of ideas leads ; and, in my apprehension, is, in all its parts, ^ the necessary consequence of that theory. Mr Locke, however, did not see all the consequences of that theory ; he adopted it without doubt or examination, carried along by the stream of philosophers that went before him ; and his judgment and good sense have led him to s^ay many things, and to believe many things, that cannot be re- conciled to it. He not only believed his own existence, the existence of external things, and the existence of a Deity ; but he has shewn very justly how we come by the knowledge of these existences. It might here be expected that he should have pointed out the agreements and dis- agreements of ideas from which these exist- ences are deduced ; but this is impossible, and he has not even attempted it. Our own existence, he observes, we know inluiltv bf; but this intuition is not a percep- tion of the agreement or disagreement of ideas ; for the subject of the proposition, / exist, is not an idea, but a person. The knowledge of external objects of sense, he observes, we can have only bysensa- tim. This sensation he afterwards expresses more clearly by the testimony of our senses, which are the proper and sole judi/es of this thinij; whose testimony is the yreatest assur. ance we can possibly have, and to ivhich our faculties can attain. This is perfectly agreeable to the common sense of mankind, and is perfectly understood by those who never heard of the theory of ideas. Our senses testify immediately the existence, and many of the attributes and relations of external material beings ; and, by our con- stitution, we rely with assurance upon their testimony, without seeiiing a reason for doing so. This assurance, Mr Locke ac- knowledges, deserves the name of know- ledge. But those external things are not ideas, nor are their attributes and relations the agreements and disagreements of ideas, but the agreements and disagreements of things which are not ideas. [551] To reconcile this to the theory of ideas, Mr Locke says, Thnt it is the actual reci iv- illy of ideas from wiih'iut that gives us notice of the existence of those external things. This, if understood literally, would lead us back to the doctrine of Aristotle, that our ideas or species come from without from the external objects, and are the image or form of those objects. But Mr Locke, I believe, meant no more by it, but that our ideas of sense must have a cause, and that we are not the cause of them our- selves. [54&-551] CHAP, m.] SENTIMENTS CONCERNING JUDGMENT. 433 Bishop Berkeley acknowledges all this, and shews very clearly that it does not ati'ord the least shadow of reason for the belief of any material object — nay, that there can be nothing external that lias any resemblance to our ideas but the ideas of other minds. It is evident, therefore, that tlie agree- ments and disagreements of ideas can give us no knowledge of the existence of any material thing. If any knowledge can be attained of things which are not ideas, that knowledge is a perception of agreements and disagreements ; not of ideas, but of things that are not ideas. As to the existence of a deity, though Mr Locke was aware that Des Cartes, and many after him, had attempted to prove it merely from the agreements and disagree- ments of ideas ; yet " he thought it an ill way of establishing that truth, and si- lencing Atheists, to lay the whole stress of so important a point upon that sole founda- tion." And, therefore, he proves this point, witli great strength and solidity, from our own existence, and the existence of the sensible parts of the universe. [552] By memory, Mr Locke says, we have the knowledge of the past existence of several tilings. But all conception of past exist- ence, as well as of external existence, is irreconcileable to the theory of ideas ; be- cause it supposes that there may be imme- diate objects of thought, which are not ideas presently existing in the mind. I conclude, therefore, that, if we have any knowledge of our own existence, or of the existence of what we see about us, or of the existence of a Supreme Being, or if we have any knowledge of things past by memory, that knowledge cannot consist in perceiving the agreements and disagree- ments of ideas. This conclusion, indeed, is evident of itself. For, if knowledge consists solely in the perception of the agreement or disagree- ment of ideas, there can be no knowledge of any projiosition, which does not express some agreement or disagreement of ideas; consequently, there can be no knowledge of any proposition, which expresses either the existence, or the attributes or relations of things, which are not ideas. If, therefore, the theory of ideas be true, there can be no knowledge of anything but of ideas. And, on the other hand, if we have any know- ledge of anything besides ideas, that theory must be false. There can be no knowledge, no judgment or opinion about things which are not im- mediate objects of thought This I take to be self-evideiit. If, therefore, ideas be the only immediate objects of thought, they must be the only things in nature of wjiich wc can iiave any knowledge, and about which we can have any judgment or opinion. This necessary consequence of the com- mon doctrine of ideas Mr Hume saw, and has made evident in his " Treatise of Human Nature ;" but the use he made of it was not to overturn the theory with which it is necessarily connected, but to overturn all knowledge, and to leave no ground to believe anything whatsoever. If Mr Locke had seen this consequence, there is reason to think that he would have made another use of it. [553] That a man of Mr Locke's judgment and penetration did not perceive a consequence so evident, seems indeed very strange ; and I know no other account that can be given of it but this — that the ambiguity of the word idea has misled him in this, as in several other instances. Having at first defined ideas to be whatsoever is the object of the understanding when we think, he takes it very often in that unlimited sense ; and so everything that can be an object of thought is an idea. At other times, he uses the word to signify certain representative images of things in the mind, which philosophers have supposed to be immediate objects of thought. At other times, things conceived abstractly, without regard to their exist- ence, are called ideas. Philosoj.hy is much indebted to Mr Locke for his observations on the abuse of words. It is pity he did not apply these observations to the word idea, the ambiguity and abuse of which has very much hurt his excellent Essay. There are some other opinions of philo- sophers concerning judgment, of which I think it unnecessary to say much. Mr Hume sometimes adopts Mr Locke's opinion, that it is the perception of the agreement or disagreement of our ideas ; sometimes he maintains that judgment and reasoning resolve themselves into concep- tion, and are nothing but particular ways of conceiving objects ; and he says, that ao opinion or belief may most accurately be defined, a liveli/ idea related to or ossociated iviih a present impression. — Treatise of Hu- man Nature, vol. I. page 172. I have endeavoured before, in the first chapterof this Essay, to shew that judgment is an operation of mind specifically distinct fromthe bare conception of an object. Ihave also considered his notion of belief, in treating of the theories concerning memory. [554] Dr Hartley says — " That assent and dis- sent must come under the notion of ideas, being only those very complex internal feelings which adhere by association to such clusters of words us arc called propositions in general, or atiirmations and negations in particular." 'I'liis, if I understand its meaning, agrees with the opinion of Mr Hume, above men- '2 » 434 ON THK INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay VI. tioned, and has therefore been before con- sidered. Dr Priestly has given another definition of judgment: — " It is nothing more than the perception of the universal concurrence, or the perfect coincidence of two ideas ; or the want of that concurrence or coinci- dence." This, I think, coincides with Mr Locke's definition, and therefore has been already considered. There are many particulars which deserve to be known, and which might very properly be considered in this Essay on judgment ; concerning the various kinds of propositions by which our judgments are expressed; their subjects and predicates ; their con- versions and oppositions : but as these are to be found in every system of logic, from Aristotle down to the present age, I think it unnecessary to swell this Essay with the repetition of what has been said so often. The remarks which have occurred to me upon what is commonly said on these points, as well as upon the art of syllogism ; the utility of the school logic, and the improve- ments that may be made in it, may be found in a " Short Account of Aristotle's Logic, with Remarks," which Lord Kames has honoured with a place in his " Sketches of the History of Man." [555] CHAPTER IV. OF FIRST PRINCIPLES IN GENERAL. One of the most important distinctions of our judgments is, that some of them are intuitive, others grounded on argument. It is not in our power to judge as we •will. The judgment is carried along neces- sarily by the evidence, real or seeming, which appears to us at the time. But, in propositions that are submitted to our judgment, there is this great difference — some are of such a nature that a man of ripe understanding may apprehend them distinctly, and perfectly understand their meaning, without finding himself under any necessity of believing them to be true or false, probable or improbable. The judg- ment remains in suspense, until it is in- clined to one side or another by reasons or arguments. But there are other propositions which are no sooner understood than they are be- lieved. The judgment follows the appre- hension of them necessarily, and both are equally the work of nature, and the result of our original powers. There is no search- ing for evidence, no weighing of arguments ; the proposition is not deduced or inferred from another ; it has the light of truth in itself, and has no occasion to borrow it from another. Propositions of the last kind, when they are used in matters of science, have com- monly been called axioms ; and on what- i ever occasion they are used, are called ^Vs« principles, principles of common sense, com' \ mnn notions, self-evident truihs. Cicero , calls them nalura judicia,judicia communi- bus hominum sensibus infixa. Lord Shaftes- bury expresses them by the words, natural knowledge, fundamental reason, and common sense. [556] What has been said, I think, is sufficient to distinguish first principles, or intuitive judgments, from those which may be as- cribed to the power of reasoning ; nor is it a just objection against this distinction, that there may be some judgments concerning which we may be dubious to which class they ought to be referred. There is a real distinction between persons within the house, and those that are without ; yet it may be dubious to which the man belongs that stands upon the threshold. The power of reasoning — that is, of draw- i ing a conclusion from a chain of premises — '; may with some propriety be called an art. " All reasoning," says Mr Locke, " is search and casting about, and requires pains and application." It resembles the power of walking, which is acquired by use and exercise. Nature prompts to it, and has given the power of acquiring it ; but must be aided by frequent exercise before we are able to walk. After repeated efforts, much stumbling, and many falls, we learn to walk ; and it is in a similar manner that we learn to reason. But the power of judging in self-evident propositions, which are clearly understood, may be compared to the power of swallow- ing our food. It is purely natural, and there- fore common to the learned and the un- learned, to the trained and the untrained. It requires ripeness of understanding, and freedom from prejudice, but nothing else. I take it for granted that there are self- evident principles. Nobody, I think, de- nies it. And if any man were so sceptical as to deny that there is any proposition that is self-evident, I see not how it would be possible to convince him by reasoning. But yet there seems to be great difference of opinions among philosophers about first principles. What one takes to be self-evi- dent, another labours to prove by argu- ments, and a third denies altogether. [557] Thus, before the time of Des Cartes, it was taken for a first principle, that there is a sun and a moon, an earth and sea, which really exist, whether we think of them or not. Des Cartes thought that the exist- ence of those things ought to be prpved by argument ; and in this he has been follow- ed by Malebranche, Arnauld, and Locke. They have all laboured to prove, by very [555-557^ CllAP, IV.] OF FIRST PRINCIPLES IN GENERAL. 43o weak reasoning, tlie existence of external olyects of sense ; and Berkeley and Hume, sensible of the weakness of their arguments, liave been led to deny their existence alto- gether. The ancient philosophers granted, that all knowledge must be grounded on first principles, and that there is no reasoning w thout them. The Peripatetic philosophy was redundant rather than deficient in fi.st principles. Perhaps the abuse of them in that ancient system may have brought them into discredit in modern times ; for, as the best things may be abused, so that abase is apt to give a disgust to the thing itself ; and as one extreme often leads into the opposite, this seems to have been the case in the respect paid to first principles in ancient and modern times. Des Cartes thought one principle, express- ed in one word, cogito, a sufficient foundation for his whole system, and asked no more. Mr Locke seems to think first principles of very small use. Knowledge consisting, according to him, in the perception of the agreement or disagreement of our ideas ; when we have clear ideas, and are able to compare them together, we may always fa- bricate first principles as often as we have occasion for them. Such differences we find among philosophers about first principles. It is likewise a question of some moment, whether the differences among men about first principles can be brought to any issue ? When in disputes one man maintains that to be a first principle which another denies, conmiosily both parties appeal to common sense, and so the matter rests. Now, is there no way of discussing this appeal ? Is there no mark or criterion, whereby first principles that are truly such, may be dis- tinguished from those that assume the cha- racter without a just title ? I shall humbly offer in the following propositions what ajjpears to me to be agreeable to truth in these matters, always ready to change my opinion upon conviction. [558] 1. First, I hold it to be certain, and even demonstrable, that all knowledge got by reasoning must be built upon first princi- ples.* This is as certain as that every house must have a foundation. The power of reasoning, in tliis respect, resembles the uieclianical i>ower3 or engines ; it must liave a fixed point to rust ujion, otherwise it spends its fierce in the air, and produces no effect. When we examine, in the way of ana- lysis, the evidence of any proposition, either we find it self-evident, or it rests upon one or more propositions that support it. The /' eame thing may he said of tlie propositions * So Amtotle, pJunVjT— U. [i5ft, 559] that support it, and of those that support them, as far back as we can go. But we cannot go back in this track to infinity. Where then must this analysis stop ? It I) is evident that it must stop only when we come to propositions which support all that are built upon them, but are tliemselves supported by none — that is, to self-evident propositions. Let us again consider a synthetical proof of any kind, where we begin with the premises, and pursue a train of consequences, until we come to the last conclusion or thing to be proved. Here we must begin, either with self-evident propositions or with such as have been already proved. When the last is the case, the proof of the propositions, thus as- sumed, is a part of our proof; and the proof is deficient without it. Suppose then the deficiency supplied, and the proof com- pleted, is it not evident that it must set out with self-evident propositions, and that the whole evidence must rest upon them ? So that it appears to be demonstrable that, without first principles, analytical reasoning could have no end, and synthetical reason- ing could have no beginning ; and that every conclusion got by i-easoning must rest with its whole weight upon first princi- ples, as the building does upon its founda- tion, [559] 2. A second proposition is. That some first principles yield conclusions that are certain, others such as are probable, in va- rious degrees, from the highest probability to the lowest. In just reasoning, the strength or weak- ness of the conclusion will always corre- spond to that of the principles on which it is grounded. In a matter of testimony, it is self-evi- dent that the testimony of two is better than that of one, supposing them equal in character, and in their means of knowledge ; yet the simjjle testimony may be true, and that which is preferred to it may be false. When an experiment has succeeded in several trials, and the circumstances have been marked with care, there is a self-evi- dent probability of its succeeding in a new trial ; but there is no certainty. The pro- bability, in some cases, is much greater than in others ; because, in some c;vses, it is nmch easier to observe all the circum- stances that may liave infiuence upon the event than in others. And it is possible that, after many experiments made with care, our expectation may be frustrated in a succeeding one, by the variation of some circumstance that has not, or perhaps could not be observed. Sir Isaac Newton has laid it down as a first principle in natural i)hiIosophy, that a property which has been found in all bodies upon which we have had access to make 2k2 436 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. ["essay VI. experiments, and which has always been found in its quantity to be in exact propor- to the quantity of matter in every body, is to be held as an universal property of mat- ter. [560] This principle, as far as I know, has never been called in question. The evi- dence we have, that all matter is divisible, movable, solid, and inert, is resolvable into this principle ; and, if it be not true, we cannot have any rational conviction that all matter iias those properties. From the same principle that great man has shewn that we have reason to conclude that all bodies gravitate towards each other. This principle, however, has not that kind of evidence which mathematical axioms have. It is not a necessary truth, whose contrary is impossible ; nor did Sir Isaac ever conceive it to be such. And, if it should ever be found, by just experiments, that t)iere is any part in the composition of some bodies which has not gravity, the fact, if duly ascertained, must be admitted as an exception to the general law of gra- vitation. In games of chance, it is a first principle that every side of a die has an equal chance to be turned up ; and that, in a, lotterj', every ticket has an equal chance of being drawn out. From such first principles as these, which are the best we can have in such matters, we may deduce, by demon- strative reasoning, the precise degree of probability of every event in such games. But the principles of all this accurate and profound reasoning can never yield a certain conclusion, it being impossible to supply a defect in the first principles by any accuracy in the reasoning that is grounded upon them. As water, by its gravity, can rise no higher in its course than the foun- tain, however artfully it be conducted ; so no conclusion of reasoning can have a greater degree of evidence than the first principles from which it is drawn. From these instances, it is evident that, as there are some first principles that yield conclusions of absolute certainty, so there are others that can only yield probable con- clusions ; and that the lowest degree of probability must be grounded on first prin- ciples as well as absolute certainty.* [561] 3. A ihird proposition is, That it would contribute greatly to the stability of human knowledge, and consequently to the im- provement of it, if the first principles upon which the various parts of it are grounded were pointed out and ascertained. We have ground to think so, both from facts, and from the nature of the thing. There are two branches of human know- * Compare Stewart's "Elements," ii. p. 38.— H. ledge in which this method has been followed — to wit, mathematics and natural philoso- phy ; in mathematics, as far back as we have books. It is in this science only, that, for more than two thousand years since it be- gan to be cultivated, we find no sects, no contrary systems, and hardly any disputes ; or, if there have been disputes, they have ended as soon as the animosity of par- ties subsided, and have never been again revived. The science, once firmly esta- blished upon the foundation of a few axioms and definitions, as upon a rock, has grown from age so age, so as to become the loftiest and the most solid fabric that human rea- son can boast.* Natural philosophy, till less than two hundred years ago, remained in the same fluctuating state with the other sciences. Every new system pulled up tlie old by the roots. The system-builders, indeed, were always willing to accept of the aid of first principles, when they were of their side ; but, finding them insufficient to sup- port the fabric which their imagination had raised, they were only brought in as auxi- liaries, and so intermixed with conjectures, and with lame inductions, that their sys- tems were like Nebuchadnezzar's image, whose feet were partly of iron and partly of clay. Lord Bacon first delineated the only so- lid foundation on which natural philoso- phy can be built ; and Sir Isaac Newton reduced the principles laid down by Bacon into three or four axioms, which he calls regnlce philosophandi. From these, toge- ther with the phenomena observed by the senses, which he likewise lays down as first principles, he deduces, by strict rea- soning, the propositions contained in the third book of his "Principia," and in his " Optics ;" and by this means has raised a fabric in those two branches of natural philosophy, which is not liable to be shaken by doubtful disputation, but stands im- movable upon the basis of self-evident principles. [562] This fabric has been carried on by the accession of new discoveries ; but is no more subject to revolutions. The disputes about riiateria prima, sub- stantial forms. Nature's abhorring a va- cuum, and bodies having no gravitation in their proper place, are now no more. The builders in this work are not put to the necessity of holding a weapon in one hand while they build with the other ; their whole employment is to carry on the work. Yet it seems to be very probable, that, if natural philosophy had not been reared upon this solid foundation of self-evident princi- ples, it would have been to this day a field See Stewart's '' Elements," ii. p. 43.-H. [560, 562] CHAP. ,v.] OF FIRST PRINCIPLES IN GENERAL. 437 of battle, wherein every inch of ground would have been disputed, and notbing fixed and determined. I acknowledge that mathematics and na- tural philosophy, especially the former, have this advantatje of most other sciences, that it is less difficult to form distinct and determinate conceptions of the objects about which they are employed ; but, as this difficulty is not insuperable, it affords a good reason, indeed, why other sciences should have a longer infancy ; but no rea- son at all why they may not at last arrive at maturity, by the same steps as those of quicker growth. The facts I have mentioned may there- fore lead us to conclude, that, if in other branches of philosophy the first principles were laid down, as has been done in ma- thematics and natural philosophy, and the subsequent conclusions grounded upon them, this would make it much more easy to dis- tinguish what is solid and well supported from the vain fictions of human fancy. [5C3] But, laying aside facts, the nature of the thing leads to the same conclusion. For, when any system is grounded upon first principles, and deduced regularly from them, we have a thread to lead us through the labyrinth. The judgment has a distinct and determinate object. The heterogeneous parts being separated, can be examined each by itself. The whole system is reduced to axioms, definitions, and deductions. These are ma- terials of very different nature, and to be measured by a very different standard ; and it is much more easy to judge of each, taken « by itself, than to judge of a mass wherein they are kneaded together without distinc- tion. Let us consider how we judge of each of them. First, As to definitions, the matter is very easy. They relate only to words, and differ- ences about them may produce different ways of speaking, but can never produce different ways of tliinking, while every man keeps to his own definitions. liut, as there is not a more plentiful source of fallacies in reasoning than men's using the same word sometimes in one sense and at other times in another, the best means of preventing such fallacies, or of detecting them when they are committed, is defi- nitions of words as accurate as can be given. Secoiidli/, As to deductions drawn from principles granted on both sides, I do not see how they can long be a matter of dis- pute among men who are not blinded by prejudice or partiality ; for the rules of reasoning by whicii inferences may be drawn from premises have been for two thousand years fixed with great unanimity. No man pretends to dispute the rules of reasonmg [.56.3-565'] laid down by Aristotle and repeated by every writer in dialectics- [564] And we may observe by the way, that the reason why logicians have been so una- nimous in determining the rules of reason- ing, from Aristotle down to this day, seems to be, that they were by that great genius raised, in a scientific manner, from a few definitions and axioms. It may farther be observed, that, when men differ about a deduction, whether it follows from certain j)remises, this I think is always owing to their differing about some first principle. I shall explain this by an example. Suppose that, from a thing having begun to exist, one man infers that it must have had a cause ; another man does not admit the inference. Here it is evident, that the first takes it for a self-evident principle, that everything which begins to exist must have a cause. The other does not allow this to be self-evident. Let them settle this point, and the dispute will be at an end. Thus, I think, it appears, that, in matters ofscience, if thetennsbe properly explained, the first principles upon which the reason- ing is grounded be laid down and exposed to examination, and the conclusions re- gularly deduced from them, it might be expected that men of candour and capacity, who love truth, and have patience to ex- amine things coolly, might come to unani- mity with regard to the force of the deduc- tions, and that their differences might be reduced to those they may have about first principles, 4. A fourth proposition is. That Nature hath not left us destitute of means whereby the candid and honest part of mankind may be brought to unanimity when they happen to differ about first principles. [565] When men differ about things that are taken to be first principles or self-evident truths, reasoning seems to be at an end. Kach party appeals to common sense. When one man's common sense gives one deter- mination, another man's a contrary deter- mination, there seems to be no remedy but to leave every man to enjoy his own opinion. This is a common observation, and, I be- lieve, a just one, if it be rightly understood. It is in vain to reason with a man who denies the first principles on which the rea- soning is grounded. Thus, it would be in vain to attempt the proof of a proposition in Euclid to a man who denies the axioms. Indeed, wo ought never to reason with men who deny first j)rinci])les from obstinacy and unwillingness to yield to reason- But is it not possible, that men who really love truth, and are oj)en to conviction, may difler about first i)rinciples ? I think it is possible, and that it cannot, without great want of charity, be denied to be possible. 438 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [_ESSAY VI- When this happens, every man who be- lieves that there is a real distinction between truth and error, and that the faculties which God has given us are not in their nature fallacious, must be convinced that there is a defect or a perversion of judgment on the one side or the other. A man of candour and humility will, in such a case, very naturally suspect his own judgment, so far as to be desirous to enter into a serious examination, even of what he has long held as a first principle. He will think it not impossible, that, although his heart be upright, his judgment may have been perverted, by education, by authority, by party zeal, or by some other of the com- mon causes of error, from the influence of which neither parts nor integrity exempt the human understanding. [5ti6] In such a state of mind, so amiable, and so becoming every good man, has Nature left him destitute of any rational means by which lie may be enabled, either to correct his judgment if it be wrong, or to confirm it if it be right ? I hope it is not so. I hope that, by the means which nature has furnished, con- troversies about first principles may be brought to an issue, and that the real lovers of truth may come to unanimity with regard to them. It is true that, in other controversies, the process by which the truth of a propo- sition is discovered, or its falsehood detected, is, by shewing its necessary connection with first principles, or its repugnancy to them. It is true, likewise, that, when the contro- versy is, whether a proposition be itself a first principle, this process cannot be ap- plied. The truth, therefore, in controversies of this kind, labours under a peculiar dis- advantage. But it has advantantages of another kind to compensate this. I. For, in the first place, in such con- troversies, every man is a competent judge; and therefore it is difficult to impose upon mankind. To judge of first principles, requires no more than a sound mind free from preju- dice, and a distinct conception of the question. The learned and the unlearned, the phi- losopher and the day-labourer, are upon a level, and will pass the same judgment, when they are not misled by some bias, or taught to renounce their understanding from some mistaken religious principle. In matters beyond the reacli of common understandin,--, the many are led by the few, and willingly yield to their authority. But, in matters of common sense, the few must yield to the many, when local and temporary prejudices are removed. No man is now moved by the subtle arguments of Zeno against motion, though, perhaps, he knows not how to answer them, [.567] The ancient sceptical system furnishes a remarkable instance of this truth. That system, of which Pyrrho'was reputed the father, was carried down, through a succes- sion of ages, by very able and acute philo- sophers, who taught men to believe nothing at all, and esteemed it the highest pitch of human wisdom to vvithhold assent from every proposition whatsoever. It was sup- ported with very great subtilty and learning, as we see from the writings of Sextus Em- piricus, the only author of that sect whose writings have come down to our age. The assault of the sceptics against all science seems to have been managed with more art and address than the deteuce of the dog- matists. Yet, as this system was an insult upon the common sense of mankind, it died away of itself; and it would be in vain to attempt to revive it. The modern scepticism is very difi'erent from the ancient, otherwise it would not have been allowed a hearing ; and, when it has lost the grace of novelty, it will die away also, though it should never be refuted. The modern scepticism, I mean that of Mr Hume, is built upon principles which were very generally maintained by philo- sophers, though they did not see that they led to scepticism. Mr Hume, by tracing, with great acuteness and. ingenuity, the con- sequences of principles commonly received, has shewn that they overturn all knowledge, and at last overturn themselves, and leave the mind in perfect suspense, 2. Secondly, We may observe that opin- ions which contradict first principles, are distinguished, from other errors, by this : — That they are not only false but absurd ; and, to discountenance absurdity. Nature hath given us a particular emotion — to wit, that of ridicule — which seems intended for this very purpose of putting out of counte- nance what is absurd, either in opinion or practice. [568] This weapon, when properly applied, cuts with as keen an edge as argument. Nature hath furnished us with the first to expose absurdity ; as with the last to refu'e error. Both are well fitted for their several offices, and are equally friendly to truth when pro- perly used. Both may be abused to serve the cause of error ; but the same degree of judgment which serves to detect the abuse of argu- ment in false reasoning, serves to detect the abuse of ridicule when it is wrong directed. Some have, from nature, a happier talent for ridicule than others ; and the same thing holds with regard to the talent of reasoning. Indeed, I conceive there is hardly any absurdity, which, when touched with the pencil of a Lucian, a Swift, or a Voltaire, would not be put out of counte- nance, when there is not some religious [566-568] CHAP. IV.] OF FIRST PRINCIPLES IN GENERAL. 439 panic, or very powerful prejudice, to blind the undcrstauding. But it must be acknowledged that the emotion of ridicule, even when most natu- ral, may be stifled by an emotion of a con- trary nature, and cannot operate till that is removed. Tlius, if the notion of sanctity is annexed to an object, it is no longer a laughable matter ;' and this visor must be pulled off before it appears ridiculous. Hence we see, that notions which appear most ridicu- lous to all who consider them coolly and in- differently, have no such appearance to those who never thought of them but under the impression of religious awe and dread. Even where religion is not concerned, the novelty of an opinion to those who are too fond of novelties ; the gravity and solemnity with which it is introduced ; the opinion we have entertained of the author ; its apparent connection with principles already embraced, or subserviency to in- terests which we have at heart ; and, above all, its being fixed in our minds at that time of life when we receive implicitly what we are taught — may cover its absurdity, and fascinate the understanding for a time. [569] But, if ever we are able to view it naked, and stripped of those adventitious circum- stances from which it borrowed its import- ance and authority, the natural emotion of ridicule will exert its force. An absurdity can be entertained by men of sense no longer than it wears a mask. When any man is found who has the skill or the boldness to pull off the mask, it can no longer bear the light ; it slinks into dark corners for a while, and then is no more heard of, but as an ob- ject of ridicule. Thus I conceive, that first principles, which are really the dictates of common sense, and directly opposed to absurdities in opinion, will always, from the constitu- tion of human nature, support themselves, and gain rather than lose ground among mankind. 3. Thirdly, It may be observed, that, al- though it is contrary to the nature of first principles to admit of direct or apodirlit-nt proof; yet there are certain ways of reason- ing even about them, by which those that are just and solid may be confirmed, and those that are false may be detected. It may here be proper to mention some of the topics from which we may reason in matters of this kind. First, It is a good urgnment ad hominem, if it can be shewn that a first principle which a man rejects, stands ujion the same footing with others which he admits : for, when this is the cise, he must be guilty of an inconsistency who holds the one and rejects the other. Thus the faculties of consciousness, of memory, of external sense, and of reason, are all equally the gifts of nature. No good reason can be assigned for receiving the testimony of one of theni, which is not of equal force with regard to the others. The greatest sceptics admit the testimony of consciousness, and allow that what it testi- fies is to be held as a first principle. If, therefore, they reject the immediate testl mony of sense or of memory, they are guilty of an inconsistency. [570] Secondly, A first principle may admit of a proof ad absurdum. In this kind of ])roof, which is very com- mon in mathematics, we suppose the con- tradictory proposition to be true. We trace the consequences of that supposition in a train of reasoning ; and, if we find any of its necessary consequences to be manifestly absurd, we conclude the supposition from which it followed to be false ; and, there* fore its contradictory to be true. There is hardly any proposition, especially of those that may clann the character of first principles, that stands alone and un- connected. It draws many others along with it in a chain that cannot be broken. He that takes it up must bear the burden of all its consequences ; and, if that is too heavy for him to bear, he must not pretend to take it up. Thirdly, I conceive that the consent of ages and nations, of the learned and un- learned, ought to have great authority with regard to first principles, where every man is a competent judge. Our ordinary conduct in life is built upon first principles, as well as our speculations in philosophy ; and every motive to action supposes some belief. When we find a general agreement among men, in principles that concern human life, this must have great authority with every sober mind that loves truth. It is pleasant to observe the fruitless pains which Bishop Berkeley takes to shew that his system of the non-existence of a material world did not contradict the senti- ments of the vulgar, but those only of the philosophers. With good reason he dreaded more to oppose the authority of vulj^ar opinion in a mutter of this kind, than all the schools of philosophers. [57 1 ] Here, perhaps, it will be said. What has authority to do in matters of opinion ? Is truth to be determined by most votes ? Or is authority to be again raised out of its grave to tyrannise over nninkind ? I am aware that, in this age, .in advo- cate for authority has a very unlavourable plea ; but I wish" to give no more toautlior- ity than is its due. Most justly do we hononr the names of 440 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay VI. those benefactors to mankind who have con- tributed more or less to break the yoke of that authority which deprives men of the natural, the unalienable right of judging for themselves; but, while we indulge a just animosity against this authority, and against all who would subject us to its tyranny, let us remember how common the folly is, of going from one faulty extreme into the opposite. Authority, though a very tyrannical mis- tress to private judgment, may yet, on some occasions, be a useful handmaid. This is all she is entitled to, and this is all I plead in her behalf. The justice of this plea will appear by putting a case in a science, in which, of all sciences, authority is acknowledged to have least weight. Suppose a mathematician has made a discovery in that science which he thinks important ; that he has put his demonstra- tion in just order ; and, after examining it with an attentive eye, has found no flaw in it, I would ask, Will there not be still in his breast some diffidence, some jealousy, lest the ardour of invention may have made him overlook some false step ? This must be granted. [572] He commits his demonstration to the ex- amination of a mathematical friend, whom he esteems a competent judge, and waits with impatience the issue of his judgment. Here I would ask again. Whether the verdict of his friend, according as it is favourable or unfavourable, will not greatly increase or diminish his confidence in his own judgment ? Most certainly it will, and it ought. If the judgment of his friend agree with his own, especially if it be confirmed by two or three able judges, he rests secure of his discovery without farther examination ; but, if it be unfavourable, he is brought back into a kind of suspense, until the part that is suspected undergoes a new and a more rigorous examination. I hope what is supposed in this case is agreeable to nature, and to the experience of candid and modest men on such occa- sions ; yet here we see a man's judgment, even in a mathematical demonstration, con- scious of some feebleness in itself, seeking the aid of authority to support it, greatly strengthened by that authority, and hardly able to stand erect against it, without some new aid. Society in judgment, of those who are esteemed fair and competent judges, has effects very similar to those of civil society : it gives strength and courage to every indi- vidual ; it removes that timidity which is as naturally the companion of solitary judg- ment, as of a solitary man in the state of nature. . Let us judge for ourselves, therefore ; but let us not disdain to take that aid from the authority of other competent judges, which a mathematician thinks it necessary to take in that science which, of all sciences, has least to do with authority. In a matter of common sense, every man is no less a competent judge than a mathe- matician is iu a mathematical demonstra- tion ; and there must be a great presump- tion that the judgment of mankind, in such a matter, is the natural issue of those facul- ties which God hath given them. Such a judgment can be erroneous only when there is some cause of the error, as general as the error is. When this can be shewn to be the case, I acknowledge it ought to have its due weight. But, to suppose a general devia- tion from truth among mankind in things self-evident, of which no cause can be assigned, is highly unreasonable. [573] Perhaps it may be thought impossible to collect the general opinion of men upon any point whatsoever ; and, therefore, that this authority can serve us in no stead in examining first principles. But I appre- hend that, in many cases, this is neither impossible nor difficult. Who can doubt whether men have uni- versally believed the existence of a mate- rial world ? Who can doubt whether men have universally believed that every change that happens in nature must have a cause ? Who can doubt whether men have uni- versally believed, that there is a right and a wrong in human conduct ; some things that merit blame, and others that are en- titled to approbation ? The universality of these opinions, and of many such that might be named, is suf- ficiently evident, from the whole tenor of human conduct, as far as our acquaintance reaches, and from the history of all ages and nations of which we have any records. There are other opinions that appear to be universal, from what is common in the structure of all languages. Language is the express image and pic- ture of human thoughts ; and from the picture we may draw some certain conclu- sions concerning the original. We find in all languages the same parts of speech ; we find nouns, substantive and adjective ; verbs, active and passive, in their various tenses, numbers, and moods. Some rules of syntax are the same in all languages. Now, what is common in the structure of languages, indicates an uniformity of opinion in those things upon which that structure is grounded. [574] The distinction between substances, and the qualities belonging to them ; between thought and the being that thinks ; be- tween thought and the objects of thought ; is to be found in the structure of all lan- [572-571] CHAP, v.] FIRST PRINCIPLES OF CONTINGENT TRUTHS. 441 guages. And, therefore, systems of philo- sophy, which abolish those distiuctions, wage war with the common sense of mankind. We are apt to imagine that those who formed languages were no metaphysicians ; but the tirst principles of all sciences are the dictates of common sense, and lie open to all men ; and every man who has con- sidered the structure of language iu a phi- losophical light, will find iniallible proofs that those who have framed it, and those who use it with understanding have the power of making accurate distinctions, and of form- ing general conceptions, as well as philoso- phers. Nature has given those powers to all men, and they can use them when occa- sions require it, but they leave it to the philosophers to give names to them, and to descant upon their nature. In like manner, nature has given eyes to all men, and they can make good use of them ; but the struc- ture of the eye, and the theory of vision, is the business of philosophers. Fourthly, Opinions that appear so early in the minds of men that they cannot be the effect of education or of false reason- ing, have a good claim to be considered as first principles. Thus, the belief we Iiave, that the persons about us arc living and in- telligent beings, is a belief for which, per- haps, we can give some reason, when we are able to reason ; but we had this belief before we could reason, and before we could learn it by instruction. It seems, there- fore, to be an immediate effect of our con- stitution. The last topic I shall mention is, when an opinion is so necessary in the conduct of life, that, without the belief of it, a man must be led into a thousand absurdities in practice, such an opinion, when we can give no other reason for it, may safely be taken for a first principle. [575] Tims I have endeavoured to shew, that, although first principles are not capable of direct proof, yet difi'erences, that may hap- pen with regard to them among men of candour, are not witliout remedy ; that Nature has not left us destitute of means by which we may discover errors of this kind ; and that there are ways of reason- ing, with regard to first principles, by which those that are truly such may be distin- guished from vulgar errors or prejudices. CHAPTER V. THK FIRST PRl.N'CIPLES OF CONTINGENT TRUTHS- " SURELV," says Bishop Berkeley, '' it is a work w«;ll deserving our pains to make a strict inquiry concerning the first princi- j)lc-8 of knowledge ; to sift and examine \61&, 576] them on all sides." What was said in the last chapter is intended both to shew the importance of this inquiry, and to make it more easy. But, in order that such an inquiry may be actually made, it is necessary that the first principles of knowledge be distinguished from other truths, and presented to view, that they may be sifted and examined on all sides. In order to this end, I shall attempt a detail of those I take to be such, and of the reasons why I think them entitled to that character. [576] If the enumeration should appear to some redundant, to others deficient, and to others both— if things which I conceive to be first principles, should to others appear to be vulgar errors, or to be truths which derive their evidence from other truths, and there- fore not first principles — in these things every man must judge for himself. I shall rejoice to see an enumeration more perfect in any or in all of those respects ; being persuaded that the agreement of men of judgment and candour iu first principles would be of no less consequence to the ad- vancement of knowledge in general, than the agreement of mathematicians in the axioms of geometry has been to the ad- vancement of that science. The truths that fall within the compass of human knowledge, whether they be self- evident, or deduced from those that are . self-evident, may be reduced to two classes. \ They are either necessary and immutable ' truths, whose contrary is impossible ; or they are contingent and mutable, depend- ing upon some effect of will and power, which had a beginning, and may have an end. That a cone is the third part of a cylin- der of the same base and the same altitude, is a necessary truth. It depends not upon the will and power of any being. It is im- mutably true, and the contrary impossible. That the sun is the centre about which the earth, and the other |)lanets of our sys-tem, perform their revolutions, is a truth ; but it is nut a necessary truth. It depends upon the power and will of that Being who made the sun and all the planets, and who gave them those motions that seemed best to him. If all truths were necessary truths, there would be no occasion for different tenses in the verbs by which they are expressed. What is true in the present time, wtuld bo true in the past and future ; and there would bo no change or variation of aip. thing in nature. We use the present tense in expressing necessary triitlis ; but it is only bt^cause there is no flexion of tjio verb which in- cjucles all times. When I say that three is the half of six, 1 use tlie present tense 442 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay VI. only ; but I mean to express not only what now is, but what always was, and always will be ; and so every proposition is to be under- stood by which we mean to express a neces- sary truth- Contingent truths are of an- other nature. As they are mutable, they may be true at one time, and not at an- other ; and, therefore, the expression of them must include some point or period of time. [577] If language had been a contrivance of philosophers, they would probably have given some flexion to the indicative mood of verbs, which extended to all times past, present, and future ; for such a flexion only would be fit to express necessary proposi- tions, which have no relation to time. But there is no language, as far as I know, in wliich such a flexion of verbs is to be found. Because the thoughts and discourse of men are seldom employed about necessary truth'^, but commonly about such as are contin- gent, languages are fitted to express the last rather than the fiist. Tlie distinction commonly made between abstract truths, and those that express mat- ters of fact, or real existences, coincides in a great measure, but not altogether, with that between necessary and contingent truths. The necessary truths that fall within our knowledge are, for the most part, abstract truths. We must except the ex- istence and nature of the Supreme Being, which is necessary. Other existences are the effects of will and power. They had a beginning, and are mutable. Their nature is such as the Supreme Being was pleased to give them. Their attributes and rela- tions must depend upon the nature God has given tliem, the powers with which he has endowed them, and the situation in which he hath placed them. The conclusions deduced by reasoning from t rst principles, will commonly be ne- cessary or contingent, according as the principles are from which they are drawn. On the one hand, 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, and that no contingent truth can be inferred from prin- ciples that are necessary. • [578] Thus, as the axioms in mathematics are all necessary truths, so are all the conclu- sions drawn from them ; that is, the whole b dy of that science. But from no mathe- matical truth can we deduce the existence of anything ; not even of the objects of the science. On the other hand, I apprehend there are very few cases in which we can, from principles that are contingent, deduce trutl.s that are necessary. I can only recollect * Sec Stewart's '< Kloinents," ii. p. 3^ One maiance of this kind — namely — that, from the existence of things contingent and mutable, we can infer the existence of an immutable aud eternal cause of them. As the minds of men are occupied much more about truths that are contingent than about those that are necessary, I shall first endeavour to point out the principles uf the former kind. 1. Firat, then, I hold, as a first principle, the existence of everything of which 1 am conscious. Consciousness is an operation of the understanding of its own kind, and cannot be logically defined. The objects of it are our present pains, our pleasures, our hopes, our fears, our desires, our doubts, our thoughts of every kind ; in a word, all the passions, and all the actions and operations of our own minds, while they are present. We may remember them when tliey are past ; but we are conscious of them only while they are present. When a man is conscious of pain, he is certain of its existence ; when he is con- scious tliat he doubts or believes, he is certain of the existence of those operations. But the irresistible conviction he has of the reality of those operations is not the effect of reasoning ; it is immediate and intuitive. The existence therefore of those passions and operations of our minds, of which we are conscious, is a first principle, which nature requires us to believe upon her authority. [679] If I am asked to prove that I cannot be deceived by consciousness — to prove that it is not a fallacious sense — I can find nc proof. I cannot find any antecedent truth from which it is deduced, or upon which its evi- dence depends. It seems to disdain any such derived authority, and to claim my assent in its own right. If any man could be found so frantic aa to deny that he thinks, while he is conscious of it, I may wonder, I may laugh, or I may pity him, but I cannot reason the matter with him. We have no common principles from which we may reason, aud therefore can never join issue in an argument. This, I think, is the only principle of common sense that has never directly been called in question. * It seems to be so firmly rooted in the minds of men, as to retain its authority with the greatest sceptics. Mr Hume, after annihilating body and mind, time and space, action and causation, and even his own mind, acknowledges the reality of the thoughts, sensations, and passions of which he is conscious. * It could not possibly I e called in question. For, in doubting the I'lCt of his consciousness, the sceptic must at leas' affirm the fact of his doubt; but to attirm a doubt is to affirm the consciousness of it ; thedou t would, theielore, be self-contradictory — ! c, annihilate itself. — H. [577-579] CHAP. V.J FIRST PRINCIPLES OF CONTINGENT TRUTHS. 443 No philosopher has attempted, by any hypothesis, to account for this consciousness of our own thoughts, and the certain know- ledge of their real existence which accom- panies it. By this they seem to acknow- ledge that this at least is an original power of the mind ; a power by which we not only have ideas, but original judgments, and the knowledge of real existence. I cannot reconcile this immediate know- ledge of the operations of our own minds with Mr Locke's theory, that all know- ledge consists in perceiving the agreement and disagreement of ideas. What are the ideas, from whose comparison the knowledge of our own thoughts results ? Or what are the agreements or disagreements which con- vince a man that he is in pain when he feels it ? [580] Neither can I reconcile it with Mr Hume's theory, that to believe the existence of any- thing, is nothing else than to have a strong and lively conception of it ; or, at most, that belief is only some modification of the idea which is the object of belief. For, not to mention that propositions, not ideas, are the object of belief, in all that variety of thoughts and passions of which we are con- scious we believe the existence of the weak as well as of the strong, the faint as well as the lively. No modification of the opera- tions of our minds disposes us to the least doubt of their real existence. As, therefore, the real existence of our thoughts, and of all the operations and feel- ings of our own minds, is believed by all men — as we find ourselves incapable of doubting it, and as incapable of offering any proof of it — it may justly be considered as a first principle, or dictate of common sense. But, although this principle rests upon no other, a very considerable and import- ant branch of human knowledge rests upon it. For from this source of consciousness is derived all that we know, and indeed all that we can know, of the structure and of the powers of our own minds ; from which we may conclude, that there is no branch of knowledge tliat stands upon a firmer foundation ; for surely no kind of evidence can go beyond that of consciousness. How does it come to pass, then, that in this branch of knowledge there are so many and so contrary systems ? so many subtile controversies tliat are never brought to an issue ? and so little fixed and determined ? Is it possible that philosophers should differ most where they have the surest moans of agreement — where everything is built upon a species of evidence which all men ac- fuiesce in, and hold to be the most certain ? 501] This strange pluenomenon may, I think, be accounted for, if we distinguish between [580 582] consciousness and reflection, which are ofteo improperly confounded " The first is common to all men at all times ; but is insufficient of itself to give us clear and distinct notions of the opera- tions of which we are conscious, and of their mutual relations and minute distinc- tions. The second — to wit, attentive reflec- tion upon those operations, making them objects of thought, surveying them atten- tively, and examining them on all sides — is so far from being common to all men, that it is the lot of very few. The greatest part of men, either through want of capacity, or from other causes, never reflect attentively upon the operations of their own minds. The habit of this reflection, even in those whom nature has fitted for it, is not to be at- tained without much pains and practice. We can know nothing of the immediate objects of sight, but by the testimony of our eyes ; and I apprehend that, if mankind had found as great difficulty in giving at- tention to the objects of sight, as they find in attentive reflection upon the operations of their own minds, our knowledge of the first might have been in as backward a state as our knowledge of the last. But this darkness will not last for ever. Light will arise upon this benighted part of the intellectual globe. When any man is so happy as to delineate the powers of the human mind as they really are in nature, men that are free from prejudice, and cap- able of reflection, will recognise their own features in the picture ; and then the wonder will be, how things so obvious could be so long wrapped up in mystery and darkness ; how men could be carried away by false theories and conjectures, when the truth was to be found in their own breasts if they had but attended to it. 2. Another first principle, I think, is, That the t/wui/h/s of which I am c-in jMiKtiilatcB. — II. 448 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POVV^ERS. [_ESSAV VI. fundamental truth on which all others rest ? Perhaps evidence, as in many other respects it resembles light, so in this also — that, as iij^ht, which is the discoverer of all visible objects, discovers itself at the same time, 80 evidence, which is the voucher for all truth, vouches for itself at the same time. This, liowever, is certain, that such is the constitution of the human mind, that evidence discerned by us, forces a corre- sponding degree of assent. And a man who perfectly understood a just syllogism, without believing that the conclusion follows from the premises, would be a greater mon- ster than a man born without hands or feet. We are born under a necessity of trust • ing to our reasoning and judging powers ; an^ a real belief of their being fallacious cannot be maintained for any considerable time by the greatest sceptic, because it is doing violence to our constitution. It is like a man's walking upon his hands, a feat which some men upon occasion can exhibit ; but no man ever made a long journey in this manner. Cease to admire his dexte- rity, and he will, like other men, betake himself to his legs. [59-1 ] We may here take notice of a property of the principle under consideration, that seems to be common to it with many other first principles, and which can hardly be found in any princii)le that is built solely upon reasoning ; and that is, that in most men it produces its effect without ever being attended to, or made an object of thought. No man ever thinks of this principle, unless when he considers the grounds of scepticism; yet it invariably governs his opinions. When a man in the common course of life gives credit to the testimony of his senses, his memory, or his reason, he does not put the question to himself, whether these faculties may deceive him ; yet the trust he reposes in them supposesan inward conviction, that, in that instance at least, they do not deceive him. It is another property of this and of many first principles, that they force assent in par- ticular instances, more powerfully than when they are turned into a general propo- sition. Many sceptics have denied every general principle of science, excepting per- haps the existence of our present thoughts ; yet these men reason, and refute, and prove, they assent and dissent in particular cases. They use reasoning to overturn all reason- ing, and judge that they ought to have no judgment, and see clearly that they are Wind. Many have in general maintained that the senses are fallacious, yet there never was found a man so sceptical as not to trust his senses in particular instances when his safety required it ; and it may be observed of those who have professed scep- ticism, that their scepticism lies in generals, while in particulars they are no less dog- matical than others. 8. Another first principle relating to ex- > istence, is. That there is.lifo and intelligence \ in our. fellow-men with whoimve converse. \ As soon as children are capable of asking ' a question, or of answering a question, as soon as they shew the signs of love, of re- sentment, or of any other affection, they must be convinced that those with whom tliey have this intercourse are intelligent beings. [505] It is evident they are capable of such in- tercourse lo^ig before they can reason. Every one knows that there is a social in- tercourse between the nurse and the child before it is a year old. It can, at that age, understand many things that are said to it. It can by signs ask and refuse, threaten and supplicate. It clings to its nurse in danger, enters into her grief and joy, is hap- py in her soothing and caresses, and un- happy in her displeasure. That these things cannot be without a conviction in the child that the nurse is an intelligent being, I think must be granted- Now. I would ask how a child of a year old comes by this conviction ? Not by rea- soning surely, for children do not reason at that age. Nor is it by external senses, fo; life and intelligence are not objects of the external senses. By what means, or upon what occasions, Nature first gives this information to the infant mind is not easy to determine. We are not capable of reflecting upon our own thoughts at that period of life ; and before we attain this capacity, we have quite for- got how or on what occasion we tirat had tills belief ; we perceive it in those who are born blind, and in others who are born deaf; and therefore Nature has not con- nected it solely either with any object of sight, or with any object of hearing. When we grow up to the years of reason and re- flection, this belief remains. No man thinks of asking himself what reason he has to be- lieve that his neighbour is a living creature. He would be not a little surprised if another person should ask him so absurd a ques- tion ; and perhaps could not give any rea- son which would not equally prove a watch or a puppet to be a living creature. But, though you should satisfy him of the weakness of the reasons he gives for his be- lief, you cannot make him in the least doubtful. This belief stands upon another foundation than that of reasoning ; and therefore, whether a man can give good reasons for it or not, it is not in his power to shake it off. [596] Setting aside this natural conviction, I believe the best reason we can give, to prove that other men are living and mtelli- [594-596] OBAP. v.] FIRST PRINCIPLES OF C0NTIXGP:NT TRUTHS 449 gent, is, that their words and actions indi- cate like powers of understanding as we are conscious of in ourselves. The very same argument applied to the woi-ks of na- ture, leads us to conclude that there is an intelligent Author of nature, and appears equally strong and obvious in the last case as in the first ; so that it may be doubted whether men, by the mere exercise of rea- soning, might not as soon discover the ex- istence of a Deity, as that other men have life and intelligence. The knowledge of the last is absolutely necessary to our receiving any improve- ment by means of instruction and example ; and, without these means of improvement, there is no ground to tiiink that we should ever be able to acquire the use of our rea- soning powers. This knowledge, therefore, must be antecedent to reasoning, and there- fore must be a first principle. It cannot be said that tiie judgments we form concerning life and intelligence in other beings are at first free from error. But the errors of children in this matter lie on the safe side ; they are prone to at- tribute intelligence to things inanimate. These errors are if small consequence, and are gradually corrected by experience and ripe judgment. But the belief of life and intelligence in other men, is absolutely ne- cessary for us before we are capable of reasoning ; and therefore the Author of our being hath given us this belief antece- dently to all reasoning. 9. Another first principle I take to be, Thai certain features of the countenance, sounds of the voice, and gestures (f the body, indicate certain thoughts and dispositions (f mind. [597] That many operations of the mind have their natural signs in the countenance, voice, and gesture, I suppose every man will ad- mit. Omnis enim moins unimi, says Cicero, huum qnemdam huhel a nalnni, vu/tum, el vooem el gestum. The only question is, whether we understand the signilication of those signs, by the constitution of our na- ture, by a kiml of natural perception !-imi- lar to the perce])tions of sense ; or whether we gradually karu the signification of such signs from experience, as we learn tliat smoke is a sign of fire, or that the freezing of water is a sign of cold ? I take the first to be the truth. It seems to me incredible, that the no- tions men have of the expression of features, voice, and gesture, are entirely the fruit of experience. Children, almost assoon as born, may be frighted, ami thrown into fits l)y a threatening or angry tone of voice. I knew a man who could make an infant cry, by whistling a nichinelioly tune in the same; or in the next room ; ami again, Ijy alter- ing his kev, and the strain of liis music, [597, 598] could make the child leap and dance for It is not by experience surely that we learn the expression of music ; for its opera- tion is commonly strongest the first time we hear it. One air expresses mirth and festi- vity—so that, when we hear it, it is with difficulty we can forbear to dance ; another is sorrowful and solemn. One inspires with tenderness and love ; another with rage and fury. " Hear how Timotheus varied lays surprise. And bid alternate passions fall and rise ; While at eacli change, tne son of I,\biaii Jove Now burns with glory, and then melts with love. Now his tierce eyes with spiirklinii fury glow, Now sighs steaKout, and tears begm to Sow. Persians and Greeks, like turns of Nature, found, A lid the world's victor stood sul du'd by sound." It is not necessary that a man have studied either music or the passions, in order to his feeling these eftects. The most ignorant and unimproved, to whom Nature has given a good ear, feel them as strongly as the most knowing. [698] The countenance and gesture have an expression no less strong and natural than the voice. The first time one sees a stern and fierce look, a contracted brow, and a menacing posture, he concludes that the person is infiained with anger. Shall we say, that, previous to experience, the most hostile countenance has as agreeable an appearance as the most gentle and benign ? This surely would contradict all experience ; for we know that an angry countenance will fright a child in the cradle. Who has not observed that children, very early, are able to distinguish what is said to them in jest from what is said in earnest, by the tone of the voice, and the features of the face ? They judge by these natural signs, even when they seem to contradict the arti- ficial. If it were by experience that we learn the meaning of features, and sound, and gesture, it might be expected that we should recollect the time when we first learned those lessons, or, at least, some of such a multitude. Those who give attention to the opera- tions of children, can easily discover the time when they have their earliest notices from experience— such as that Hamc will burn, or that kniv(\s will cut. But no man is able to recollect in himself, or to observe in others, the time when the espn s- sion of the face, voice, and gesture, wcro learned. Nay, I apprehend that it is impossible * that this should be learned from experi- ence. When we sec the siu'U, and see the tiling signified always conjoined with it, expe- rience! may be tlio iiistniclor, ami teach us how that sign is to be interjirelcd. But '2 <) 450 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [|eS3AY VI. how shall experience instruct us when we see the sign only, when the thing signified is invisible ? Now, this is the ease here : the thoughts and passions of the mind, as well as the mind itself, are invisible, and therefore their connection with any sensible sign cannot be first discovered by expe- perience ; there must be some earlier source of this knowledge. [599] Nature seems to have given to men a faculty or sense, by which this connection is perceived. And the operation of this sense is very analogous to that of the ex- ternal senses. When I grasp an ivory ball in my hand, I feel a certain sensation of touch. In the sensation there is nothing external, nothing corporeal. The sensation is neither round nor hard ; it is an act of feeling of the mind, from which I cannot, by reasoning, infer the existence of any body. But, by the constitution of my nature, the sensation carries along with it the conception and be- lief of a round hard body really existing in my hand. In like manner, when I see the features of an expressive face, I see only figure and colour variously modified. But, by the constitution of my nature, the visible ob- ject brings along with it the conception and belief of a certain passion or sentiment in the mind of the person. In the former case, a sensation of touch is the sign, and the hardness and roundness of the body I grasp is signified by that sen- sation. In the latter case, the features of the person is the sign, and the passion or sentiment is signified by it. The power of natural signs, to signify the sentiments and passions of the mind, is seen in the signs of dumb persons, who can make themselves to be understood in a con- siderable degree, even by those who are wholly inexperienced in that language. It is seen in the traffic which has been fre- quently carried on between people that have no common acquired language. They can buy and sell, and ask and refuse, and shew a friendly or hostile disposition by natural signs. [600] It was seen still more in the actors among the ancients who performed the gesticulation upon the stage, while others recited the words. To such a pitch was this art carried, that we are told Cicero and Roscius used to contend whether the orator could express anything by words, which the actor could not express in dumb show by gesticulation ; and whether the same sentence or thought could not be act- ed in all the variety of ways in which the orator could express it in words. But the most surprising exhibition of this kind, was that of the pantomimes among the Romans, who acted plays, or scenes of plays, without any recitation, and yet could be perfectly understood. And here it deserves our notice, that, al- though it required much study and practice in the pantomimes to excel in their art, yet it required neither study nor practice in the spectators to understand them. It was a natural language, and therefore under- stood by all men, whether Romans, Greeks, or barbarians, by the learned and the un- learned. Lucian relates, that a king, whose domi- nions bordered upon the Euxine Sea, hap- pening to be at Rome in the reign of Nero, and having seen a pantomime act, begged him of Nero, that he might use him in his intercourse v\ith all the nations in his neighbourhood ; for, said he, I am obliged to employ I don't know how many inter- preters, in order to keep a correspondence with neighbours who speak many languages, and do not understand mine ; but this fel- low will make them all understand him. For these reasons, I conceive, it must be granted, not only that there is a connection established by Nature between certain signs in the countenance, voice, and gesture, and the thoughts and passions of the mind ; but also, that, by our constitution, we under- stand the meaning of those signs, and from the sign conclude the existence of the thing signified, [GOl] 10. Another first principle appears to me to be — That there is a certain repard due to hvman lestimoy^y in matters of fact, and even to human aulhorify in matters of opinion. Before we are capable of reasoning about testimony or authority, there are many things which it concerns us to know, for which we can have no other evidence. The wise Author of nature hath planted in the human mind a propensity to rely upon this evidence before we can give a reason for doing so. This, indeed, puts our judgment almost entirely in the power of those who are about us in the first period of Hie ; but this is necessary both to our preservation and to our improvement. If children were so framed as to pay no regard to testimony or to authority, they must, in the literal sense, perish for lack of knowledge. It is not more necessary that they should be fed before they can feed themselves, than that they should be instructed in many things before they can discover them by their own judgment. But, when our faculties ripen, we find reason to check that propensity to yield to testimony and to authority, which was so necessary and so natural in the first period of life. We learn to reason about the re- gard due to them, and see it to be a childish weakness to lay more stress upon them than than reason justifies. Yet, I believe, to [399-601"! CHAP, v.] FIRST PRINCIPLES OF CONTLXGENT TRUTHS. 451 the end of life, most men are more apt to |^o into this extreme tlian into the contrary ; and the natural propensity still retains some force. The natural principles, by which our judgments and opinions are regulated before we come to the use of reason, seem to be no less necessary to such a being as man, than those natural instincts which the Author of nature hath given us to regulate our actions during that period. [002] 11. There are manij events depending up"u the will of man, in which there is a Self-evident probaUlitt/, greater or lesx, ac- cording to circumstances. There may be in some individuals such a degree of frenzy and madness, that no man can say what they may or may not do. Such persons we find it necessary to put under restraint, that as far as possible they may be kept from doing harm to themselves or to others. They are not considered as reasonable creatures, or members of society. But, as to men who have a sound mind, we depend upon a certain degree of regularity in their conduct ; and could put a thousand different cases, wherein we could venture, ten to one, that they will act in such a way, and not in the co:itrary. If we had no confidence in our fellow-men that they will act such a part in such cir- cumstances, it would be impossible to live in society with them. For that which makes men capable of living in society, and uniting in a political body under government, is, tliat their actions will always be regu- lated, in a great measure, by the common principles of human nature. It may always be expected that they will regard their own interest and reputa- tion, and that of their families and friends ; that they will repel injuries, and have some sense of good offices ; and that they will have some regard to truth and justice, so far at least as not to swerve from them without temptation. It is upon such principles as these, that all political reasoning is grounded. Such reasoning is never demonstrative ; but it may have a very great degree of probability, especially when applied to great bodies of men. [GO.-J] 12. The last principle of contingent truths I mention is, That, in the pheeiomcnrt of niture, what i.v to be, will probably be like to what has been in similar circumslanres.* We must have this conviction as soon as we are capable of learning anything from evperience ; for all cx])eriencc is grounded upon a belief that the future will be like the past. Take away this i)rinciple, and the experience of an hundred years makes * Compare above, " Inquiry," c. vi. 5 'y progress of this science, gives no small en- couragement to attempt to lay the founda- tion of other sciences in a similar manner, as far as we are able. * See Stewart's " Elements," ii. p. 3S, sq. — H. Mr Hume hath discovered, as he appre- hends, a weak side, even in mathematical axioms ;• and thinks that it is not strictly true, for instance, that two right lines can cut one another in one point only. The principle he reasons from is, That every simple idea is a copy of a preceding impression ; and therefore in its precision and accuracy, can never go beyond its ori- ginal. From which he reasons in this man- ner : No man ever saw or felt a line so straight that it might not cut anotlier, equally straight, in two or more points. Therefore, there can be no idea of such a line. The ideas that are most essential to geo- metry — such as those of equality, of a straight line, and of a square surface, are far, he says, from being distinct and deter- minate ; and the definitions destroy the pretended demonstrations. Thus, mathe- matical demonstration is found to be a rope of sand. I agree with this acute author, that, if we could form no notion of points, lines, and surfaces, more accurate than those we see and handle, there could be no mathematical demonstration. But every man that has understanding, by analysing, byabstnicting, and compound- ing the rude materials exhibited by liis senses, can fabricate, in his own mind, those elegant and accurate forms of mathe- matical lines, surfaces, and solids. [607] If a man finds himself incapable of form- ing a precise and determinate notion of the figure which mathematicians call a cube, he not only is no mathematician, but is in- capable of being one. But, if he has a pre- cise and determinate notion of that figure, he must perceive that it is terminated by six mathematical surfaces, perfectly square and perfectly equal. He must perceive tliat these surfaces are terminated by twelve mathematical lines, perfectly straight and perfectly equal, and that those lines are ter- minated by eight mathematical points. When a man is conscious of having these conceptions distinct and determinate, as every mathematician is, it is in vain to bring metaphysical arguments to convince him tliat they are not distinct. You may as well bring arguments to convince a man racked with pain that he feels no jiain. Every theory that is inconsistent with our having accurate notions of mathematical lines, surfaces, and solids, must be false. Therefore it follows, that they are not copies of our impressions. The Bledicean Venus is not a copy of the block of marble from which it was made. It is true, that the elegant statue was formed out of the rude block, and that, too, by a manual operation, which, in a literal sense, we may call abstraction. Mathe- [605-6071 CHAP. VI.] FIRST PRINCIPLES OF NECESSARY TRUTHS. 453 matical notions are formed iu tlie under- standing; by an abstraction of another kind, out of the rude perceptions of our senses. As the truths of natural philosophy are not necessary truths, but continj^ent, de- pending upon the will of the IMaker of the world, the principles from which they are deduced must be of tlie same nature, and, therefore, belong not to this class. [608] 4. I think there are axioms, even in matters of taste. Notwithstanding the variety found among men, iu taste, there are, I apprehend, some common principles, even in matters of this kind. I never heard of any man who thought it a beauty in a human face to want a nose, or an eye, or to have the mouth on one side. How many ages have passed since the days of Homer ! Yet, in this long tract of ages, there never was found a man who took Thersites for a beauty. The fine arts are very properly called the arts of taste, because the principles of both are the same ; and, in the fine arts, we find no less agreement among those who practise them than among other artists. Xo work of taste can be either relished or understood by those v ho do not agree with the author in tlie principles of taste. Homer and Virgil, and Shakspeare and Milton, had the same taste ; and all men who have been acquainted with their writ- ings, and agree in the admiration of them, must have the same taste. The fundamental rules of poetry and music, and painting, and dramatic action and eloquence, have been always the same, and will be so to the end of the world. The variety we find among men in matters of taste, is easily accounted for, consistently with what we have advanced. There is a taste that is acquired, and a taste that is natural. This holds with re- spect both to the external sense of taste and the internal. Habit and fashion have a powerful influence upon both. Of tastes that are natural, there are some that may be called rational, others that are merely animal. Children are delighted with brilliant and gaudy colours, with romping and noisy niiith, with feats of agility, strength, or cunning ; and savages have much the same tas*e as children. [609] But there are tastes that are more intel- lectual- It is the dictate of our rational na- ture, that love and admiration arc misjilaced when there is no intrinsic worth in tho object. In those operations of taste which are ra- tional, we judge of the real worth and ex- cellence of the object, and f»ur love or admirati(in is guided by that judgment. In 8uch operations there Ib judgment as well as feeling, and the feeling de)>ond3 upon the judgment we form of the object. [60B-01()J I do not maintain that taste, so far as it is acquired, or so far as it is merely animal, can be reduced to principles. But, as far as it is founded on judgment, it certainly may. The virtues, the graces, the muses, have a beauty that is intrinsic. It lies not in the feelings of the spectator, but in the real excellence of the ol)jeet. If we do not perceive their beauty, it is owing to the de- fect or to the perversion of our faculties. And, as there is an original beauty in cer- tain moral and intellectual qualities, so there is a borrowed and derived beauty in the natural signs and expressions of such qualities. The features of the human face, the mo- dulations of the voice, and the proportions, attitudes, and gesture of the body, are all natural expressions of good or bad quali- ties of the person, and derive a beauty or a deformity from the qualities which they express. Works of art express some quality of the artist, and often derive an additional beauty from their utility or fitness for their end. Of such things there are some that ought to please, and others that ought to displease. If they do not, it is owing to some defect in the spectator. But what has real excellence will always please those who have a correct judgment and a sound heart. [610] The sum of what has been said upon this subject is, that, setting aside the tastes which men acquire by habit and fashion, there is a natural taste, which is partly animal, and j)artly rational. With regard to the first, all we can say is, that the Author of nature, for wise rea- sons, has formed us so as to receive plea- sure from the contemplation of certain objects, and disgust from others, before we are capable of perceiving any real ex- cellence in one or defect in the other. But that taste which we may cull ration- al, is that part of our constitution by wliich we are made to receive pleasure from the contemplation of what we con- ceive to be excellent in its kind, the plea- sure being annexed to this judgment, and regulated by it. This taste may be true or false, according as it is founded on a true or false judgment. And, if it may be true or false, it must have first principles. 5. There are also first principles iu mo- rals. That an unjust ncli:,n hai mure demerit //inn an unf/enerous i.ne : Tliat a fiencrous <:c.ion hus more merit lluni a merely just one : 'J hut no man (lui/tit to he blmnid fur wlial it teas not in his /intver to liin/er : That we ought not to do to others what we would think unjust or vrifair to be done to un in like ciri:um.sla:ices. These arc nu)ral axioms, 454 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay VI. and many others might be named which ap- pear to me to have no less evidence than those of juathematics. Some perhaps may think that our de- terminations, either in matters of taste or in morals, ought not to be accounted ne- cessary truths : That they are grounded upon the constitution of that faculty which we call taste, and of that which we call the moral sense or conscience ; which fa- culties might have been so constituted as to have given determinations different, or even contrary to those they now give : That, as there is nothing sweet or bitter in itself, but according as it agrees or dis- agrees with the external sense called taste ; so there is nothing beautiful or ugly in it- self, but according as it agrees or dis- agrees with the internal sense, which we also call taste ; and nothing morally good or ill in itself, but according as it agrees or disagrees with our moral sense. [611] This indeed is a system, with regard to morals and taste, which hath been supported in modern times by great authorities. And if this system be -true, the consequence must be, that there can be no principles, either of taste or of morals, that are neces- sary truths. For, according to this system, all our determinations, both with regard to matters of taste, and with regard to morals, are reduced to matters of fact — I mean to such as these, that by our constitution we have on such occasions certain agreeable feelings, and on other occasions certain dis- agreeable feelings. But I cannot help being of a contrary opinion, being persuaded that a man who determined that polite behaviour has great deformity, and that there is great beauty in rudeness and ill-breeding, would judge wrong, whatever his feelings were. In like manner, I cannot help thinldng that a man who determined that there is more moral worth in cruelty, perfidy, and injustice, than in generosity, justice, pru- dence, and temperance, would judge wrong, whatever his constitution was. And, if it be true that there is judgment in our determinations of taste and of morals, it must be granted that what is true or false in morals, or in matters of taste, is necessarily so. For this reason, I have ranked the first principles of morals and of taste under the class of necessary truths. 6. The last class of first principles I shall mention, we may call metaphysical. I shall particularly consider three of these, because they have been called in question by Mr Hume. [G12] The Jirst is, Thai the qualities which we perceive by our senses mutt have a suhjrct, which we call body, and that the thoughts we are consciouT( ya,^ ochCfOcrov x^V^ a'niov yivlaiv sx^'^ • it IS mipOS- sible that anything should have its origin without a cause." — Tim^us. I believe Mr Hume was the first who ever held the contrary.* This, indeed, he avows, and assumes the honour of the dis- covery. " It is," says he, " a maxim in philosophy, that whatever begins to exist, must have a cause of existence. This is commonly taken for granted in all reason- ings, without any proof given or demanded. It is supposed to be founded on intuition, and to be one of those maxims which, though they may be denied with the lips, it is impossible for men in their hearts really to doubt of. But, if we examine this maxim by the idea of knowledge above explained, we shall discover in it no mark of such intuitive certainty." The meaning of this seems to be, that it did not suit with his theory of intuitive certa'uty, and, there- fore, he excludes it from that [)rivilege. The vulgar adhere to this maxim as firmly and universally as the philosophers. Their superstitions have the same origin as the systems of philosophers — to wit, a desire to know the causes of things. Fe/ix qui potuit renim ccgnnsceie causas, is the universal sense of men ; but to say that anything can happen without a cause, shocks the common sense of a savage. This universal belief of mankind is easily accounted for, if we allow that the neces- sity of a cause of every event is obvious to the rational powers of a man. But it is impossible to account for it otherwise. It * Sie liist note. — H. [617, 618] CHAP VI.] FIRST PRINCIPLES OF NECESSARY TRUTHS. 457 cannot be ascribed to education, to systems i)f philosopliy. or to jn-iestcraft. One would think that a philosopher who takes it to be a general delusion or prejudice, would endeavour to shew from what causes in human nature such a general error may take its rise. But I forget that Mr Hume might answer upon his own principles, that since things may happen without a cause — this error and delusion of men may be uui- versal without any cause. [(>'!)] 2. A second reason why I conceive this to be a first principle, is, That mankind not only assent to it in speculation, but that the practice of life is grounded upon it in the most important matters, even in cases where experieiice leaves us doubtful ; and it is impossible to act with common prudence if we set it aside. In great families, there are so manv bad thmgs done by a cer;ani personage, called NnlioHr, that it is proverbial that there is a Nobody about every house who does a great deal of mischief ; and even where there is the exactest inspection and govern- ment, many events will happen of which no other author can be found ; so that, if we trust merely to experience in this matter, No- body will be found to be a very active person, and to have no inconsiderable share in the management of afiairs. But whatever coun- tenance tnis system may have from experi- ence, it is too shocking to common sense to impose upon the most ignorant. A child knows that, when his top, or any of his pkiy- things, are taken away, it must be done by somebody. Perhaps it would •^lot be diffi- cult to persuade him that it was done by some invisible being, but that it should be done by nobody he cannot believe. Suppose a man's house to be broke open, his money and jewels taken away. Such things have happened times immmerable without any ap[)arent cause ; and were he only to reason from experience in such a case, how must he behave ? He must put in one scale the instances wherein a cause was found of such an event, and in the other scale the instances where no cause was found, and the preponderant scale nmst determine whether it be most j)robable that there was a cause of this event, or tliat there was none. Would any man of com- mon understanding have recourse 1 1 such an expedient todirect his judgment ? [020] Suppose a man to lye iouiid dead on the highway, his skull fractiireil, his body pierced with deadly wounds, his watcli and money carried off'. The coroner's jury sits ujion the body ; and the question is put. What was the cause of tiiis man's death ? — was it accident, itrfeln de se, or nmrder by persons unknown ? Let us suppose an adept in iMr Huiiie's ])hilosoi)liy to make one of the jury, and that he insists ujjon the [fil9-621J previous question, whether there was any cause of the event, and whether it happened without a cause. Surely, upon Mr Hume's principles, a great deal might be said upon this point ; and, if the matter is to be determined by past experience, it is dubious on which side the weight of argument might stand. But we may venture to say, that, if ISlr Hume had been of such a jury, he would have laid aside liis philosophical principles, and acted according to the dictates of common pru- dence. Many passages might be produced, even in Mr Hume's philosophical writings, iu «hich he, unawares, betrays the same in- ward conviction of the necessity of causes which is common to other men. I shall mention only one, in the "Treatise of Hu- man Nature," and in that part of it where he combats this very principle : — " As to those ini[jressions," .says he, " which arise from the senses, their ultimate cause is, in my opinion, perfectly inexplicable by hu- man reason ; and it will always be impos- sible to decide with certainty whether they arise immediately from the object, or are produced by the creative power of the mind, or are derived from the Author of our being.'' Among these alternatives, he never thought of their not arising from any cause.* [621] The arguments which Mr Hume offers to prove that this is not a self-evident i)rin- ciple, are three. Firsl, That all certainty arises from a comparison of ideas, and a discovery of their unalterable relations, none of which relations imply this proposi- tion. That whatever has a begiiming nmst have a cause of existence. This theory of certainty has been examined before. The second argument is, That whatever we can conceive is possible. This has like- wise been examined. The //(i»rf argument is. That what we call a cause, is only something antecedent to, and always conjoined with, the eff'ect. This is also one of Mr Hume's peculiar doctrines, which we may have occasion to consider afterwards. It is sufficient here to observe, that we may leain from it that night is the cause of day, and day the cause of night : for no two things have more constantly followed each other since the beginning of the world. The [third and] /".>' metaphysical prin- ci|)le I mention, which is o])poscd by the same author, i.s, T/kiI drsii;n tiiid intel/i- gence in the causn mny be inferred, with \ crrldinly, from iitarks or iiyits of it in the \ fff'-rt. \ * See abuve, p. 44V, iiole*. It ii the triumph nf ircpticism to shew that fpfatlntinn and }>ractice are irreconcilable. — H. 458 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay VI. Intelligence, design, and skill, are not objects of the external senses, nor can we be conscious of them in any person but our- selves. Even in ourselves, we cannot, with propriety, be said to be corscious of the natural or acquired talents we possess. We are conscious only of the operations of mind in which they are exerted. Indeed, a man comes to know his own mental abilities, just as he knows another man's, by the effects they produce, when there is occasion to put them to exercise. A man's wisdom is known to us only by the signs of it in his conduct ; his eloquence by the signs of it in his speech. In the same manner, we judge of his virtue, of his forti- tude, and of all his talents and virtues. [622] Yet" it is to be observed, that we judge of men's talents with as little doubt or hesita- tion as we judge of the immediate objects of sense. One person, we are sure, is a perfect idiot ; another, who feigns idiocy to screen himself from punishment, is found, upon trial, to have the imderstanding of a man, and to be accountable for his conduct. We perceive one man to be open, another cun- ning; one to be ignorant, another very knowing ; one to be slow of understanding, another quick. Every man forms such judgments of those he converses with ; and the common affairs of life depend upon such judgments. We can as little avoid them as we can avoid seeing what is before our eyes. From this it appears, that it is no less a part of the human constitution, to judge of men's characters, and of their intellectual powers, from the signs of them in their actions and discourse, than to judge of cor- poreal objects by our senses ; that such judgments are common to the whole human race that are endowed with understanding ; and that they are absolutely necessary in the conduct of life. Now, every judgment of this kind we form, is only a particular application of the general principle, that intelligence, wisdom, and other mental qualities in the cause, may be inferred from their marks or signs in the effect. The actions and discourses of men are effects, of which the actors and speakers are the causes. The effects are perceived by our senses ; but the causes are behind the scene. We only conclude their exist- ence and their degrees from our observa- tion of the effects. From wise conduct, we infer wisdom in the cause ; from brave actions, we infer courage ; and so in other cases. [f>23] This inference is made with perfect secu- rity by all men. We cannot avoid it ; it is necessary in the ordmary conduct of life ; it has therefore the strongest marks of being a first principle. Perhaps some may think that this prin- ciple may be learned either by reasoning or by experience, and therefore that there ia no ground to think it a first principle. If it can be shewn to be got by reasoning, by all, or the greater part of those who are governed by it, I shall very readily ac- knowledge that it ought not to be esteemed a first principle. But I apprehend the con- trary a[ipears from very convincing argu- ments. First, The principle is too universal to be the effect of reasoning. It is common to philosophers and to the vulgar ; to the learned and to the must illiterate ; to the civilized and to the savage. And of those who are governed by it, not one in ten thousand can give a reason for it. Secondly, We find philosophers, ancient and modern, who can reason excellently in subjects that admit of reasoning, when they have occasion to defend this principle, not offering reasons for it, or any medium of proof, but appealing to the common sense of mankind ; mentioning particular instan- ces, to make the absurdity of the contrary opinion more apparent, and sometimes using the weapons of wit and ridicule, which are very proper weapons for refuting ab- surdities, but altogether improper in points that are to be determined by reasoning. To confirm this observation, I shall quote two authors, an ancient and a modern, who have more expressly undertaken the defence of this principle than any others I remem- ber to have met with, and whose good sense and ability to reason, where reasoning is proper, will not be doubted. [624] The first is Cicero, whose words, {Lb. 1. cap. 13. De Divinalione,) may be thus translated. " Can anything done by chance have all the marks of design ? Four dice may by chance turn up four aces ; but do you think that four hundred dice, thrown by chance, will turn up four hundred aces ? Colours thrown upon canvas without design may have some similitude to a human face ; but do you think they might make as beautiful a picture as that of the Coan Venus ? A hog turning up the ground with his nose may make something of the form of the let- ter A ; but do you think that a hog might describe on the ground the Andromache of Ennius ? Carneades imagined that, in the stone quarries at Chios, he found, in a stone that was split, a representation of the head of a little Pan, or sylvan deity. I believe he might find a figure not unlike j but surely not such a one as you would say had been formed by an excellent sculptor like Scopas. For so, verily, the case is, that chance never perfectly imitates design.'* Thus Cicero.* * See also Cicero "De Natura De(in(m,"-\.'i\. c. 37.— H. CHAP. vi.J FIRST PRINCIPLES OF NECESSARY TRUTHS. 459 Now, in all this discourse, I see very good sense, and what is apt to convince every unprejudiced mind ; but I see not in the whole a single step of re.isoning. It is barely an appeal to every man's common sense. - Let us next see how the same point is handled by the excellent Archbishop Tillot- son. (1st Sermon, vol. i.) " For I appeal to any man of reason, whether anything can be more unreasonable than obstinately to impute an efiect to chance which carries in the fiice of it all the argu- ments and characters of design ? Was ever any considerable work, in which there was required a great variety of parts, and an orderly and regular adjustment of these parts, done by chance ? Will chance fit means to ends, and that in ten thousand instances, and not fail in any one ? [G25] How often might a man, after he had jumbled a set of letters in a bag, fling them out upon the ground before tliey would fall into an exact poem, yea, or so much as make a good discourse in prose ? And may not a httle book be as easily made as this great volume of the world ? How long miglit a man sprinkle colours upon canvass with a careless hand, before they would make the exact picture of a man ? And is a man easier made by chance than his picture ? How long might twenty thousand blind men, which should be sent out from the remote parts of England, wander up and down be- fore they would all meet upon Salisbury plains, andfall into rank and file in the exact order of an army ? And yet this is much more easj' to be imagined than how the innumerable blind parts of matter should rendezvous themselves into a word. A man tliat sees Henry VII.'s chapel at West- minster might, with as good reason, main- tain, (yea, and much better, considering the vast dift'erence between tiiat little structure and the huge fabric of the world,) that it was never contrived or built by any man, but tliat the stones did by chance grow into those curious figures into which we see them to hive been cut and graven ; and that, upon a time, (as tales usually begin,) the mate- rials of that building — the stone, mortar, timber, iron, lead, and glass — hapj)ily met together, and very fortunately ranged them- selves into that delicate order in which we see them now, so close compacted that it must be a very great chance that parts them again. What would the world think of a man that should advance such an opinion as this, and write a book for it ? If they would do him right, they ought to look uimn him as mad. liut yet he miglit niainlaiii this opinion with a little more reason than any man can have to say that the world was made by chance, or that the first men grew out of the earth, as [ilanti do now ; for, can '"625-627] anything be more ridiculous and against all reason, than to ascribe the production of men to the first fruitfulness of the earth, without so much as one instance or experi- ment in any age or history to countenance so monstrous a supposition ? The thin"- ia at first sight so gross and palpable, that no discourse about it can make it more appa- rent. And yet these shameful beggars of principles, who give this precarious account of the original of things, assume to them- selves to be the men of reason, the great wits of the world, the only cautious and wary persons, who hate to be imposed upon, that must have convincing evidence for every- thing, and can admit nothing without a clear demonstration for it. [(i'iU] In this passage, the excellent author takes what I conceive to be the proper method of refuting an absurdity, by exposing it in dif- ferent lights, in which every man of common understanding conceives it to be ridiculous. And, although there is much good sense, as well as wit, in the passage I have quoted, I cannot find one medium of proof in the whole. I have met with one or two respectable authors who draw an argument from the doctrine of chances, to shew how impro- bable it is that a regular arrangement of parts should be the ett'ect of chance, or that it should not be the effect of design, I do not object to this reasoning ; but I would observe that the doctrine of chances is a branch of mathematics little more than an hundred years old. But the conclusion drawn from it has been held by all men from the beginning of the world. It cannot, therefore, be thought that men have been led to this conclusion by that reasoning. Indeed, it may be doubted whether the first principle upon which all the mathematical reasoning about chances is grounded, is more self-evident than this conclusion drawn from it, or whether it is not a particular instance of that general conclusion. We are next to consider whether we may not learn this truth from experience. That ( fleets which have all the marks and tokens of design, nuist proceed from a designing cause. L**-?] I apprehend that we cannot learn this truth from experience for two reasons. First, Because it is a necessary truth, not a contingent one. It agrees with the experience of mankind since the beginning of the world, that the area of a triangle is equal to half the rectangle under its base and peri)en(lieular. It agrees no less with experience, that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. So far as experience goes, these truths are upon an equal footing. But every man perceives this distinction between them — that the first is ii necessary truth, and that it is inipossililcit sjiouldnot 460 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [^ESSAV VI. be true ; but the last is not necessary, but contingent, depending upon the will of llini who made the world. As we cannot learn from experience that twice three must ne- cessarily make six, so neither can we learn from experience that certain effects must proceed from a designing and intelligent cause. Experience informs us only of what has been, but never of what must be.* Secondlji, It may be observed, that ex- perience can shew a connection between a sign and the thing signified by it, in those cases only where both the sign and thing signified are perceived and have always been perceived in conjunction. But, if there be any case where the sign only is per- ceived, experience can never shew its con- nection with the thing signified. Thus, for example, thtiught is a sign of a thinking principle or mind. But how do we know that thought cannot be witliout a mind ? If any man should say that he knows this by experience, he deceives himself. It is im- possible he can have any experience of this ; because, though we have an immediate knowledge of the existence of thought in ourselves by consciousness, yet we have no immediate knowledge of a mind. The mind is not an immediate object either of sense or of consciousness. We may, therefore, justly conclude, that the necessary con- nection between thought and a mind, or thinking being, is not learned from expe- rience. [628] The same reasoning may be applied to the connection between a work excellently fitted for some purpose, and design in the author or cause of that work. One of tliese — to wit, the work — may be an immediate object of perception. But the design and purpose of the author cannot be an imme- diate object of perception ; and, therefore, experience can never inform us of any con- nection between the one and the other, far less of a necessary connection. Thus, I think, it apfwars, that the prin- ciple we have been considering — to wit, that from certain signs or indications in the effect, we may infer that there must have been intelligence, wisdom, or other intel- lectual or moral qualities in the cause, is a principle which we get, neither by reason- ing nor by experience ; and, therefore, if it be a true principle, it must be a first prin- ciple. There is in the human understand- ing a light, by which we see immediately tlie evidence of it, when there is occasion to apply it. Of how great importance this principle is in common life, we have already observed. And I need hardly mention its importance in natural theology. The clear marks and signatures of wis- • See above p. til5; and " Active Powerr.,"p. ol. — H. dom, power, and goodness, in the consti- tution and government of the world, is, of all arguments that have been advanced for the being and providence of the Deity, that which in all ages has made the strongest impression upon candid and thinking minds ; an argument, which has this peculiar ad- vantage, that it gathers strength as human knowledge advances, and is more convincing at present than it was some centuries ago. King Alphonsus might say, that he could contrive a better planetary system than that which astronomers held in his day.* That system was not the work of God, but the fiction of men. [G29] But since the true system of the sun, moon, and planets, has been discovered, no man, however atheistically disposed, has pretended to shew how a better could be contrived. When we attend to the marks of good contrivance which appear in the works of God, every discovery we make in the con- stitution of the material or intellectual system becomes a hymn of praise to the great Creator and Governor of the world. And a man who is possessed of the genuine spirit of philosophy will think it impiety to contaminate the divine workmanship, by mixing it with those fictions of human fancy, called theories and hypotheses, which will always bear the signatures of human folly, no less than the other does of divine wis- dom. I know of no person who ever called in question the principle now under our consi- deration, when it is applied to the actions and discourses of men. For this would be to deny that we have any means of discerning a wise man from an idiot, or a man that is illiterate in the highest degree from a man of knowledge and learning, which no man has the efl'rontery to deny. But, in all ages, those who have been unfriendly to the principles of religion, have made attempts to weaken the force of the argument for the existence and perfec- tions of the Deity, which is founded on this principle. That argument has got the name of the argument from final causes ; and as the meaning of this name is well understood, we shall use it. The argument from final causes, when re- duced to a syllogism, has these two premises : — First, That design and intelligence in the cause, may, with certainty, be inferred from marks or signs of it in the effect. This is the principle we have been considering, and * Alphonso X. of Castile. He flourished in the thirteentli ccntury~a great mathematician and as- tronomer. To him we owe the Alphonsine J'ables. Hi* saying was not so pious and philo>ophical as Koid states ; but that, " Had he been present with God at the creation, he cculd have supplied some useful hmts towards the better ordering of the universe." — H. [628. 629] CHAP. VI.] FIRST I'RINXIPLES OF NECESSARY TRUTHS. 4(n we may call it the mujjr proDOsition of the argument. The secjn /, which we call the minor proposition, is, That there are in fact the clearest marks of design and wisdom in the works of nature ; and the cjnc/iision is, That the works of nature are the eifects of a wise and intelligent Cause. One must either assent to the conclusion, or deny one or other of the premises. [G30] Those among the ancients who denied a God or a Providence, seem to me to have yielded the major proposition, and to have denied the minor ; conceiving that there are not in the constitution of things such marks of wise contrivance as are sufficient to put the conclusion beyond doubt. This, I think, we may learn, from the reasoning of Cotta the academic, in the third book of Cicero, of the Nature of the Gods. The gradual advancement made in the knowledge of nature, hath put this opinion quite out of countenance. When the structure of the human body was much less known than it is now, the famous Galen saw such evident marks of wise contrivance in it, that, though he had been educated an Epicurean, he renounced that system, and wrote his book of the use of the parts of the human body, on purpose to convince others of what a]ipeared so clear to himself, that it was impossiljle that such admirable contrivance should be the effect of chance. Those, therefore, of later times, who are dissatisfied with this argument froui final causes, have quitted the stronghold of the ancient atheists, which had become un- tenable, and have chosen rather to make a defence against the major proposition. Des Cartes seems to have led the way in this, though he was no atheist. But, having invented s ime new arguments for the being of God, he was, perhaps, led to disparage those that had been used before, that he might bring more credit to his own. Or perhaps he was offended with the i'eripa- tetics, because they often mixed final causes with physical, in order to account for the phijenomena of nature. [G31 ] He maintained, therefore, that physical causes only should lie assigned for phieno- mena ; that the philosopher has nothing to do with final causes ; and that it is prc- Bumption in us to pretend to determine for what end any work of nature is framed. Some of those who nere great admirers of Des Cartes, and followed him in many points, differed from liim in this, particu- larly L)r Henry More and the pious Arcli- bishop Feiielon : but others, after the ex- ample of l)es Cartes, have shewn a contemj)! of all reasoning from final causes. Among these, I think, we may reckon Maiipertuis and JJiiffon. But the most direct attack has been made upon this principle by Mr [630-C3'iJ Hume, who puts an argument in the mouth of an Epicurean, on which he seems to lay great stress. The argument is, That the universe is a singular effect, and, therefore, we can draw no conclusion from it, whether it may have been made by wisdom or not." If I understand the force of this argu- ment, it amounts to this. That, if we had been accustomed to see worlds produced, some by wisdom and others without it, and had observed that such a world as this which we inhabit was always the effect of wisdom, we might then, from past experi- ence, conclude that this world was made by wisdom ; but, having no such experi- ence, we have no means of forming any conclusion about it. That this is the strength of the argument appears, because, if the marks of wisdom seen in one world be no evidence of wisdom, the like marks seen in ten thousand will give as little evidence, unless, in time past, we perceived wisdom itself coL.joined with the tokens of it ; and, from their perceived conjunction in time past, conclude that, al- though, in the present world, we see only one of the two, the other must accompany it. [G32] Whence it appears that this reasoning of Mr Hume is built on the supposition that our inferring design from the strongest marks of it, is entirely owing to our past experience of having always found these two things conjoined- But I hope I have made it evident that this is not the case. And, indeed, it is evident that, according to this reasoning, we can have no evidence of mind or design in any of our fellow- men. How do I know that any man of my ac- quaintance has understanding ? I never saw his understanding. 1 see only cer- tain effects, which my judgment leads me to conclude to be marks and tokens of it. But, says the sceptical philosopher, you can conclude nothing from these tokens uii- hss past experience has informed you that such tokens are always joined witli under- standing. Alas! sir, it is iuiposbible 1 can ever have this experience. The iiiiderstand- ing of another man is no immediate object of sight, or of any other faculty which CJod hath given me ; and unless I can conclude its existence from tokens that are visible, I have no evidence that there is understand- ing in any man. It seems, then, that the man who main- tains that there is no force in the argument from final causes, must, if lie will bo con- sistent, see no evidence of the existence of jiny intelligent being but himself. * See Stewart ■« " Elements," li. p. 57l».— H. 462 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay vt. CHAPTER VIL OPINIONS, ANCIENT AND MODERN, ABOL'T FIRST PRINCIPLES. I KNOW no writer wlio has treated ex- pressly of first principles before Aristotle ; but it is probable that, in the ancient Py- thagorean pcliool, from which both Plato and Aristotle borrowed much, this subject had not been left untouched. [(J33] Before the time of Aristotle, considerable progress liad been made in the mathema- tical sciences, particularly in geometry. The discovery of the forty-seventh pro- position of the first bouk of Euclid, and of the five regular solids, is, by antiquity, ascribed to Pythagoras himself; and it is hnpossible he could have made those dis- coveries without knowing many other pro- positions in mathematics. Aristotle men- tions the incommensurability of the diagonal of a square to its side, and gives a hint of the manner in which it was demonstrated. We find likewise some of the axioms of geometry mentioned by Aristotle as axioms, and as indemonstrable principles of mathe- matical reasoning. It is probable, therefore, that, before the time of Aristotle, there were elementary treatises of geometry, which are now lost ; and that in them the axioms were distin- guished from the propositions which require 1 roof. To suppose that so perfect a system as that of Euclid's " Elements" was produced by one man, without any preceding model or materials, would be to suppose Euclid more than a man. We ascribe to him as much as the weakness of human under- standing will permit, if we suppose that the hiventions in geometry, which had been made in a tract of preceding ages, were by him not only carried much farther, but digested into so admirable a system that his work obscured all that went before it, and made them be forgot and lost. Perhaps, in like manner, the writings of Aristotle with regard to first principles, and with regard to many other abstract subjects, may have occasioned the loss of what had been written upon those subjects by more ancient philosophers. [G34] Whatever may be in this, in his second book ujion demonstration, he has treated very fully of first principles ; and, though he has not attempted any enumeration of them, he shews very clearly that all demonstra- tion must be built upon truths which are evident of themselves, but cannot be de- monstrated. His whole doctrine of syllo- gisms is grounded upon a few axioms, from which he endeavours to demonstrate the rules of syllogism iu a mathematical way ; and in his topics he points out many of the first principles of probable reasoning. As long as the philosophy of Aristotle prevailed, it was held as a fixed point, tliat all proof must be drawn from jirinciples already known and granted. We must observe, however, that, in that philosophy, many things were assumed as first principles, which have no just claim to that character : such as, that the eaith is at rest ; that nature abhors a vacuum ; that there is no change in the heavens above the sphere of the moon ; that the heavenly bodies move in circles, that being the most perfect figure ; that bodies do not gravitate in their proper place ; and many others. The Peripatetic philosophy, therefore, instead of being deficient in first principles, was redundant ; instead of rejecting those that are truly such, it adopted, as first principles, many vulgar prejudices and rash judgments : and this seems in general to have been the spirit of ancient philosophy.* It is true, there were among the ancients sceptical philosophers, who professed to have no principles, and held it to be the greatest virtue in a philosopher to withhold assent, and keep his judgment iu a perfect equil - brium between contradictory opinions. But, though this sect was defended by some per- sons of great erudition and acuteness, it died of itself, and the dogmatic philosophy of Aristotle obtained a complete triumph over it. [G35] What Mr Hume says of those who are sceptical with regard to moral distinctions seems to liave had its accomplishment in the ancient sect of Sceptics. " The only way," says he, " of converting antagonists of this kind is to leave them to themselves ; for, finding that nobidy keeps up the con- troversy with them, it is jirobable they will at last of themselves, from mere weariness, come over to the side of common sense and reason." Setting aside this small sect of the Scep- tics, which was extinct many ages before the authority of Aristotle declined, I know of no opposition made to first principles among the ancients. The disposition was, as has Ijeen observed, not to oppose, but to mul- tiply them beyond measure. Men have always been prone, when they leave one extreme, to run into the opposite ; and this spirit, in the ancient philosophy, to multiply first principles beyond reason, was a strong presage that, when the autliority of the Peripatetic system was at an, end, * The Peripatetic philosophy did not assutvie any f uch principles as original anil .self evident ; but pro. fcsscdto establish them all upon induction and gene- lalization. In practice its induction (f instances might be imperfect, and its generalization from par. ticulars raJi ; but in theory, at least, it was correct. — H. 633-6351 CHAP, V,I.] OPINIONS ABOUT FIRST PRINCIPLES. 463 the next reigning system would diminish their number beyond reason. This, accordingly, happened in that great revolution of the philosophical republic brought about by Des Cartes. Tbat truly great reformer in philosophy, cautious to avoid the snare in which Aristotle was taken, of admitting things as first principles too rashly, resolved to doubt of everything, and to withhold his assent, until it was forced by the clearest evidence.* Thus Des Cartes brought himself into that very state of suspense which the an- cient Sceptics recommended as the highest perfection of a wise man, and the only road to tranquillity of mind. Eut he did not remain long in this state ; his doubt did not arise from despair of finding the truth, but from caution, that he might not be im- posed upon, and embrace a cloud instead of a goddess. [G3(J] His very doubting convinced him of his own existence ; for that which does not exist can neither doubt, nor believe, nor reason. Thus he emerged from universal scepti- cism by this short euthymeme, Cogito, eryo sum. This enthymeme consists of an antece- dent proposition, / l/iiuk, and a conclusion drawn from it, therefhre I exist. If it should be asked how Des Cartes came to be certain of the antecedent proposi- tion, it is evident that for this he trusted to the testimony of consciousness. He was con- scious that he thought, and needed no other argument. So that the first principle which he adopts in this famous euthymeme is this. That those doubts, and thoughts, and reasonings, of which he was conscious, did certainly exist, and that his consciousness put their exist- ence beyond all doubt. It might have been objected to this first principle of Des Cartes, How do you know that your consciousness cannot deceive you ? You have supposed that all you see, and hear, and handle, may be an illusion. Why, therefore, should the power of conscious- ness have this prerogative, to be believed implicitly, when all our other powers are supjiosed fallacious ? To this objection I know no other answer that can be made but that we find it im- possible to doubt of things of wliich we are conscious. The constitution of our nature forces this belief upon us irresistibly. This is true, and is sullicient to justify Des Cartes in assuming, as a first princij)le, the existence of thought, of which he was conscious. IC'l?] He ought, however, to have gone farther in this track, and to have considered whe- ther there may not be other first principles * On the Cartegian doubt, see Note H.— H. [■636-038] which ought to be adopted for the same reason. But he did not see this to be ne- cessary, conceiving that, upon this ona first principle, he could support the whole fabric of human knowledge. To proceed to the conclusion of Des Cartes's enthymeme. From the existence of his thought he infers his own existence. Here he assumes another first principle, not a contingent, but a necessary one ; to wit, that, where there is thought, there must be a thinking being or mind. Having thus established his own exist- ence, he proceeds to prove the existence of a supreme and infinitely perfect Being ; and, from the perfection of the Deity, he infers that his senses, his memory, and the other faculties which God had given him, are not fallacious. Whereas other men, from the beginning of the world, had taken for granted, as a t^rst principle, the truth and reality of what they perceive by their senses, and from thence inferred the existence of a Supreme Author and Maker of the world, Des Cartes took a contrary course, conceiving that the tes- timony of our senses, and of all our facul- ties, excepting that of consciousness, ought not to be taken for granted, but to be proved by argument. Perhaps some may think that Des Car- tes meant only to admit no other first prin- ciple of contingent truths besides that of consciousness ; but that he allowed the axi- oms of mathematics, and of other necessary truths, to be received without proof. [638] But I apprehend this was not his inten- tion ; for the truth of mathematical axioms must depend upon the truth of the faculty by which we judge of them. If the faculty be fallacious, we may be deceived by trust- ing to it. Therefore, as he supposes that all our faculties, excepting consciousness, may be fallacious, and attempts to prove by argument that they are not, it follows that, accordhig to his principles, even ma- thematical axioms require proof. Neither did he allow that there are any necessary truths, but maintained, that the truths which are commonly so called, depend up- on tiie will of God. And we find his fol- lowers, who may be supposed to under- stand his principles, agree in maintaining, that the knowledge of our own existence is the first and fundamental jirinciple from which all knowledge nmst be deduced by one who proceeds regularly in philosophy. There is, no doubt, a beauty in raising a large fabric of knowledge upon a few first 1/rinciples. The stately fabric of niathema- ticai knowledge, raised u]ion the foundation of a few axioms and delinltionH, cburiiia every beholder. Des Cartes, who was well acquainted with this lieauty in the nuithe- matical sciences, Bccnis to have bciMi am 464 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [epsay VI. bitious to give the same beautiful simplicity to his system of philosophy ; and therefore Bought only one first principle as the founda- tion of all our knowledge, at least of con- tingent trutlis. And so far has his authority prevailed, that those who came after him have almost univer.sally followed him in this track. This, therefore, may be considered as the spirit of modern philosophy, to allow of no first principles of contingent truths but this one, that the thoughts and opera- tions of our own minds, of which we are conscious, are self-evidcntly real and true ; but that everything else that is contingent is to be proved by argument. The existence of a material world, and of what we perceive by our senses, is not self-evident, according to this philosophy. Des Cartes founded it upon this argument, that God, wlio hath given us our senses, and all our faculties, is no deceiver, and therefore they are not fallacious. [639] I endeavoured to shew that, if it be not admitted as a first principle, that our facul- ties are not fallacious, nothing else can be admitted ; and that it is impossible to prove this by argument, unless God should give us new faculties to sit in judgment upon the old. Father IMalebrauche agreed with Des Cartes, that the existence of a material world requires prof ; but, being dissatisfied with Des Cartes's argument from the per- fection of the Deity, thought that the only solid proof is from divine revelation. Arnauld, who was engaged in controversy with Malebranche, approves of his anta- gonist in offering an argument to prove the existence of the material world, but objects to the solidity of his argument, and offers other arguments of his own. Mr Norris, a great admirer of Des Cartes and of Malebranche, seems to have thought all the arguments oifered by them and by Arnauld to be weak, and confesses that we have, at best, only probable evidence of the existence of the material world. Mr Locke acknowledges that the evidence we have of this point is neither intuitive nor demonstrative ; yet he thinks it may be called knowledge, and distinguishes it by the name of sensitive knowledge ; and, as the ground of this sensitive knowledge, he offers some weak arguments, which would rather tempt one to doubt than to believe. At last. Bishop Berkeley and Arthur Collier, without any knowledge of each other, as far as appears by their writings, undertook to prove, that there neither is nor can be a material world. The excel- lent style and elegant composition of the former have made his writings to be known and read, and this sy.stem to be attributed to him only, as if Collier had never ex- isted. [640] Both, indeed, owe so much to Male- branche, that, if we take out of his system the peculiarities of our seeing all things in God, and our learning the existence of an external world from divine revelation, what remains is just the system of Bishop Berke- ley. I make this observation, by the way, in justice to a foreign author, to whom British authors seem not to have allowed all that is due.* Mr Hume hath adopted Bishop Berke- ley's arguments against the existence of matter, and thinks them unanswerable. We may observe, that this great meta- physician, though in general he declares in favour of universal scepticism, and there- fore may seem to have no first principles at all, yet, with Des Cartes, he always acknow- ledges the reality of those thoughts and operations of mind of which we are con- scious--)- So that he yields the antecedent of Des Cartes's enthymeme cog'ito, but denies the conclusion ergo sum, the mind being, according to him, nothing but that train of impressions and ideas of which we are conscious. Thus, we see that the modern philosophy, of which Des Cartes may justly be ac- counted the founder, being built upon the ruins of the Peripatetic, has a spirit quite opposite, and runs into a contrary extreme. The Peripatetic not only adopted as first principles those which mankind have always rested upon in their most important trans- actions, but, along with them, many vulgar prejudices ; so that this system was founded upon a wide bottom, but in many parts unsound. The modern system has nar- rowed the foundation so much, that every superstructure raised upon it appears top- heavy. From the single principle of the exist- ence of our own thoughts, very little, if any thing, can be deduced by just reasoning, especially if we suppose that all our other faculties may be fallacious. Accordingly, we find that Mr Hume was not the first that was led into scepticism by the want of first principles. For, soon after Des Cartes, there arose a sect in France called Egoists, who maintained that we have no evidence of the existence of any- thing but ourselves.^: [ 64 1 ] Whether these egoists, like Mr Hume, * If I rorollect arielit, (I write this nn(e a» a di?. taiice from liocks,) Locke explicitly anticipates ihe Berkeleiaii iileali-m in his " Kxaininatinn ot Father Malebranche's Opini' n." This w.is aUo done oy Bayle. In fact, Malehranch", aid many otiiers be. fore him, wonid inevitably have become Idealists, had they not been Catholics. But an Idealist, as I have already observed, no consistent t'aitiolic could be. See above, p. iSd, note t> antl P- 358, note *. — H. t See above, p. 4V9, b, not .— H. $ See above p. i69, a, note ^ ; and p. S9'J, b, note *.— H. [639-6413 CHAP. V „.] OPINIONS ABOUT FIRST PRINCIPLES. 465 believed themselves tobe nothing but a train of ideas and impressions, or to have a more permanent existence, I have not learned, having never seen any of their writings ; nor do I know whethei- any of this sect did write in support of their principles. One would think they who did not believe that there was any person to read, could have little inducement to write, nnless they were prompted by that inward monitor which Persius makes to be the source of genius and the teacher of arts. There can be no doubt, however, of the existence of such a sect, as they are mentioned by many authors, and refuted by some, particularly by Buffier, in his treatise of first principles. Those Egoists and ]Mr Hume seem to me to have reasoned more consequentially from Des Cartes' principle than he did him- self; and, indeed, I cannot help thinking, that all who have followed Des Cartes' method, of requiring proof by argument of everything except the existence of their own thoughts, have escaped the abyss of scepticism by the help of weak reasoning and strong faith more than by any other means. And they seem to me to act more consistently, who, having rejected the first principles on which belief must be grounded, have no belief, than they, who, like the others, rejecting first principles, must yet have a system of belief, without any solid foundation on which it may stand. Tlie philosophers I have hitherto men- , tioned, after the time of Des Cartes, have all followed his method, in resting upon the truth of their own thoughts as a first principle, but requiring arguments for the proof of every other truth of a contingent nature ; but none of them, excepting Mr Locke, has expressly treated of first princi- ples, or given any opinion of their utiHty or inutility. We only collect their opinion from their following Des Cartes in requir- ing proof, or pretending to offer proof of the existence of a material world, which surely ought to be received as a first princi- ple, if anything be, beyond what wc are conscious of. [642] I proceed, therefore, to consider what Mr Locke has said on the subject of first principles or maxims, I have not theleastdoubt of this author's candour in what he somewhere says, that his essay was mostly spun out of his own tlioughts. Yet, it is certain, that, in many of the notions which we are wont to ascribe to him, others were before him, particularly Dc8 Cartes, Gassendi, and Ilobbes, Nor is it at all to be thought strange, that inge- nious men, when they are got into the fcame track, should hit upon the same thi))gs. But, in the definition which he gives of knowledge in general, and in his notions [(>t2, ns from txperieiicc; whrrcas rx. 2 H 466 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [kssay vj. To this I agree, I maintain only, that when the understanding is ripe, and wlien we distinctly apprehend such truths, we immediately assent to them. [644] He observes, that self-evidence is not peculiar to those propositions which pass under the name of axioms, and have the dignity of axioms ascribed to them. ' I grant that there are innumerable self- evident propositions, which have neither dignity nor utility, and, therefore, deserve not the name of axioms, as that name is commonly understood to imply not only self-evidence, but some degree of dignity or utility. That a man is a man, and that a man is not a horse, are self-evident propo- sitions ; but they are, as Mr Locke very justly calls them, trifling propositions. Til- lotson very wittily says of such propositions, that they are so surfeited with truth, that they are good for nothing ; and as they de- serve not the name of axioms, so neither do they deserve the name of knowledge. He observes, that such trifling self-evi- dent propositions as we have named are not derived from axioms, and therefore tliat all our knowledge is not derived from axioms. I grant that they are not derived from axioms, because they are themselves self- evident. But it is an abuse of words to call them knowledge, as it is, to call them axioms ; for no man can be said to be the wiser or more knowing for having millions of them in store. He observes, that the particular propo- sitions contained under a general axiom are no less self-evident than the general axiom, and that they are sooner known and under- stood. Thus, it is as evident that my hand is less than my body, as that a part is less than the whole ; and I know the truth of the particular proposition sooner than that of the general. This is true. A man cannot perceive the truth of a general axiom, such as, that a part is less than the whole, until he has the general notions of a part and a whole formed in his mind ; and, before he has these general notions, he may perceive that his hand is less than his body. [645] A great part of this chapter on maxims is levelled against a notion, which, it seems, some have entertained, that all our know- ledge is derived from these two maxims — to wit, whatever in, is ; and it is impot^sible for iNk same thing to be, and not to be.* This I take to be a ridiculous notion, justly deserving the treatment which Mr perience on!y affords the occasions on which the native (not innate) or a priori cognitions, virtually possessed by the mind, actually manifest their exist- ence. — H. * These are called, the principle of Identity, and the principle of Contradiction, or. more properly, Non- con tradiction. — H. Locke has given it, if it at all merited his notice. These are identical propositions ; they are trifling, and surfeited with truth. No knowledge can be derived from them. Having mentioned how far I agree with Mr Locke concerning maxims or first prin- ciples, I shall next take notice of two or three things, wherein I cannot agree with him. Li the seventh section of this chapter, he says. That, concerning the real existence of all other beings, besides ourselves and a first cause, there are no maxims. I have endeavoured to shew that there are maxims, or first principles, with regard to other existences. Mr Locke acknowledges that we have a knowledge of such existences, which, he says, is neither intuitive nor de- monstrative, and which, therefore, he calls sensitive knowledge. It is demonstrable, and was long ago demonstrated by Aristotle, that every proposition to which we give a rational assent, must either have its evi- dence in itself, or derive it from some ante- cedent proposition. And the same thing may be said of the antecedent proposition. As, therefore, we cunnot go back to ante- cedent propositions without end, the evi- dence must at last rest upon propositions, one or more, which have their evidence in themselves — that is, upon first principles. As to the evidence of our own existence, and of the existence of a first cause, Mr Locke does not say whether it rests upon first principles or not. But it is manifest, from what he has said upon both, that it does. [646] With regard to our own existence, says he, we perceive it so plainly and so cer- tainly that it neither needs nor is capable of any proof. This is as much as to say that our own existence is a first principle ; for it is applying to this truth the very definition of a first principle. He adds, that, if I doubt, that very doubt makes me perceive my own existence, and will not suff"er me to doubt of that. If I feel pain, I have as certain perception of my existence as of the pain I feel. Here we have two first principles plainly implied — First, That my feeling pain, or being conscious of pain, is a certain evidence of the real existence of that pain ; and, seco7v!ly, That pain cannot exist without a mind or being that is pained. That these are first principles, and incapable of proof, Mr Locke acknowledges. And it is certain, that, if they are not true, we can have no evidence of our own existence ; for, if we may feel pain when no pain really exists, or if pain may exist without any being that is pained, then it is certain that our feeling pain can give us no evidence of our ex- istence. Thus, it appears that the evidence of our [644.-046^ CHAP. VII.] OPINIONS ABOUT FIRST PRINCIPLES. 467 own existence, according to the view that Mr Loclie gives of it, is grounded upon two of those first principles which we had occa- eion to mention. If we consider the argument he has given for the existence of a first intelligent cause, it is no less evident that it is grounded upon other two of them. The first, That what begins to exist must have a cause of its ex- istence ; and the second, That an unintelli- gent and unthiuking being cannot be the cause of beings that are thinking and in- telligent. Upon these two principles, he argues, very convincingly, for the existence of a first intelligent cause of things. And, if these principles are not true, we can have no proof of the existence of a first cause, either from our own existence, or from the existence of other things that fall within our view. [647] Another thing advanced by Mr Locke upon this subject is, that no science is or hath been built upon maxims. Surely Mr Locke was not ignorant of geometry, which hath been built upon maxims prefixed to the elements, as far back as we are able to trace it.* But, though they had not been prefixed, which was a matter of utility rather than necessity, yet it must be granted that every demonstra- tion in geometry is grounded either upon propositions formerly demonstrated, or upon self-evident principles. Mr Locke farther says, that maxims are not of use to help men forward in the ad- vancement of the sciences, or new dis- coveries of yet unknown truths ; that New- ton, in the discoveries he has made in his never-enough-to-be-admired book, has not been assisted by the general maxims — what- ever is, is ; or, the whole is greater than a part ; or the like. [ answer, the first of these is, as was be- fore observed, an identical trifiing proposi- tion, of no use in mathematics, or in any other science. The second is often used by Newton, and by all mathematicians, and many demonstrations rest upon it. In general, Newton, as well as all other mathe- maticians, grounds his demonstrations of mathematical i)roiKisitions upon the axioms laid down by Euclid, or upon propositions wiiich have been before demonstrated by help of those axioms. [C4f{] But it deserves to be particularly observed, that Niwton, intending, in the third book of liift " Principia," to give a more scientific form to the physical part of astronomy, which he hud at first composed inapi)])ular form, tliouglit proper to follow the exam])le of Euclid, and to lay down first, in what he * Compare Stewart's " Kkmeiits," ii. [ip, 38, i;t, 106. (Jii thi» sulijcct, "Batius est bjlerequain parum diCiTc."— il. [64.7-(i4.y] calls " Rcgulcs PhHosnphandi,'" and in his " Phcenomena," the first principles which he assumes in his reasoning. Nothing, therefore, could have been more unluckily adduced by Mr Locke to support his aversion to first principles, than the ex- ample of Sir Isaac Newton, who, by laying down the first principles upon which he rea- sons in those parts of natural philosophy which he cultivated, has given a stability to that science which it never had before, and which it will retain to the end of the world. I am now to give some account of a philo- sopher, who wrote expressly on the subject of first principles, after Mr Locke. Pere Buffier, a French Jesuit, first pub- lished his " Traiie des premiers Veritez, el de la Source de nos Jiigements^'''' in 8vo, if I mistake not, in the year 1724. It was afterwards published in folio, as a part of his " Conrs deS' Sciences." Paris, 1732. He defines first principles to be proposi- tions so clear that they can neither be proved nor combated by those that are more clear. The first source of first principles he men- tions, is, that intimate conviction which every man has of his own existence, and of what passes in his own mind. Some philo- sophers, he observes, admitted these as first principles, who were unwilling to admit any others ; and he shews the strange conse- quences that follow from this system. A second source of first principles he makes to be common sense ; which, he ob- serves, philosophers have niit been wont to consider. He defines it to be the disposi- tion which Nature has planted in all men, or the far greater part, which leads them, when they come to the use of reason, to form a common and tmiform judgment upon objects which are not objects of conscious- ness, nor are founded on any antecedent judgment- [(i4!J] He mentions, not as a full enumeration, but as a specimen, the following principles of common sense. 1. That there are other beings and other men in the universe, besides myself. 2. That there is in them something that is called truth, wisdom, prudence; and that these tilings are not purely arbitrary. 3. That there is something in me which I call intelligence, and something which is not that intelligence, which I call my body ; and that these things have ditl'erent pro- perties. 4. That all men are not in a conspiracy to deceive me and impose upon my cre- didity. 6. That what lias not intelligence cannot produce the effects of intelligence, nor caa pieces of matter tiirown together by chance form any regular work, such as a clock or watch. 2 II y 468 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay VI. He explains very particularly the several parts of his definition of common sense, and shews how the dictates of common sense may be distinguished from common prejudices ; and then enters into a particular consideration of tlie primary truths that concern being in general ; the truths that concern thinking beings ; those that concern body ; and those on which the various branches of human knowledge are grounded. I shall not enter into a detail of his sen- timents on these subjects. I think there is more which I take to be original in this treatise than in most books of the meta- physical kind I have met with ; that many of his notions are solid ; and that others, which I cannot altogether approve, are ingenious. [G50] The other writers I have mentioned, after Des Cartes, may, I think, -without impropriety, be called Cartesians, For, though they differ from Des Cartes in some things, and contradict him in others, yet they set*out from the same principles, and follow the same method, admitting no other first principle with regard to the existence of tilings but their own existence, and the existence of those operations of mind of which they are conscious, and requiring that the existence of a material world, and the existence of other men and things, should be proved by argument. This method of philosophising is common to Des Cartes, Malebranche, Arnauld, Locke, Norris, Collier, Berkeley, and Hume ; and, as it was introduced by Des Cartes, I call it the Cartesian system, and those who follow it Cartesians, not intending any dis- respect by this term, but to signify a parti- cular method of philosophising common to them all, and begun by Des Cartes. Some of these have gone the utmost length in scepticism, leaving no existence in nature but that of ideas and impressions. Some have endeavoured to throw off the belief of a material world only, and to leave us ideas and spirits. All of them have fallen into very gross pai-adoxes, which can never sit easy upon the human understand- ing, and which, though adopted in the closet, men find themselves under a ne- cessity of throwing off and disclaiming when they enter into society. Indeed, in my judgment, those who have reasoned most acutely and consequentially upon this system, are they that have gone deepest into scepticism. Father Buffier, however, is no Cartesian in this sense. He seems to have perceived the defects of the Cartesian system while it was in the meridian of its glory, and to bave been aware that a ridiculous scepticism is the natural issue of it, and therefore nobly attempted to lay a broader founda- tion for human knowledi^e, and has flic honour of being the first, as far as I know, after Aristotle, who has given the world a just treatise upon first principles. [(551] Some late writers, particularly Dr Os- wald, Dr Beattie, and Dr Campbell, have been led into a way of thiuking somewhat similar to that of IJuffier ; the two former, as I have reason to believe, without any in- tercourse with one another, or any know- ledge of what Buffier had wrote on the sub- ject. Indeed, a man who thinks, and who is acquainted with the philosophy of Mr Hume, will very naturally be led to appre- hend, that, to support the fabric of human knowledge, some other principles are neces- sary than those of Des Cartes and Mr Locke. Buffier must be acknowledged to have the merit of having discovered this, before the consequences of the Cartesian system were so fully displayed as they have been by Mr Hume. But I am apt to think that the man who does not see this now, must have but a superficial knowledge of these subjects." The three writers above mentioned have ray high esteem and affection as men ; but I intend to say nothing of them as writers upon this subject, that I may not incur the censure of partiality. Two of them have been joined so closely with me in the anim- adversions of a celebrated writer,-}- that we may be thought too near of kin to give our testimony of one another. CHATTER VIIL OF PREJUDICES, THE CAUSES OF ERROU. Our intellectual powers are wisely fitted by the Author of our nature for the disco- very of truth, as far as suits our present state. Error is not their natural issue, any more than disease is of the natural structure of the body. Yet, as we are liable to vari- ous diseases of body from accidental causes, external and intei-nal ; so we are, from like causes, liable to wrong judgments, [652] Medical writers have endeaA'oured to enu- merate the diseases of the body, and to re- duce them to a system, under the name of nosology ; and it were to be wished that we had also a nosology of the human under- standing. When we know a disorder of the body, we are often at a loss to find the proper remedy ; but in most cases the disorders of the understanding point out their remedies so plainly, that he who knows the one must know the other. Many authors have furnished useful ma- terials for this purpose, and some have en- deavoured to reduce them to a system, I * See Note A.— H. ( Priestley.— H. r 650-652 1 CHAP, vin.] OF PUEJUDICES, THE CALSliS OF ERROR. 4*39 like best the general division given of them by Lord Bacon, in his fifth book " De Aug- inentis Scientiarum,'"' and more fully treated in his " Novum Organum.'''' lie divides them into four classes — ido!n Irihit.t, idola specus, idola fori, and idola thealri. The names are perhaps fanciful ; but I think the division judicious, like most of the pro- ductions of that wonderful genius. And as this division was first made by him, he may be indulged the privilege of giving names to its several members. I propose in this chapter to explain the several members of this division, according to the meaning of the author, and to give instances of each, without confining myself to those which Lord Bacon has given, and without pretending to a complete enumera- tion. To every bias of the understanding, by which a man may be misled in judging, or drawn into error. Lord Bacon gives the name of an idol. The understanding, in its natural and best state, pays its homage to truth only. The causes of error are considered by him as so man}- false deities, who receive the homage which is due only to truth. 1.653] A. The first class are the idola triLus, The.-e are such as beset the whole human species ; so that every man is in danger from them. They arise from principles of the human constitution, which are highly useful and necessary in our present state ; but, by their excess or defect, or wrong direction, may lead us into error. As the active principles of the human frame are wisely contrived by the Author of our being for the direction of our ac- tions, and yet, without proper regulation and restraint, are apt to lead us wrong, so it is also with regard to those parts of our constitution that have influence upon our opinions. Of this we may take the follow- ing instances : — 1. First, — Men are prone to be led too much by authority in their opinions. In the first part of life, we have no other guide ; and, without a disposition to receive implicitly what we are taught, we should be incapable of instruction, and incapable of improvement. When judgment is ripe, there are many things in which we are incompetent judges. In such matters, it is most reasonable to rely u])on the judgment of those whom we believe to be competent and disinterested. The highest court of judicature in the nation relies upon the autliority of lawyers and jiliysicians in n)atters belonging to their respective professions. Even in matters ^vliich we have access to know, authority always will have, and ought to have, more or less weigiit, in ]iro- portion to tlie evidence on which our own [6.>3- 6.V'/| judgment rests, and the opinion we have of the judgment and candour of those who differ from us, or agree with us The modest man, conscious of his own fal- libility in judging, is in danger of giving too much to authority ; the arrogant of giving too little. [654] In all matters belonging to our cog- nizance, every man must be determined by his own final judgment, otherwise he does not act the part of a rational being. Authority may add weight to one scale ; but the man holds the balance, and judges what weight he ought to allow to authority. If a man should even claun infallibility, we must judge of his title to that preroga- tive. If a man pretend to be an ambassa- dor from heaven, we must judge of his credentials. No claim can deprive us of this right, or excuse us for neglecting to exercise it. As, therefore, our regard to authority may be either too great or too small, the bias of human nature seems to lean to the first of these extremes ; and I believe it is good for men in general that it should do so. When this bias concurs with an iudifi'er- ence about truth, its operation will be the more powerful. The love of truth is natural to man, and strong in every well-disposed mind. But it may be overborne by party zeal, by vanity, by the desire of victory, or even by laziness. When it is superior to these, it is a manly virtue, and requires the exer- cise of industry, fortitude, self-denial, can- dour, and openness to conviction. As there are persons in the world of so mean and abject a spirit that they rather clioose to owe their subsistence to the charity of others, tlian by industry to ac- quire some jiroperty of their own ; so there are many more who may be called mere beggars with regard to their opinions. Through laziness and iiidift'erence about truth, they leave to others the drudgery of digging fortius eonunodity ; they can have enougli at second hand to serve their occa- sions. Their concern is not to know what is true, but what is said and thought on such subjects ; and their understanding, like their clothes, is cut according to the fashion. [655] This distemper of the understanding has taken so deep root in a great j)art of man- kind, that it can hardly be said that they use their own judgment in things that do not concern their temporal interest. Nor is it jicculiar to the ignorant ; it infects all ranks. We may guess their opinions when we know where they wire born, of what parents, how educated, and what company they have ke]if. These circuniHlani-cK de- termine (lieiropinioiisin religion, in politics. and in pliilosojihy. 470 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [_KSSAY VI. 2. A second general prejudice arises from a dispodtion to measure things less known and less familiar, by those that are hct'.er known and more familiar. This is tlie foundation of analogical rea- soning, to which we have a great proneness by nature, and to it indeed we owe a great part of our knowledge. It would be absurd to lay aside this kind of reasoningal together, and it is difficult to judge how far we may venture upon it. The bias of human nature is to judge from too slight analogies. Tlie objects of sense engross our thoughts m the first part of life, and are most fami- liar through the whole of it. Hence, in all ages men have been prone to attribute the human figure and human passions and frail- ties to superior intelligences, and even to the Supreme Being. There is a disposition in men to mate- rialize everything, if I may be allowed the expression ; that is, to apply the notions we have of material objects to things of another nature. Thought is considered as analogous to motion in a body ; and as bodies are put in motion by impulses, and by impressions made upon them by contiguous objects, we are apt to conclude that the mind is made to think by impressions made upon it, and that there must be some kind of contiguity between it and the objects of thought. Hence the theories of ideas and impressions have so generally prevailed. [656] Because the most perfect works of human artists are made after a model, and of ma- terials that before existed, the ancient phi- losophers universally believed that the world was made of a pre ■ existen t uncreated matter ; and many of them, that there were eternal and uncreated models of every species of things which God made. The mistakes in common life, which are owing to this prejudice, are innumerable, and cannot escape the slightest observation. Men judge of other men by themselves, or by the small circle of their acquaintance. The selfish man thinks all pretences to be- nevolence and public spirit to be mere hypocrisy or self-deceit. The generous and open-hearted believe fair pretences too easily, and are apt to think men better than they really are. The abandoned and pro- fligate can hardly be persuaded that there is any such thing as real virtue in the world. The rustic forms his notions of the man- ners and characters of men from those of his country village, and is easily duped when he comes into a great city. It is commonly taken for granted, that this narrow way of judging of men is to be cured only bj' an extensive intercourse with men of different ranks, professions, and nations ; and that the man whose acquaint- ance has been confined within a narrow 'ircle, must have many prejudices and nar- row notions, which a more extensive inter- course would have, cured. 3. Men are often led into error by the love of simplicity, tuhivh disposes us to re- duce things to few principles, and to con- ceive a greater simplicity in natuie than there really is.* [657] To love simplicity, and to be pleased with it wherever we find it, is no imperfection, but the contrary. It is the result of good taste. We cannot but be pleased to ob- serve, that all the changes of motion pro- duced by the collision of bodies, hard, soft, or elastic, are reducible to three simple laws of motion, which the industry of phi- losophers has discovered. When we consider what a prodigious variety of effects depend upon the law of gravitation ; how many phpenomena in the earth, sea, and air, which, in all preceding ages, had tortured the wits of philosophers, and occasioned a thousand vain theories, are shewn to be the necessary consequences of this one law ; how the whole system of sun, moon, planets, primary and secondary, and comets, are kept in order by it, and their seeming irregularities accounted for and reduced to accurate measure — the sim- plicity of the cause, and the beauty and variety of the effects, must give pleasure to every contemplative mind. By this noble discovery, we are taken, as it were, behind the scene in this great drama of nature, and made to behold some part of the art of the divine Author of this system, which, before this discovery, eye had not seen, nor ear heard, nor had it entered into the heart of man to conceive. There is, without doubt, in every work of nature, all the beautiful simplicity that is consistent with the end for which it was made. But, if we hope to discover how nature brings about its ends, merely from this principle, that it operates in the simplest and best way, we deceive ourselves, and forget that the wisdom of nature is more above the wisdom of man, than man's wis- dom is above that of a child. If a child should sit down to contrive how a city is to be fortified, or an army arranged in the day of battle, he would, no doubt, conjecture what, to his understanding, ap- peared the simplest and best way. But could he ever hit upon the true way ? No surely. When he learns from fact how these effects are produced, he will then see how foolish his childish conjectures were. [658] We may learn something of the way in which nature operates from fact and ob- servation ; but, if we conclude that it ope- rates in such a manner, only because to our * See" Inquiry," cb. vii. ^ 3, above, \\ 206, sqq -H. [656-658] CHAP. VIII.] OF PREJUDICES, THE CAUSES OF ERROR. 471 understandmg that appears to be the best and simplest mauuer, we shall always go wrong. It was believed, for many ages, that all the variety of concrete bodies we find on this globe is reducible to four elements, of which they are compounded, and into which they may be resolved. It was the simpli- city of this theory, and not any evidence from fact, that made it to be so generally received ; for the more it is examined, we find the less ground to believe it. The Pythagoreans and Platonists were carried farther by the same love of sim- plicity. Pythagoras, by his skill in mathe- matics, discovered, that there can be no more than five regular solid figures, ter- minated by plain surfaces, which are all similar and equal ; to wit, the tetrahedron, the cube, the octahedron, the dodecahedron, and the eicosihedron. As nature works in the most simple and regular way, he thought that all the elementary bodies must have one or other of those regular figures ; and that the discovery of the properties and relations of the regular solids would be a key to open the mysteries of nature. This notion of the Pythagoreans and Platonists has undoubtedly great beauty and simplicity. Accordingly it prevailed, at least, to the time of Euclid. He was a Platonic philosopher, and is said to have wrote all the books of his " Elements" in order to discover the properties and rela- tions of the five rejjular solids. This ancient tradition of the intention of Euclid in writing bis " Elements," is countenanced by the work itself. For the last books of the " Elements" treat of the regular solids, and all the preceding are subservient to the last. [659] So that this most ancient mathematical work, which, for its admirable composition, has served as a model to all succeeding writers in mathematics, seems, like the two first books of Newton's "Principia," to have been intended by its author to exhibit the mathematical principles of natural phi- sophy. It was long believed, that all the qualities of bodies," and all their medical virtues, were reducible to four — moisture and dry- ness, heat and cold ; and that there are only four temperaments of the human body — the sanguine, the melancholy, the bilious, and the phlegmatic. The chemical system, of reducing all bodies to salt, sulphur, and mercury, was of the same kind. For liow many ages did men believe, that the division of all the objects of thought into ten cate- gories, and of ail that can be affirmed or denied of anything, into five universals or predicables, were perfect enumerations ? "7 Only the qualilakt prima; of the Peripatetio.— The evidence from reason that could be produced for those systems was next to no- thing, and bore no proportion to the ground they gained in the belief of men ; but they were simple and regular, and reduced things to a few principles ; and this supplied their want of evidence. Of all the systems we know, that of Des Cartes was most remarkable for its sim- plicity." Upon one proposition, / think, he builds the whole fabric of human know- ledge. And from mere matter, with a certain quantity of motion given it at first, he accounts for all the phsenomena of the material world. The physical part of this system was mere hypothesis. It had nothing to re- commend it but its simplicity ; yet it had force enough to overturn the system of Aristotle, after that system had prevailed for more than a thousand years. The principle of gravitation, and other attracting and repelling forces, after Sir Isaac Newton had given the strongest evi- dence of their real existence in nature, were rejected by the greatest part of Europe for half a century, because they could not be accounted for by matter and motion. So much were men enamoured with the sim- plicity of the Cartesian system. [060] Nay, I apprehend, it was this love of simplicity, more than real evidence, that led Newton himself to say, in the preface to his " Principia," speaking of the phtenomena of the material world — " Nam multa me movent ut nonnihil suspicer, ea omnia ex viribus quibusdam pendere posse, quibus corjiorum particulfE, per causas nondum cognitas, vel in se mutuo impelluntur, et secundum figuras regulares cohtierent, vel ab invicem fugantur et recedunt." For certainly we have no evidence from fact, that all the phoDnomena of the material world are produced by attracting or repell- ing forces. With iiis usual modesty, he proposes it only as a slight suspicion ; and the ground of this suspicion could only be, that he saw that many of the phajnoraena of nature de- pended upon causes of this kind ; and there- fore was disposed, from the simplicity of nature, to think that all do. When a real cause is discovered, the same love of simplicity leads men to attri- bute efiects to it which are beyond its pro- vince. A medicine that is found to be of great use in one distemper, commonly has its virtues muUi])lif(l, till it boconu^s a panacea. Those who have lived long, can recollect many instances of this. In other branches of knowledge, the same thing often happens. When the attention of men is turned to any * Sec above, p. WOfi, li, nolo (.— II, 472 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POVyERS. [^ESSAY particular cause, by discovering it to have i-emarkable effects, they are in great danger of extending its influence, upon sHght evi- dence, to things with which it has no con- nection. Such prejudices arise from the natural desire of simplifying natural causes, and of accounting for many phsenomena from the same principle. [061] 4. One of the most copious sources of error in philosophy is the misapplication of our noblest inte//ectual power to purposes for which it is incompetnit. Of all the intellectual powers of man, that of invrnliiin bears the highest price. It resembles most the power of creation, and is honoured with that name. We admire the man who shews a supe- riority in the talent of finding the means of accomplishing an end ; who can, by a happy combination, produce an effect, or make a discovery beyond the reach of other men ; who can draw important conclusions from circumstances that commonly pass unob- served ; who judges with the greatest saga- city of the designs of other men, and the consequences of his own actions. To this superiority of luiderstanding we give the name of genius, and look up with admira- tion to everything that bears the marks of it. Yet this power, so highly valuable in it- self, and so useful in the conduct of life, may be misapplied ; and men of genius, in all ages, have been prone to apply it to pur- poses for which it is altogether incompe- tent. The works of men and the works of Nature are not of the same order. The force of genius may enable a man perfectly to comprehend the former, and see them to the bottom. What is contrived and exe- cuted by one man may be perfectly under- stood by another man. With great proba- bility, he may from a part conjecture the whole, or from the effects may conjecture the causes ; because they are effects of a wisdom not superior to his own. [662] But the works of Nature are contrived and executed by a wisdom and power in- finitely superior to that of man ; and when men attempt, by the force of genius, to dis- cover the causes of the phaenomena of Na- ture, they have only the chance of going wrong more ingeniously. Their conjectures may appear very probable to beings no wiser than themselves ; but they have no chance to hit the truth. They are like the conjectures of a child how a ship of war is built, and how it is managed at sea. Let the man of genius try to make an animal, even the meanest ; to make a plant, or even a single leaf of a plant, or a feather of a bird; he will find that all his wisdom a id sagacity can bear no comparison with the wisdom of Nature, nor his power with the power of Nature. The experience of all ages shews how prone ingenious men have been to invent hypotheses to explain the phtenomena of Nature ; how fond, by a kind of anticipa- tion, to discover her secrets. Instead of a slow and gradual ascent in the scale of na- tural causes, by a just and copious induc- tion, they would shorten the work, and, by a flight of genius, get to the top at once. This gratifies the pride of human under- standing ; but it is an attempt beyond our force, like that of Phaeton to guide the chariot of the sun- When a man has laid out all his Inge- nuity in fabricating a system, he views it with the eye of a parent ; he strains phae- nomena to make them tally with it, and make it look like the work of Nature. The slow and patient method of induc- tion, the only way to attain any knowledge of Nature's work, was little understood until it was delineated by Lord Bacon, and has been little followed since. It humbles the pride of man, and puts him constantly in mind that his most ingenious conjectures with regard to the works of God are pitiful and childish. [663] There is no room here for the favourite talent of invention. In the humble method of information, from the great volume of Nature we must receive all our knowledge of Nature. Whatever is beyond a just in- terpretation of that volume is the work of man ; and the work of God ought not to be contaminated by any mixture with it. To a man of genius, self-denial is a diffi- cult lesson in philosophy as well as in reli- gion. To bring his fine imaginations and most ingenious conjectures to the fiery trial of experiment and induction, by which the greater part, if not the whole, will be found to be dross, is a humiliating task. This is to condemn him to dig in a mine, when he would fly with the wings of an eagle. In all the fine arts, whose end is to please, genius is deservedly supreme. In the conduct of human affairs, it often does wonders ; but in all inquiries into the con- stitution of Nature, it mu.->t act a subor- dinate part, ill-suited to the superiority it boasts. It may combinf, but it must not fabricate. It may collect evidence, but must not supply the want of it by conjec- ture. It may display its powers by putting Nature to the question in well-contrived experiments, but it must add nothing to her answers. 5. In avoiding one extreme, men are very apt to rush into the opposite. Thus, in rude ages, men, unaccustomed to search for natural caus«.'s, ascribe every uncommon appearance to the immediate interposition of invisible beings; but wlien philosophy has discovered natural causes of [661-fiG3j CHAP VIII.] OF PREJUDICES, THE CAUSES OF ERROR. 473 many events, wliieh, in the days of ignor- ance, were ascribed to the immediate opera- tion of gods or dtemons, they are apt to think tliat all the phsenomena of Nature may be accounted for in the same way. and that there is no need of an invisible Maker and Governor of the world. [CG4] Rude men are, at first, disposed to ascribe inte'.Ugence and active power to everything they see move or undergo any change. " Savages," says the Abbe Raynal, " wlierc- ever they see motion which they cannot account for, there they suppose a soul." When they come to be convinced of the folly of this extreme, they are apt to run into the opposite, and to think that every thing moves only as it is moved, and acts as it is acted upon. Thus, from the e.vtreme of superstition, the transition is easy to that of atheism ; and from the extreme of ascribing activity to every part of Nature, to that of exclud- ing it altogether, and making even the deter- minations of intelligent beings, the links of one fatal chain, or the wheels of one great machine. The abuse of occult qualities in the Peri- patetic philosophy led Des Cartes and his followers to reject all occult qualities, to pretend to explain all the pliEenomena of Nature by mere matter and motion, and even to fix disgrace upon the name of occult quality. 6. Men's judgments are often perverted Dy their affections and passions. This is 60 commonly observed, and so universally acknowledged, that it needs no proof nor illustration. B. The second class of idols in Lord Bacon's division are the idola specus. These are piejudices which have their origin, «■ t from the constitution of human nature, but from something peculiar to the indiridufil. As in a cave objects vary in tlieir appear- ance according to the form of the cave and the manner in which it receives the light. Lord Bacon conceives tlie mind of every man to resemble a cave, which has its par- ticular form, and its particular manner of being enli;ihtened ; and, from these circum- stances, often gives false colours and a delu- sive appearance to objects seen in it." [ supposi- tions that can possibly be made eoru-crning the proposition to be proved, ami tlun ■* This 18 called xhe principle t\f Exclnut, in some cases, gives as full conviction as demonstration itself: and a man may be certain, that a truth is de- monstrable before it ever has been demon- strated. In other cases, a inatbenmtical pr(i|)ositiiiii may have suidi pmliable evi- deuce from induction or analogy as en- courages the mathematician to investigata 31 482 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay VII. its demonstration. But still the reasoning, proper to mathematical and other necessary truths, is demonstration ; and that which is proper to contingent truths, is probable reasoning. These two kinds of reasoning differ in other respects. In demonstrative reason- ing, one argument is as good as a thousand- On« demonstration may be more elegant tlian another ; it may be more easily com- prehended, or it may be more subservient to some purpose beyond the present. On any of these accounts it may deserve a preference : but then it is sufficient by it- self ; it needs no aid from another ; it can receive none. To add more demonstrations of the same conclusion, would be a kind of tautology in reasoning ; because one de- monstration, clearly comprehended, gives all the evidence we are capable of receiv- ing. [690] The strength of probable reasoning, for the most part, depends not upon any one argument, but upon many, which unite their force, and lead to the same conclusion. Any one of them by itself would be insuf- ficient to convince ; but the whole taken together may have a force that is irresistible, so that to desire more evidence would be absurd. Would any man seek new argu- ments to prove that there were such persons as King Charles I. or Oliver Cromwell ? Such evidence may be compared to a rope made up of many slender filaments twisted together. The rope has strength more than sufficient to bear the stress laid upon it, though no one of the filaments of which it is composed would be sufficient for that purpose. It is a common observation, that it is unreasonable to require demonstration for things which do not admit of it. It is no less unreasonable to require reasoning of any kind for things which are known with- out reasonine;. All reasoning must be grounded upon truths which are known without reasoning. In every branch of real knowledge there must be first principles whose truth is known intuitively, without reasoning, either probable or demonstrative. They are not grounded on reasoning, but all reasoning is grounded on them. It has been shewn, that there are first principles of necessary truths, and first principles of contingent truths. Demonstrative reason- ing is grounded upon the former, and pro- bable reasoning upon the latter. That we may not be embarrassed by the ambiguity of words, it is proper to observe, that there is a popular meaning of probable evidence, which ought not to be confounded with the philosophical meaning, above ex- plained. [091] In common language, probable evidence is considered as an inferior degree of evi- dence, and is opposed to certainty : so that what is certain is more than probable, and what is only probable is not certain. Phi- losophers consider probable evidence, not as a degree, but as a species of evidence, which is opposed, not to certainty, but to another species of evidence, called demon- stration. Demonstrative evidence has no degrees ; but probable evidence, taken in the philo- sophical sense, has all degrees, from the very least to the greatest, which we call certainty. That there is such a city as Rome, I am as certain as cf any proposition in Euclid ; but the evidence is not demonstrative, but of that kind which philosophers call pro- bable. Yet, in common language, it would sound oddly to say, it is probable there is such a city as Rome, because it would imply some degree of doubt or uncertainty. Taking probable evidence, therefore, in the philosophical sense, as it is opposed to demonstrative, it may have any degrees of evidence, from the least to the greatest. I think, in most cases, we measure the degrees of evidence by the effect they have upon a sound understanding, when com- prehended clearly and without prejudice. Every degree of evidence perceived by the mind, produces a proportioned degree of assent or belief. The judgment may be in perfect suspense between two contradictory opinions, when there is no evidence for either, or equal evidence for both. The least preponderaney on one side inclines the judgment in proportion. Belief is mixed with doubt, more or less, until we come to the highest degree of evidence, when all doubt vanishes, and the belief is firm and immovable. This degree of evidence, the highest the human faculties can attain, we call certainty. [692] Probable evidence not only differs in kind from demonstrative, but is itself of difi'erent kinds. The chief of these I shall mention, without pretending to make a complete enumeration. The first kind is that of human testimony, upon which the greatest part of human knowledge is built. The faith of history depends upon it, as well as the judgment of solemn tribunals, with regard to men's acquired rights, and with regard to their guilt or innocence, when they are charged with crimes. A great part of the business of the judge, of counsel at the bar, of the historian, the critic, and the antiquarian, is to canvass and weigh this kind of evidence ; and no man can act with common prudence in the ordinary occurrences of life, who has not some competent judgment of it. The belief we give to testimony, in many cases, is not solely grounded upon the vera- [690-692] CHAP. III.] OF PROBABLE REASONING. 483 city of the testifier. In a single testimony, we consider the motives a man might have to falsify. If there be no appearance of any such motive, much more if there be motives on the other side, his testimony has weight independent of his moral character. If the testimony be circumstantial, we con- sider how far the circumstances agree to- gether, and with things that are known. It is so very difficult to fabricate a story which cannot be detected by a judicious examination of the circumstances, that it acquires evidence by being able to bear such a trial. There is an art in detecting false evidence in judicial proceedings, well known to able judges and barristers ; so that I believe few false witnesses leave the bar without suspicion of their guilt. When there is an agreement of many witnesses, in a great variety of circum- stances, without the possibility of a previous concert, the evidence may be equal to that of demonstration. [693] A second kind of probable evidence, is the authority of those who are good judges of the point in question. The supreme court of judicature of the British nation, is often determined by the opinion of lawyers in a point of law, of physicians in a point of medicine, and of other artists, in what re- lates to their several professions. And, in the common affairs of lite, we frequently rely upon the judgment of others, in points of which we are not proper judges our- selves. A third kind of probable evidence, is that by which we recognise the identity of things and persons of our acquaintance. That two swords, two horses, or two persons, may be so perfectly alike as not to be distinguish- able by those to whom they are best known, camiot be shewn to be impossible. But we learn either from nature, or from experience, that it never happens ; or so very rarely, that a person or thing, well known to us, is immediately recognised without any doubt, when we perceive the marks or signs by which we were in use to distinguish it from all other individuals of the kind. This evidence we rely upon in the most important affairs of life ; and, by this evi- dence, the identity, both of things and of persons, is determined in courts of judica- ture. A fourth kind of probable evidence, is that whicii we have of men's future actions and conduct, from the general princi|)les of action in man, or from our knowledge of the individuals. Notwitiistanding the folly and vice that are to be found among men, there is a certain degree of prudence anki- maux can regale himself with a draught of whale-oil, and a Canadian can feast upon a dog. A Kamschatkadale lives upon jiutrid fish, and is sometimes reduced to eat the bark of trees. The ta^te of rum, or of green tea, is at first as nauseous as that of ijieca- cuan, to some persons, who may be brought by use to relish what they once found so disagreeable. [7 Iff] When we see such varieties in the taste of the palate produced Vjy custom and as- sociations, and some, perhaps, by constitu- tion, we may be the less surprised that the same causes should [inxhice like varieties in the taste of beauty ; that the African should esteem thick lijis and a flat nose; that other nations should draw out their ears, till they hang over their shoulders | that in one nation ladies should jiaint their faces, and in another should nudie them shine with grease. T). 'i'hose who conceive that there is no standard in nature by which taste nwiy be regulated, and tiiat the connnon proverb, " That there ought to be no dispute about 492 ON THE INTELLECTUAL rOWEIlS. [^KSSA Y Vlll. taste," is to be taken in the utmost latitude, go upon slender and insufficient ground. The same arguments might be used with equal force against any standard of truth. Whole nations by the force of prejudice are brought to believe the grossest absurdi- ties ; and why should it be thought that the taste is less capable of being perverted than the judgment ? It must indeed be acknow- ledged, that men differ more in the faculty of taste than in what we commonly call judgment ; and therefore it may be expected that they should be more liable to have their taste corrupted in matters of beauty and deformity, than their judgment in matters of truth and error. If we make due allowance for this, we shall see that it is as easy to account for the variety of tastes, though there be in nature a standard of true beauty, and con- sequently of good taste, as it is to account for the variety and contrariety of opinions, tliough there be in nature a standard of of truth, Hnd, consequently, of right judg- ment. [719] 6. Nay, if we speak accurately and strictly, we shall find that, in every opera- tion of taste, there is judgment implied. When a man pronounces a poem or a palace to be beautiful, he affirms something of that poem or that palace ; and every affirmation or denial expresses judgment. For we cannot better define judgment, than by saying that it is an affirmation or denial of one thing concerning another. I had occasion to shew, when treating of judg- nient, that it is implied in every perception of our external senses. There is an imme- diate conviction and belief of the existence of the quality perceived, whether it be colour, or sound, or figure ; and the same thing holds in the perception of beauty or deformity. If it be said that the perception of beauty is merely a feeling in the mind that per- ceives, without any belief of excellence in the object, the necessary consequence of this opinion is, that when I say Virgil's " Georgics" is a beautiful poem, I mean not to say anything of the poem, but only some- thing concerning myself and my feelings. Why should I use a language that expresses the contrary of what I mean ? My language, according to the necessary rules of construction, can bear no other meaning but this, that there is something in the poem, and not in me, which I call beauty. Even those who hold beauty to be merely a feeling in the person that per- Goives it, find themselves under a necessity of expressing themselves as if beauty were s^olely a quality of the object, and not of the percipient. No reason can be given why all man- kind should express themselves thus, but that they believe what they say. It is there- fore contrary to the universal sense of mankind, expressed by their language, that beauty is not really in the object, but is merely a feeling in the person who is said to perceive it. Philosophers should be very cautious in opposing the common sense of mankind ; for, when they do, they rarely miss going wrong. [720] Our judgment of beauty is not indeed a dry and unaffccting judgment, like that- of a mathematical or metaphysical truth. By the constitution of our nature, it is accom- panied with an agreeble feeling or emotion, for which we have no other name but the sense of beauty. This sense of beauty, like the perceptions of our other senses, implies not only a feeling, but an opinion of some quality in the object which occasions that feeling. In objects that please the taste, we always judge that there is some real excellence, some superiority to those that do not please. In some cases, that f-uperior ex- cellence is distinctly perceived, and can be pointed out ; in other cases, we have only a general notion of some excellence \\ Inch we cannot describe. Beauties of the former kind may be compared to the primary qualities jierceived by the external .senses ; those of the latter kind, to the secondary. 7. Beauty or deformity in an object, i-e- sults from its nature or structure. To per- ceive the beauty, therefore, we must per- ceive the nature or structure from which it results. In this the internal sense differs from the external. Our external senses may discover qualities which do not depend upon any antecedent perception. Thus, I can hear the sound of a bell, though I never perceived anything else belonging to it. But it is impossible to perceive the beauty of an object without perceiving the object, or, at least, conceiving it. On this account, Dr Hutcheson called the senses of beauty and harmony reflex or secondary senses ; because the beauty cannot be perceived unless the object be perceived by some other power of the mind. Thus, the sense of harmony and melody in sounds supjioses the external sense of hearing, and is a kind of secondary to it. A man born deaf may be a good judge of beauties of another kind, but can have no notion of melody or har- mony. The like may be said of beau- ties in colouring and in figure, which can never be perceived without the senses by which colour and figure are perceived. [721] [7 19-721 J CHAP. II.] OF NOVELTY. 493 CHAPTER II. OK THK OBJECTS OF TASTE ; AND, FIRST, OF NOVELTV. A PHILOSOPHICAL analj'sis of the objects of taste is like applying the anatomical knife to a fine face. The design of the philoso- pher, as well as of the anatomist, is not to gratify taste, but to imjirove knowledge. The reader ought to be aware of this, that he may not entertain an expectation in which he will be disappointed. By the objects of taste, I mean those qualities or attributes of things wliich are, by Nature, adapted to please a good taste. Mr Addison, and Dr Akenside after him, have reduced them to three— to wit, novelty, (/landeur, and hcauli/. This division is sufficient for all I intend to say upon the subject, and therefore I shall adopt it — observing only, that beauty is often taken in so extensive a sense as to comprehend all the objects of taste ; yet all the authors I have met with, who have given a division of the objects of taste, make beauty one species. I take tTie reason of this to be, that we have specific names for some of the quali- ties that please the taste, but not for all ; and therefore all those fall under the gene- ral name of beauty, for which there is no specific name in the division. There are, indeed, so ma'iy species of beauty, that it would be as difficult to enu- merate them perfectly, as to enumerate all the tastes we perceive by the palate. Nor does there appear to me sufficient reason for making, as some very ingenious authors have done, as many dift'ei-ent internal senses as tiiere are different species of beauty or deformity. [722] The division of our external senses is taken from the organs of perception, and not from the qualities perceived. We have not the same means of dividing the inter- nal ; because, though some kinds of beauty belong only to objects of the eye, and others to objects of the ear, there are many wliich we cannot refer to any bodily organ ; and therefore I conceive every division that has been made of our internal senses to be in some degree arbitrary. They may be made more or fewer, according as we have dis- tinct names for the various kinds of beauty and deformity ; and I suspect the most copious languages have not names for them all. Novelty is not properly a quality of the tiling to which we attribute it, far less is it a sensation in the mind to which it is new; it is a relation wliich the thing has to the knowledge of tho person. What is new to one man, may not be so to another ; [ 722, 72.3] what is new this moment, niAy be familiar to the same person some time hence. When an object is first brought to our know- ledge, it is new, wliether it be agreeable or not. It is evident, therefore, with regard to novelty, (whatever may be said of other objects of taste,) that it is not merely a sensatioH in the mind of him to whom the thing is new ; it is a real relation which the thing has to his knowledge at that time. But we are so constituted, that what is new to us commonly gives pleasure upon that account, if it be not in itself disagree- able. It rouses our attention, and occa- sions an agreeable exertion of our facul- ties. The pleasure we receive from novelty in objects has so great infiuence in human life, that it well deserves the attention of philosophers ; and several ingenious authors — particularly Dr Gerard, in his " Essay on Taste" — have, I think, successfully account- ed for it, from the principles of the human constitution. [723] We can perhaps conceive a being so made, that his hajipiness consists in a con- tinuance of the same unvaried sensations or feelings, without any active exertion on his part. Whether this be possible or not, it is evident that man is not such a being ; his good consists in the vigorous exertion of his active and intellective powers upon their proper objects ; he is made for action and progress, and cannot be happy without it ; liis enjoyments seem to be given by Nature, not so much for their own sake, as to encourage the exercise of his various powers. That tranquillity of soul in which some place human happiness, is not a dead test, but a regular progressive motion. Such is the constitution of man by the apjjoiutment of Nature. This constitution is perhaps a part of the imperfection of our nature ; but it is wisely adapted to our state, which is not intended to be stationary, but progressive, 'i'lie eye is not satiated with seeing, nor the ear with liearing ; something is always wanted. Desire and hope never cease, but remain to spur us c ii to something yet to be acquired ; and, if they could cease, human happiness must end with them. That our desire and hope be properly directed, is our part; that tiiey can never be extinguished, is the work of Nature. It is this that makes human life so busy a scene. ]Man must be doing something, good or bad, trifiing or imiuirtant ; and be must vary tho employment of his facul- ties, or their exercise will become languid, and the pleasure that attends it sicken of course. Tlie notions of enjoyment, and of lutivity, 494 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay viii. considered abstractly, are no doubt very different, and we cannot perceive a necessary connection between them. But, in our con- stitution, they are so connected by the wisdom of Nature, that they nmst go hand in hand ; and the first must be led and supported by the last. [724] An object at first, perhaps, gave much pleasure, while attention was directed to it with vigour. But attention cannot be long confined to one unvaried object, nor can it be carried round in the same narrow circle. Curiosity is a capital principle in the human constitution, and its food must be what is in some respect new. What is said of the Athenians may, in some degree, be applied to all mankind. That their time is spent in hearing, or telling, or doing some new thing. Into this part of the human constitution, I think, we may resolve the pleasure we have from novelty in objects. Curiosity is commonly strongest in child- ren and in young persons, arid accordingly novelty pleases them most. In all ages, in proportion as novelty gratifies curiosity, and occasions a vigorous exertion of any of our mental powers in attending to the new ob- ject, in the same proportion it gives plea- sure. In advanced life, the indolent and inactive have the strongest passion for news, as a relief from a painful vacuity of thought. But the pleasure derived from new objects, in many cases, is not owing solely or chiefly to their being new, but to some other cir- cumstance that gives them value. The new fashion in dress, furniture, equipage, and other accommodations of life, gives plea- sure, not so much, as I apprehend, because it is new, as because it is a sign of rank, and distinguishes a man from the vulgar. In some things novelty is due, and the want of it a real imperfection. Thus, if an author adds to the number of books with which the public is already overloaded, we expect from hira something new ; and, if he says nothing but what has been said before in as agreeable a manner, we are justly disgusted. [725] When novelty is altogether separated from the conception of worth and utility, it makes but a slight impression upon a truly correct taste. Every discovery in nature, in the arts, and in the sciences, has a real value, and gives a rational pleasure to a good taste. But things that have nothing to recommend them but novelty, are fit only to eiitertain children, or those who are distressed from a vacuity of thought. This quality of objects may therefore be com- pared to the cypher in arithmetic, which adds greatly to the value of significant figures ; but, when put by itself, signifies nothing at all. CHAPTER IIL OF GRANDEUR. The qualities which please the taste are not more various in themselves than are the emotions and feelings with which they affect our minds. Things new and uncommon affect us with a pleasing surprise, which rouses and invi- gorates our attention to the object. But this emotion soon flags, if there is nothing but novelty to give it continuance, and leaves no effect upon the mind. The emotion raised by grand objects is awful, solemn, and serious. Of all objects of contemplation, the Su- preme Being, is the most grand. His eternity, his immensity, his irresistible power, his infinite knowledge and unerring wisdom, his inflexible justice and rectitude, his su- preme government, conducting all the movements of this vast universe to the no- blest ends and in the wisest manner — are objects which fill the utmost capacity of the soul, and reach far beyond its comprehension. The emotion which this grandest of all objects raises in the human mind, is what we call devotion ; a serious recollected tem- per, which inspires magnanimity, and dis- poses to the most heroic acts of virtue. [726] The emotion produced by other objects whicli may be called grand, though iu an inferior degree, is, in its nature and in its effects, similar to that of devotion. It dis- poses to seriousness, elevates the mind above its usual state, to a kind of enthusi- asm, and inspires magnanimity, and a con- tempt of what is mean. Such, I conceive, is the emotion which the contemplation of grand objects raises in us. We are next to consider what this grandeur in objects is. To me it seems to be nothing else but such a degree of excellence, in one kind or another, as merits our admiration. There are some attributes of mind which have a real and intrinsic excellence, com- pared with their contraries, and which, in every degree, are the natural objects of esteem, but, in an uncommon degree, are ob- jects of admiration. We put a value upon them because they are intrinsically valuable and excellent. The spirit of modern philosophy would indeed lead us to think, that the worth and value we put upon things is only a sensation in our minds, and not anythins inherent in the object ; and that we might have been so constituted as to put the highest value upon the things which we now despise, and to despise the qualities which we now highly esteem. [7^4-726] niiAF, III.] OF GRANDPXR. 495 It gives me pleasure to observe, that Dr Price, in his " Review of the Questions concerning Morals," strenuously opposes this opinion, as well as that which resolves moral right and wrong into a sensation iu the minii of the spectator. That judicious author saw the consequences which these opinions draw after them, and has traced them to their source — to wit, the account given by Mr Locke, and adopted by the gen- erality uf modern philosophers, of the ori- gin of all our ideas, which account he shews to be very defective. [7-7] This pronenessto resolve everything into feelings and sensations, is an extreme into which we have been led by the desire of avoidmg an opposite extreme, as common in the ancient [>hilosophy. At first, me are prone by nature and by habit to give all their attention to things external. Their notions of the mind, and its operations, are formed from some analogy they bear to objects of sense ; and an ex- ternal existence is ascribed to things which are only conceptions or feelings of the mind. This spirit prevailed much in the philo- sophy both of Plato and of Aristotle, and produced the mysterious notions of eternal and self-existent ideas, of materia prima, of substantial forms, and others of the like nature. From the time of Des Cartes, philosophy took a contrary turn- That great man dis- covered, that many things supposed to have an external existence, were only conceptions or feelings of the mind. This track has been pursued by his successors to such an extreme as to resolve everything into sens- ations, feelings, and ideas in the mind, and to leave nothing external at all. The Peripatetics thought that heat and cold which we feel to be qualities of external objects. The moderns make heat and cold to be sensations only, and allow no real quality of body to be called by that name : and tile same judgment they have formed with regard to all secondary qualities. So far Des Cartes and Mr Locke went. Their successors being put into this track of converting into feelings things that were believed to have an external existence, found that exten-ion, solidity, figure, and all the primary qualities of body, are sensations or feelings of the mind ; and that the material world is a phjjenomenon only, and has no existence but in our mind. [728] It was then a verynatural progress to con- ceive, that beauty, harmony, and grandeur, the objects of taste, as well as right and wrong, the objects of the moral faculty, are nothing but ieelings of the mind. Those who are ycquaiiitcd with tl'.e writings of modern philosophers, can easily trace this doctrine of feelings, from Des [727-729] Cartes down to Mr Hume, who put the finishing stroke to it, by making trutJi and error to be feelings of the muid, and belief to be an operation of the sensitive part of our nature. To return to our subject, if we liearken to the dictates of common sense, we must be convinced that there is real excellence in some things, whatever our feelings or our constitution be. It depends no doubt upon our constitu- tion, whether we do or do not perceive ex- cellence where it really is : but the object has its excellence from its own constitution, and not from ours. The common judgment of mankind in this matter sufKcieutly appears in tlie language of all nations, which uniformly ascribes ex- cellence, grandeur, and beauty to the object, and not to the mind that perceives it. And I believe in this, as in most other things, we shall find the common judgment of man- kind and true philosophy not to be at va- riance. Is not power in its nature more excel- lent than weakness ; knowledge than igno- rance ; wisdom than folly ; fortitude than pusillanimity ? Is there no intrinsic excellence in self- command, in generosity, in public sjjirit ? Is not friendship a better affection of mind than hatred, a noble emulation than envy ? [12i)] Let us suppose, \i possible, a being so constituted as to have a high respect for ignorance, weakness, and folly ; to venerate cowardice, malice, and envy, and to hold the contrary qualities in contempt ; to have an esteem for lying and falsehood ; and to love most those who imposed upon him, and used him worst. Could we believe such a constitution to be anything else than madness and delirium ? It is impossible. We can as easily conceive a constitution, by which one should perceive two and three to make fifteen, or a part to be greater than the whole. Every one who attends to the operations (if his own mind will find it to be certainly true, as it is the connnon liclief of mankind, that esteem is led by opinion, and that every person draws our esteem, as far only as he a])piars either to reason or fancy to be amiable and worthy. There is therefure a real intrinsic excel- lence in some qualities of mind, as in power, knowledge, wisdom, virtue, magnanimity. These, in every degree, merit esteem ; but in an unconnnon degree they merit admir- ation ; and that which mcrita admiration we call grand. In the contemplation of unconmion ex- cellence, tln! mind feels a nol.le enthusiasm, which disposes it to tho imitation of what it admires. 496 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay VIII. When we contemplate the character of Cato — his greatness of soul, his superiority to pleasure, to toil, and to danger; his ar- derit zeal for the liberty of his country ; when we see him standing unmoved in mis- fortunes, the last pillar of the liberty of Rome, and falling nobly in his country's ruin — who would not wish to be Cato rather than Ctesar in all his triumph ? [730] Such a spectacle of a great po\i1 strug- gling with misfortune, Seneca thought not unworthy of the attention of Jupiter him- self, " Ecce spectaculum Deo diguuni, ad quod respiciat Jupiter suo operi intentus, vir fortis cum mala fortuna compositus." As the Deity is, of all objects of thought, the most grand, the descriptions given in holy writ of his attributes and works, even when clothed in simple expression, are acknowledged to be sublime. The expres- sion of Moses, " And God said. Let there be light, and there was light,"* has not escaped the notice of Longinus, a Heathen critic, as an example of the sublime. What we call sublime in description, or in speech of any kind, is a proper expres- sion of the admiration and enthusiasm which the subject produces in the mind of the speaker. If this admiration and enthu- siasm appears to be just, it carries the hearer along with it involuntarily, and by a kind of violence rather than by cool con- viction : for no passions are so infectious as those which hold of enthusiasm. But, on the other hand, if the passion of the speaker appears to be in no degree jus- tified by the subject or the occasion, it pro- duces in the judicious hearer no other emo- tion but ridicule and contempt. The true sublime cannot be produced solely by art in the composition ; it must take its rise from grandeur in the subject, and a corresponding emotion raised in the mind of the speaker. A proper exhibition of these, thoiigh it should be artless, is irresistible, like fire thrown into the midst of combustible matter. [731] When we contemplate the earth, the sea, the planetary system, the universe, these are vast objects ; it requires a stretch of imagination to grasp them in our minds. But they appear truly grand, and merit the highest admiration, when we consider them as the work of God, who, in the simple style of scripture, stretched out the heavens, and laid the foundation of the earth ; or, in the poetical language of Milton — " In his hand He took the golden cortipasses, prepar'd In God's eternal storp, to ciirumscribe Thi> univtr,-e and all created thii.gs. One fool he ceatr'd, and the f ther turn'd Round thro' the vast piofui.dity obscure; * Better translated — " Be there 1 ght, and light there was " — H. And said, Thus far extend, thus far thy bound*, This be thy juat circumference, O world." When we contemplate the world of Epi- curus, and conceive the universe to be a fortuitous jumble of atoms, there is nothing grand in this idea. The clashing of atoms by blind chance has nothing in it fit to raise our conceptions, or to elevate the mind. But the regular structure of a vast system of beings, produced by creating power, and governed by the best laws which perfect wisdom and goodness could contrive, is a spectacle which elevates the understanding, and fills the soul with devout admiration. A great work is a work of great power, great wisdom, and great goodness, well con- trived for some important end. But power, wisdom, and goodness, are properly the at- tributes of mind only. They are ascribed to the work figuratively, but are really inherent in the author : and by the same figure, the grandeur is ascribed to the work, but is properly inherent in the mind that made it. Some figures of speech are so natural and so common in all languages, that we are led to think them literal and proper expressions. Thus an action is called brave, virtuous, generous ; but it is evident, that valour, virtue, generosity, are the attributes of per- sons only, and not of actions. In the action considered abstractly, there is neither val- our, nor virtue, nor generosity. The same action done from a different motive may deserve none of those epithets. [732] The change in this case is not in the action, but in the agent ; yet, in all languages, generosity and other moral qualities are ascribed to actions. By a figure, we assign to the effect a quality which is inherent only in the cause. By the same figure, we ascribe to a work that grandeur which properly is inherent in the mind of the author. When we consider the " Iliad" as the work of the poet, its sublimity was really in the mind of Homer. He conceived great characters, great actions, and great events, in a manner suitable to their nature, and with those emotions which they are naturally fitted to produce ; and he conveys his conceptions and his emotions by the most proper signs. The grandeur of his thoughts is reflected to our eye by his work, and, therefore, it is justly called a grand work. When we consider the things presented to our mind in the " Iliad" witliout regard to the poet, the grandeur is properly in Hector and Achilles, and the other great personages, human and divine, brought upon the stage. Next to the Deity and his works, we ad- mire great talents and heroic virtue in men, wliether represented in history or in fiction. The virtues of Cato, Aristides, Socrates, [730-732] pexere, silent, arrectisque auribus adstant. Ule regit dictis animos, et peclora mulcet. Sic cunctus pelagi cecidit fragor." The wonderful genius of Sir Isaac New- ton, and his sagacity in discovering the laws of Nature, is admirably expressed in that short but sublime epitaph by Pope : — " Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night ; God said. Let Newton be — and all was light." Hitherto we have found grandeur only in qualities of mind ; but, it may be asked, Is there no real grandeur in material objects ? It will, perhaps, appear extravagant to deny that there is ; yet it deserves to be considered, whether all the grandeur we ascribe to objects of sense be not derived from something intellectual, of which they are the effects or signs, or to which they bear some relation or analogy. Besides the relations of effect and cause, of sign and thing signified, there are innu- merable similitudes and analogies between things of very different nature, which lead us to connect them in our imagination, and to ascribe to the one what properly belongs to the other. Every metaphor in language is an instance of this ; and it must be remembered, that a very great part of language, which we now account proper, wasoriginallymetaphorical ; for the metapliorical meaning becomes the proper, as soon as it becomes the most usual ; much more, when that which was at first the proper meaning falls into disuse. [734] The poverty of language, no doubt, con- tributes in part to the use of metaphor; and, therefore, we find the most barren and uncultivate\' ilieni more agreeable, 'J K 498 ON TIIK INTELLECTUAL POWERS. L^-- SAY \ [II, When we consider matter as an inert, extended, divisible, and movable substance, there seems to be nothing in these qualities whicli we can call grand ; and when we ascribe grandeur to any portion of matter, however modified, may it not borrow this quality from something intellectual, of which it is the effect, or sign, or instrument, or to which it bears some analogy ? or, perhaps, because it produces in the mind an emotion that has some resemblance to that admira- tion which truly grand objects raise '■ [736] A very elegant writer on the sublime and beautiful,* makes everything grand or sub- lime that is terrible. Might he not be led to this by the similarity between dread and admiration ? Both are grave and solemn passions ; both make a strong impression upon the mind ; and both are very infec- tious. But they differ specifically, in this respect, that admiration supposes some un- common excellence in its object, which dread does not. We may admire what we see no reason to dread ; and we may dread what we do not admire. In dread, there is nothing of that enthusiasm which naturally accompanies admiration, and is a chief in- gredient of the emotion raised by what is truly grand or sublime. Upon the whole, I humbly apprehend that true grandeur is such a degree of ex- cellence as is fit to raise an enthusiastical admiration ; that this grandeur is found, originally and properly, in qualities of mind ; that it is discerned, in objects of sense, only by reflection, as the light we perceive in the moon and planets is truly the light of the sun ; and that those who look for grandeur in mere matter, seek the living among the dead. If this be a mistake, it ought, at least, to be granted, that the grandeur which we perceive in qualities of mind, ought to have a different name from that which belongs properly to the objects of sense, as they are very different in their nature, and produce very different emotions in the mind of the spectator. [737] CHAPTER IV. OF B»AUTV. Beauty is found in things so various and so very different in nature, that it is difficult to say wherein it consists, or what there can be common to all the objects in which it is -found. Of the objects of sense, we find beauty in colour, in sound, in form, in motion. There are beauties of speech, and beauties of thought ; beauties in the arts, and in the * Burke.— H. sciences ; beauties in actions, in affections, and in characters. In things so different and bo unlike is there any quality, the same in all, which we may call by the name of beauty ? What can it be that is common to the thouglit of a mind and the form of a piece of matter, to an abstract theorem and a stroke of wit ? I am indeed unable to conceive any qua- lity in all the different things that are called beautiful, that is the same in them all. There seems to be no identity, nor even similarity, between the beauty of a theorem and the beauty of a piece of music, though both may be beautiful. The kinds of beauty seem to be as various as the objects to which it is ascribed. But why should things so different be called by the same name ? This cannot be without a reason. If there be nothing com- mon in the things themselves, they must have some common relation to us, or to something else, which leads us to give them the same name. [738] All the objects we call beautiful agree in two things, which seem to concur in our sense of beauty. First, When they are perceived, or even imagined, they pi-oduce a certain agreeable emotion or feeling in the mind; and, secondly. This agreeable emotion is accompanied with an opinion or belief of their having some perfection or excellence belonging to them. Whether the pleasure we feel in contem- plating beautiful objects may have any ne- cessary connection with the belief of their excellence, or whether that pleasure be con- joined with this belief, by the good pleasure only of our Maker, I will not determine. The reader may see Dr Price's sentiments upon this subject, which merit considera- tion, in the second chapter of his " Review of the Questions concerning Morals." Though we may be able to conceive these two ingredients of our sense of beauty dis- joined, this affords no evidence that they have no necessary connection. It has in- deed been maintained, that whatever we can conceive, is possible : but I endeavoured, in treating of conception, to shew, that this opinion, though very common, is a mistake. There may be, and probably are, many necessary connections of things in nature, which we are too dim-sighted to discover. The emotion produced by beautiful ob- jects is gay and pleasant. It sweetens and humanises the temper, is friendly to every benevolent affection, and tends to allay sullen and angry passions. It enlivens the mind, and disposes it to other agreeable emotions, such as those of love, hope, and joy. It gives a value to the object, ab- stracted from its utility. In things that may be possessed as pro- perty, beauty greatly enhances the price. [T 36-738] ( IIAP IV J OF BEAUTY. A beautiful dog or liorse, a beautiful coach or house, a beautiful picture or prospect, is valued by its owuer aud by others, not only for its utility, but for its beauty. [739] If the beautiful object be a person, his company aud conversation are, on that ac- count, the more agreeable, and we are dis- posed to love aud esteem him. Even in a perfect stranger, it is a powerful recom- mendation, and disposes us to favour and think well of him, if of our own sex, and still more if of the other. " There is nothing," says Mr Addison, " that makes its way more directly to the soul than beauty, which immediately diffuses a secret satisfaction and complacence through the imagination, and gives a finishing to anything that is great and uncommon. The very first discovery of it strikes the mind with an inward joy, and spreads a cheerfulness and delight through all its faculties." As w^e ascribe beauty, not only to per- sons, but to inanimate things, we give the name of love or liking to the emotion, which beauty, in both these kinds of objects, produces. It is evident, however, that liking to a person is a very different affec- tion of mind from liking to an inanimate thing. The first always implies benevo- lence ; but what is inanimate cannot be the object of benevolence. The two affections, however different, have a resemblance in some respects ; and, on account of that resemblance, have the same name. And perhaps beauty, in these two different kinds of objects, though it has one name, may be as different in its nature as the emotions which it produces in us. Besides the agreeable emotion which beautiful objects produce in the mind of the spectator, they produce also an opuiion or judgment of some perfection or excel- lence in the object. This I take to be a second ingredient in our sense of beauty, though it seems not to be admitted by modern philosophers. [740] The ingenious Dr llutcheson, who per- ceived some of the defects of Mr Locke's system, and made very important improve- ments upon it, seems to have been carried away by it, in his notion of beauty. In his " Inquiry concerning Beauty," § 1, " Let it be observed," says he, "that in the following papers, the word beauty is taken for the idea raised in us, and the sense of beauty for our power of receiving that idea." And again — " Only let it be observed, that, by absolute or original beauty, is not under- stood any quality supposed to be in the object which should, of itself, be beautiful, without relation to any mind which per- ceives it : for beauty, like other names of sensible ideas, jiroperly denotes the per- ception of some mind ; so cold, hot, Hweet, [739-711] bitter, denote the sensations in our minds, to which, perhaps, there is no resemblance in the objects which excite these ideas iii U9 ; however, we generally imagine other- wise. Were there no mind, with a sense of beauty, to contemplate objects, I see not how they could be called beautiful." There is no doubt an analogy between the external senses of touch and taste, and the internal sense of beauty. This analogy led Dr Hutcheson, and other modern phi"- losophers, to apply to beauty what Des Cartes and Locke had taught concerning the secondary qualities perceived by the external senses. Mr Locke's doctrine concerning the se- condary qualities of body, is not so much an error in judgment as an abuse of words. He distinguished very properly between the sensations we have of heat and cold, and that quality or structure in the body which is adapted by Nature to produce those sensations in us. He observed very justly, that there can be no similitude be- tween one of these and the other. They have the relation of an effect to its cause, but no similitude. This was a very just and proper correction of the doctrine of the Peripatetics, who taught, that all our sens- ations are the very form and image of the quality in the object by which they are produced. [7-H] What remained to be determined was, whether the words, heat and cold, in com- mon language, signify the sensations we feel, or the qualities of the object which are the cause of these sensations. Mr Locke made heat and cold to signify only the sensations we feel, and not the qualities which are the cause of them. And in this, 1 apprehend, lay his mistake. For it is evident, from the use oi laiiguage, that hot and cold, sweet and bitter, are attributes of external objects, and not of the person who perceives them. Hence, it appears a mon- strous paradox to say, there is no heat in the fire, no sweetness in sugar ; but, when explained accordmg to Mr Locke's meaning, it is only, like most other paradoxes, an abuse of words.* The sense of" beauty may be analysed in a manner very similar to the, sense of sweet- ness. It is an agreeable feeling or emotion, accompanied with an opinion or judgment of some excellence in the object, which is fitted by Nature to produce that feeling. The feeling is, no doubt, in the mind, and so also is the judgment we form of the object : but this judgment, like all others*, nnist be true or false. If it Ik^ a true judg- ment, there is some rcid excellence in the object. And the use of all languages shews that the name of beauty belongs to this ex- 'r Sof aliovp, p. «05, b, note *.— 11. \l K '-' 500 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS [essay VIII. rellence of the object, and not to the feel- inf);s of the spectator. To say that there is, in reality, no beauty in those objects in which all men perceive beauty, is to attribute to man fallacious senses. But we have no ground to think so disrespectfully of the Author of our being ; the faculties he hath given us are not fallacious ; nor is that beauty which he hath so liberally diffused over all the works of his hands, a mere fancy in us, but a real excellence in his works, which express the perfection of their Divine Author. We have reason to believe, not only that the beauties we see in nature are real, and not fanciful, but that there are thousands which our faculties are too dull to perceive. We see many beauties, both of human and divine art, which the brute animals are in- capable of perceiving ; and superior beings may excel us as far in their discernment of true beauty as we excel the brutes. [742] The man who is skilled in painting or statuary sees more of the beauty of a fine picture or statue than a common specta- tor. The same thing holds in all the fine arts. The most perfect works of art have a beauty that strikes even the rude and ig- norant ; but they see only a small part of that beauty which is seen in such works by those who understand them perfectly, and can produce them. This may be applied, with no less justice, to the works of Nature. They have a beauty that strikes even the ignorant and inattentive. But the more we discover of their structure, of their mutual relations, and of the laws by which they are governed, the greater beauty, and the more delightful marks of art, wisdom, and goodness, we discern. Thus the expert anatomist sees number- less beautiful contrivances in the structure of the human body, which are unknown to the ignorant. Although the vulgar eye sees much beauty in the face of the heavens, and in the various motions and changes of the heavenly bodies, the expert astronomer, who knows their order and distances, their periods, the orbits they describe in the vast regions of space, and the simple and beautiful laws by which their motions are governed, and all the appearances of their stations, progressions, and retrogradations, their eclipses, occulta- tions, and transits are produced — sees a beauty, order, and harmony reign through the whole planetary system, which delights the mind. The eclipses of the sun and moon, and the blazing tails of comets, which strike terror into barbarous nations, furnish the most pleasing entertainment to his eye, and a feast to his understanding. [743] In every part of Nature's works, there are numberless beauties, which, on account of our ignorance, we are unable to perceive- Superior beings may see more than we ; but He only who made them, and, upon a re- view, pronounced them all to be very good, can see all their beauty. Our determinations with regard to the beauty of objects, may, I think, be distin- guished into two kinds ; the first we may call instinctive, the other rational. Some objects strike us at once, and ap- pear beautiful at first sight, without any re- flection, without our being able to say why we call them beautiful, or being able to spe- cify any perfection which justifies our judg- ment. Something of this kind there seems to be in brute animals, and in children before the use of reason ; nor does it end with infancy, but continues through life. In the plumage of birds and of butterflies, in the colours and form of flowers, of shells, and of many other objects, we perceive a beauty that delights ; but cannot say what it is in the object that should produce that emotion. The beauty of the object may in such cases be called an occult quality. We know well how it affects our senses ; but what it is in itself we know not. But this, as well as other occult qualities, is a proper subject of philosophical disquisition ; and, by a care- ful examination of the objects to which Na- ture hath given this amiable quality, we may perhaps discover some real excellence in the object, or, at least, some valuable purpose that is served by the effect which it produces upon us. This instinctive sense of beauty, in differ- ent species of animals, may differ as much as the external sense of taste, and in each species be adapted to its manner of life. By this perhaps the various tribes are led to associate with their kind, to dwell among certain objects rather than others, and to construct their habitation in a particular manner. [744] There seem likewise to be varieties in the sense of beauty in the individuals of the same species, by which they are directed in the choice of a mate, and in the love and care of their offspring. " We see," says Mr Addison, " that every different species of sensible creatures has its different notions of beauty, and that each of them is most affected with the beauties of its own kind. This is nowhere more remarkable than in birds of the same shape and proportion, where we often see the mate determined in his courtship by the single grain or tincture of a feather, and never discovering any charms but in the colour of its own species." '< Scit thalamo servare fidcm, sanctaeque veretur Connubii leges ; non ilium in pectore candor SoUicitat niveus ; neque pravum accendit amo. rem [74.2-744] CHAP, v."] OF BEAUTY. 501 Splendida lanugo, vel honesta in vertice crista ; Purpureusve nitor pennarum ; ast apmiiia late Fceminea explorat cautiis, maculasque requirit Cognatas, paribusque iiiterlita c rpora guttis : Ni I'acert't, pictis sylvam circum uiiJique 1110113- tris Confusam aspiceres vulgo, partusque biformes, Et genus ambiguum, el veneris monumenta ne- lands:. " Hinc merula in nigrn se oblectat nigra marito; Hiiic socium lasciva petit philomela canorum, Agnoscitque pares soiiitus ; liinc noclua teiram Canitiem alarum, et glaueos miratur ocellos. Nempe sibi semper constat, crescitque quotannis I.,ucida progenies, castes contcssa parentes : Vere novo exultat, plumasque decora jiiventus Explicat ad solem, patriisque coloribus ardet." In the human kind there are varieties in the taste of beauty, of wliich we can no more assign a reason than of the variety of their features, though it is easy to perceive that very important ends are answered by both. These varieties are most observable in the judgments we form of tlie features of the other sex ; and in this the intention of nature is most apparent. [745] As far as our determinations of the com- parative beauty of objects are instinctive, they are no subject of reasoning or of criti- cism ; they are purely the gift of nature, and we have no standard by which they may be measured. But there are judgments of beauty that may be called rational, being grounded on some agreeable quality of the object wliieh is distinctly conceived, and may be specified. This distinction between a rational judg- ment of beauty and that which is instinc- tive, may be illustrated by an instance. In a heap of pebbles, one that is remark- able for brilliancy of colour and regularity of figure, will be picked out of the heap by a child. He perceives a beauty in it, puts a value upon it, and is fond of the property ot it. For this preference, no reason can be given, but that children are, by their con- titution, fond of brilliant colours, and ot regular figures. Suppose again tliat an expert mechanic views a well constructed machine. He sees all its parts to be made of the fittest mate- rials, and of the most proper form ; no- thing superfluous, nothing deficient ; every part adapted to its use, and the whole fitted in the most perfect manner to the end for which it is intended. He pronounces it to be a beautiful machine. lie views it with the same agreeable emotion as the child viewed the pebble ; but he can give a reason for his judgment, and jioint out the particu- lar perfections of the object ou which it is grounded. [V-ltJJ Although the instinctive and the rational sense of beauty may be perfectly distin- guislied in Hp(;culation, yet, in passing jii'lg- ment upon particular olijects, tiiey are ofitii so mixed and confounded, that it is diificull to assign to e:i<-h lis own jirovincc. Nay, it [71-5 7i7] may often happen, that a judgment of the beauty of an object, wliich was at first merely instinctive, shall afterwards become rational, when we discover some latent per- fection of which that beauty in the object ia a sign. As the sense of beauty may be distin- guished into instinctive and rational ; so I think beauty itself may be distinguished into original and derived. As some objects shine by their own light, and many more by light that is borrowed and reflected ; so I conceive the lustre of beauty in some objects is inherent and original, and in many others is borrowed and reflected. There is nothing more common in the sentiments of all mankind, and in the lan- guage of all uations, than what may be called a communication of attributes ; that is, transferring an attribute, from the sub- ject to which it properly belongs, to some related or resembling subject. The various objects which nature pre- sents to our view, even those that are most ditferent in kind, have innumerable simili- tudes, relations, and analogies, which we contemplate with pleasure, and which lead us naturally to borrow words and attributes from one object to express what belongs to another. The greatest part of every lan- guage under heaven is made up of words borrowed from one thing, and applied to something supposed to have some relation or analogy to their first signification. [T-ll] The attributes of body we ascribe to mind, and the attributes of mind to material ob- jects. To inanimate things we ascribe life, and even intellectual and moral qualities. And, although the qualities that are thus made common belong to one of the subjects in the proper sense, and to the other meta- phorically, these different senses are often so mixed in our imagination, as to produce the same sentiment with regard to both. It is therefore natural, and agreeable to the strain of human sentiments and of human language, that in many cases the beauty which originally and properly is in the thing signified, should be transferred to the sign ; that wliich is in the cause to the efl'ect ; that which is in the end to the means; and that which is in the agent to the instrument. If what was s.iid in the last chapter of the distinction between the grandeur wliich we ascribe to qualities of mind, and that which we ascribe to material objects, be well founiled, this distinction of the beauty of oljjects will easily be admit ttd as per- fectly analagous to it. 1 hhall therefore iiiily iHu^>lrale it by an example. 'J'lieie is nothing in the exterior of a man more lovely and more attractive than per- fect good breeding. lUit what is lliiH good 502 OxV THK INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [es-say VIII. breeding ? It cousists of all the external signs of due respect to our superiors, con- descension to our inferiors, politeness to all with wliom we converse or have to do, joined in the fair sex with that delicacj' of outward behaviour which becomes them. And how comes it to have such charms in the eyes of all mankind ; for this reason only, as I apprehend, that it is a natural sign of that temper, and those affections and sentiments with regard to others, and with regard to ourselves, which are in themselves truly amiable and beautiful- This is the original, of which good breed- ing is the picture ; and it is the beauty of the original that is reflected to our sense by the picture. The beauty of good breed- ing, therefore, is not originally in the ex- ternal behaviour in which it consists, but is derived from the qualities of mind which it expresses. And though there may be good breeding without the amiable qualities of raind, its beauty is still derived from what it naturally expresses. [748] Having explained these distinctions of our sense of beauty into instinctive and rational, and of beauty itself into original and derived, I would now proceed to give a general view of those quahties in objects, to which we may justly and rationally ascribe beauty, whether original or derived. But here some embarrassment arises from the vague meanmg of the word beauty, which I had occasion before to observe. Sometimes it is extended, so as to include everything that pleases a good taste, and so comprehends grandeur and novelty, as well as what in a more restricted sense is called beauty. At other times, it is even by good writers confined to the objects of sight, when they are either seen, or remem- bered, or imagined. Yet it is admitted by all men, that there are beauties in music ; that there is beauty as well as sublimity in composition, both in verse and in prose ; that there is beauty in characters, in affec- tions, and in actions. These are not ob- jects of sight ; and a man may be a good judge of beauty of various kinds, who has not the faculty of sight. To give a determinate meaning to a word so variously extended and restricted, I know no better way than what is suggested by the common division of the objects of taste into novelty, grandeur, and beauty. Novelty, it is plain, is no quality of the new object, but merely a relation which it has to the knowledge of the person to whom it is new. Therefore, if this general divi- sion be just, every quality in an object that pleases a good taste, must, iu one degree or another, have either grandeur or beauty. It may still be difficult to fix the precise limit betwixt grandeur and beauty 4 but they must together comprehend everything fitted by its nature to please a good taste — that is, every real perfection and excellence in the objects we contemplate. [749] In a poem, in a picture, in a piece of music, it is real excellence that pleases a good taste. In a person, every perfection of the mind, moral or intellectual, and every perfection of the body, gives pleasure to the spectator, as well as to the owner, when there is no envy nor malignity to destroy that pleasure. It is, therefore, in the scale of perfection and real excellence that we must look for what is either grand or beautiful in objects. What is the proper object of admiration is grand, and what is the proper object of love and esteem is beautiful. This, I think, is the only notion of beauty that corresponds with the division of the objects of taste which has been generally received by philosophers. And this con- nection of beauty with real perfection, was a capital doctrine of the Socratic school. It is often ascribed to Socrates, in the dia- logues of Plato and of Xenophon. We may, therefore, take a view, first, of those qualities of mind to which we may justly and rationally ascribe beauty, and then of the beauty we perceive in the objects of sense. We shall find, if I mistake not, that, in the first, original beauty is to be found, and that the beauties of the second class are derived from some relation they bear to mind, as the signs or expressions of some amiable mental quality, or as the effects of design, art, and wise contrivance. As grandeur naturally produces admira- tion, beauty naturally produces love. We may, therefore, justly asci-ibe beauty to those qualities which are the natural objects of love and kind affection. Of this kind chiefly are some of the moral virtues, which, in a peculiar manner, con- stitute a lovely character. Innocence, gen- tleness, condescension, humanity, natural affection, public spirit, and the whole train of the soft and gentle virtues: these qualities are amiable from their very nature, and on account of their intrinsic worth. [750] There are other virtues that raise admira- tion, and are, therefore, grand ; such as magnanimity, fortitude, self-command, su- periority to pain and labour, superiority to pleasure, and to the smiles of Fortune as well as to her frowns. These awful virtues constitute what is most grand in the human character ; the gentle virtues, what is most beautiful and lovely. As they are virtues, they draw the approbation of our moral faculty ; as they are becoming and amiable, they affect our sense of beauty. Next to the amiable moral virtues, there are many intellectual talents which have an intrinsic value, and draw our loveanc' esteem f7 4S-750] Cli.AP. IV.J OF BEAUTY. 503 to those who possess them. Such are, knowledge, good sense, wit, humour, clieer- fulness, g.iod taste, excellence in any of the fine arts, in eloquence, in dramatic action; and, we may add, excellence in every art of peace or war that is useful in society. There are likewise talents which we refer to the body, which have an original beauty and comeliness ; such as healtli, strength, and agility, the usual attendants of youth ; skill in bodily exercises, and skill in the mechanic arts. These are real perfections of the mail, as they increase his power, and render the body a fit instrument for the mind. I apprehend, therefore, that it is in the moral and intellectual perfections of mind, and in its active powers, that beauty origin- ally dwells ; and that from this as the foun- tain, all the beauty which we perceive in the visible world is derived. [751] Tliis, I think, was the opinion of the ancient philosophers before-named ; and it has been adopted by Lord Shaftesbury and Dr Ake.'iside among the modenis. "Mind, mind alone, bear witness, earfh an;I heav'n I The living fountains in itselt contains Ofbeauteoiis and sublime. Here hand in hatid Si paranuiunt the graces. Here enthron'd, Celestial Venus, with divinost airs, Invites the soul to never-t'adingjoy." — Akenside. But neither mind, nor any of its qualities or ]x)wers, is an immediate object of per- ception to man. We are, indeed, imme- diately conscious of the operations of our own mind ; and every degree of ])erfection in tliem gives the purest pleasure, with a proportional degree of self-esteem, so flat- tering to self-love, that the great difficulty is to keep it within just bounds, so that we may not think of ourselves above what we ought to thinlc. Other minds we perceive only through the medium of matei'ial objects, on which their signatures are impressed. It is through this medium that we perceive life, activity, wisdom, and every moral and in- tellectual quality in other beings. The signs of those qualities are immediately perceived by the senses ; by them the ipia- lities themselves are reflected to our under- standing ; and we are very apt to attribute to the sign the beauty or the grandeur which is properly and originally in tlie thini;s signified. The invisible Creator, the Fountain of all f)erfection, hath stamped upon all his works signatures of his divine wisdom, power, and benignity, which are visible to all men. The works of men in .science, in the arts of taste, and in the mechanical arts, bear the signatures of those qualities ol'mind which were emplitycil in theii' jjrn- diiction. Their external behaviour and conduct in life expresses tlie good or bad qualities of their mind. | V-''- 1 [7/;i-7.i.3] In every species of animals, we perceive by visible signs their instincts, their appe- tites, their aftections, their sagacity. Even in the inanimate world, there are many things analogous to the qualities of mind ; so that there is hardly anything belonging to mind whicli may not be represented by images taken from the objects of sense ; and, on the other hand, every object of sense is beautified, by borrowing attire from the attributes of mind. Thu=, the beauties of mind, though invi- sible in themselves, are perceived in the objects of sense, on which their image is impressed. If we consider, on the otlier hand, the qualities in sensible objects to which we ascribe beauty, I apprehend we shall find in all of them some relation to mind, and the greatest in those that are most beau- tiful. When we consider inanimate matter abstractly, as a substance endowed with the qualities of extension, solidity, divisi- bility, and mobility, there seems to be nothing in these qualities that affects our sense of beauty. But when we contem- plate the globe which we inhabit, as fitted by its form, by its motions, and by its fur- niture, for the habitation and support of an infinity of various orders of living creatures, from the lowest reptile up to man, we have a glorious spectacle indeed ! with which the grandest and the most beautiful struc- tures of human art can bear no compa- rison. The only perfection of dead matter is its being, by its various forms and qualities, .so admirably fitted for the purposes of ani- mal life, and chiefly that of man. It fur- nishes the materials of every art that tends to the support or the embellishment of human life. By the Supreme Artist, it is organized in the various tribes of the veget- able kingdom, and endowed with a kind of life ; a wurk whicli human art cannot imi- tate, nor human understanding compre- hend, [irui] In the bodies and various organs of the animal tril)es, there is a composition of matter still more wonderful and more mys- terious, though we see it to bo admirably adai)ted to the purposes and manner of lifo of every species. But in h] stinct, recommends to his attention. By degrees, he becomes a critic in beauties of this kind, and can give a reason why he prefers one to another. In every species, he sees the greatest beauty in the plants or flowers that are most perfect in their kind — which have neither suttered from unkindly soil nor inclement weather ; which have not been robbed of their nourishment by other plants, nor hurt by any accident. When he examines the internal structure of those productions of Nature, and traces them from their embryo state in the seed to their maturity, he sees a thousand beautiful con- trivances of Nature, which feast his under- standing more than their external form delighted his eye. Thus, every beauty in the vegetable creation, of which lie has formed any ra- tional judgment, expresses some perfection in the object, or some wise contrivance in its Author. [75S] In the animal kingdom, we perceive still greater beauties than in the vegetable- Here we observe life, and sense, and activity, various instincts and aftections, and, in many cases, great sagacity. These are attributes of mind, and have an original beauty. As we allow to brute animals a thinking principle or mind, though far inferior to that which is in man ; and as, in many of their intellectual and active powers, they very much resemble the human species, their actions, their motions, and even their looks, derive a beauty from the powers of thought which they express. There is a wonderful variety in their manner of life ; and we find the powers they possess, their outward form, and their in- ward structure, exactly adapted to it. In every species, the more perfectly any indi- vidual is fitted for its end and manner of life, the greater is its beauty. In a race-horse, everything that expresses agility, ardour, and emulation, gives beauty to the animal. In a pointer, acuteness of scent, eagerness on the game, and tractablc- ness, are the beauties of the species. A sheep derives its l)eauty from the fineness and fjuantity of its fleece ; and in the wibl animals, every beauty is a sign of their perfection in their kind. It is an observation of the celebrated Linnieus, that, in the vegetable kingdom, the poisonous plants I ave connnonlv a hirid and disagreeable appearance to the eye, of which he gives many instances. 1 ii|'pre- hend the observation may be extended to the animal kingdom, in which we commonly see Homethiiig shocking to the eye in tho noxious anil ])oisonons animals. The beauties whieli anatomists and ])liy- siologists describe in the internal struct nro of the various (ril)os of animals; in tii« 506 ON TFIE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay viii. organs of sense, of nutrition, and of motion, are expressive of wise design and contriv- ance, in fitting tlieni for the various kinds of life for which they are intended. [759] Thus, I think, it appears that the beauty which we perceive in the inferior animals, is expressive, either of such perfections as their several natures may receive, or ex- pressive of wise design in Him who made them, and that their beauty is derived from the perfections which it expresses. But of all the objects of sense, the most striking and attractive beauty is perceived in the human species, and particularly in the ftiir sex. Milton represents Satan himself, in sur- veying the furniture of this globe, as struck with the beauty of the first happy pair. " Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall, Godlike erect! with native honour clad In naken m.ijesty, seem'd lords of all. And worthy seem'd, for in th ir looks divine. The image of their glorious Maker, shone Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure; Severe, but in tiue lilial freedom plac'd. Whence true authority in man ; thou(;h both Not equal, as their s:x not equal seem'd. For contemplation he, and valour (orni'd. Forsottness she, and sweet attractive gr„ce." In this well-known passage of Milton, we see that this great poet derives the beauty of the first pair in Paradise from those expressions of moral and intellectual qualities which appeared in their outward form and demeanour. The most minute and systematical ac- count of beauty in the human species, and particularly in the fair sex, I have met with, is in " Crito ; or, a Dialogue on Beauty," said to be written by the author of " Polymetis,"* and republished by Dods- ley in his collection of fugitive pieces. [760] I shall borrow from that author some observations, which, I think, tend to shew- that the beauty of the human body is derived from the signs it exhibits of some perfection of the mind or person. All that can be called beauty in the human species may be reduced to these four heads : colour, form, expression, and grace. The two former may be called the body, the two latter the soul of beauty. The beauty of colour is not owing solely to the natural liveliness of tiesh-colour and red, nor to the much greater charms they receive from being properlj' blended toge- ther ; but is also owing, in some degree, to the idea they carry with them of good health, without which all beauty grows languid and less engaging, and with which it always recovers an additional strength a:-.d lustre. This is supported by the autho- rity of Cicero. Venuntas el pukhriindo corporis secend rion pute.^l a vnletud ne. * .Spence, under the name of Sir Harry I'eau- mont — H. Here I observe, that, as the colour of the body is very different in different climates, every nation preferring the colour of its climate, and as, among us, one man prefers a fair beauty, another a brunette, without- being able to give any reason for this pre- ference ; this diversity of taste has no stand- ard in the common principles of human nature, but must arise from something that is different in different nations, audnn dif- ferent individuals of the same nation. I observed before, that fashion, habit, associations, and perhaps some peculiarity of constitution, may have great influence upon this internal sense, as well as upon the external. Setting aside the judgments arising from such causes, there seems to remain nothing that, according to the com- mon judgment of mankind, can be called beauty in the colour of the species, but what expresses perfect health and Hveli- ness, and in the fair sex softness and deli- cacy ; and nothing that can be called deform- ity but what indicates disease and decline. And if this be so, it follows, that the beauty of colour is derived from tiie perfections which it expresses. This, however, of all the ingredients of beauty, is the least. [761 ] The next in order is form, or proportion of parts. The most beautiful form, as the author thinks, is that which indicates deli- cacy and softness in the fair sex, and in the male either strength or agility. The beau- ty of form, therefore, lies all in expression. The third ingredient, which lias more power than either colour or form, he calls expression, and observes, that it is only the expression of the tender and kind passions that gives beauty ; that all the cruel and unkind ones add to deformity ; and that, on this account, good nature may very justly be said to be the best feature, even in the finest face. Modesty, sensibility, and sweetness, blended together, so as either to enliven or to correct each other, give al- most as much attraction as the pa.ssions are capable of adding to a very pretty face. It is owing, says the author, to the great force of pleasingness which attends all the kinder passions, that lovers not only seem, but really are, more beautiful to each other than they are to the rest of the world ; be- cause, when they are together, the most pleas- ing passioiis are more frequently exerted in each of their faces than they are in either before the re.st of the world. There is then, as a French author veiy well expresses it, a soul upon their countenances, which does not aj.pear when they are absent from one another, or even in company that lays a re- straint upon their features. Thene is a great difference in the same face, according as the person is in a better or a worse humour, or more or less lively. The best complexion, the finest features, [759-761] CHAP. IV.J OF BEAUTY. 5!»7 and tlie exactest sliape, without auythinp; of the miTid expressed in the face, is insipid and unmoving. The finest eyes in the world, with an excess of malice or rage in them, will grow shocking. The passions can give beauty without the assistance of colour or form, and take it away where these have united most strongly to give it ; and therefore this part of beauty is greatly superior to the other two. [762] The last and noblest part of beauty is grace, which the author thinks undefin- able. Nothing causes love so generally and ir^ rcsistibly as grace. Therefore, in the m^'- thology of the Greeks and Romans, the Graces were the constant attendants of Venus the goddess of love. Grace is lilie the cestus of the same goddess, which was supposed to comprehend everything that was winning and engaging, and to create love by a secret and inexplicable force, like that of some magical charm. There are two kinds of grace — the majes- tic and the familiar ; the first more com- manding, the last more deliglitful and en- gaging. The Grecian painters and sculp- tors used to express the former most strongly in the looks and attitudes of their ]\Iiner- vas, and the latter in those of Venus. This distinction is marked in the description of the personages of Virtue and Pleasure in the ancient fable of the Choice of Hercules. " Graceful, bui e^ch with different grace they move. This striking sacred awe, that softer winning lovt." In the persons of Adam and Eve in Pa- radise, Milton has made the same distinc- tion — " Tor contemplation he, and valour formed, For softness she, and sweet attractive griice."[76.'i] Though grace be so difficult to be defined, there are two things that hold universally with relation to it. First, There is no grace without motion ; some genteel or pleasing motion, either of the whole liody or of some limb, or at least some feature. Hence, in the face, grace appears only on those features that are niovaUe, and cliaiigo with the various emotions and sentiments of the mind, such as tlie eyes and eye- brows, the mouth and parts adjacent. When Venus appeared to her son ^neas in disguise, and, after some conversation with liim, retired, it was liy the grace of her motion in retiring that he discovered her lie to truly a goddess. " Dixit, et avcrtcns rosea cervice refulsit, Ambrosltcque comjE divinnm vertice odon m .S|)iravere; pedes vestis defluxit ad imos; Kt vera inccssu patuit dea. Hie, ubi matrcni Agnovit," &e. A srcnd oliscrvation is. That tlieie can I e no grace with \\\\\\u>\>r\vXy , or that no- thing can be graceful tliat is not adapted to the character and situation of the person. From thcHo olieervations, whicli a[)pear to me to be just, we may, I think, conclude, that grace, as far asit is vtsilile, consists of those motions, either of the whole body, or of a part or feature, which express the most perfect propriety of conduct and sentiment in an amiable character. Those motions must be different in dif- ferent characters ; they nmst vary with every variation of emotion and sentiment ; they may express either dignity or respect, confidence or reserve, love or just resent- ment, esteem or indignation, zeal or indif- ference. Every passion, sentiment, or emo- tion, that in its nature and degree is just and proper, and corresponds perfectly with the character of the person, and with the oc- casion, is what may we call the soul of grace. The I ody or visible part consists of those emotions and features which give the true and unaffected expression of this soul. [764] Thus, I think, all the ingredients of human beauty, as they are enumerated and described by this ingenious author, termi- nate in expression : they either express some perfection of the body, as a part of the man, and an instrument of the mind, or some amiaiile quality or attribute of the mind itself. It cannot, indeed, lie denied, that the expression of a fine countenance may be unnaturally disjoined from the amiaide qua- lities which it naturally expresses : Imt we presume the contrary till we have clear evi- dence ; and even then we pay homage to the expression, as we do to the throne when it happens to be unworthily filled. Whether what I have offered to shew, that all the beauty of the objects of sense is borrowed, and derived from the beauties of mind which it expresses or suggests to the imagination, be well-founded or not, I hope this terrestrial Venus will not be deemed less worthy of the homage which has always been paid to her, by being con- ceived more nearly allied to the celestial than she has commonly been represented. To make an end of this subject, taste seems to be progressive as man is. Child- ren, when refreshed by sleep, and at ease from pain and hunger, are disposed to at- tend to the objects about them ; they are pleased with brilliant colours, gaudy orna- ments, regular forms, cheerful counte- nances, noisy mirth an1 As tli<7 advance in years and in under 508 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay viii. Btanding, other beauties attract their atten- tion, which, by their novelty or superiority, throw a siiade upon those they formerly ad- mired. They delight in feats of agility, strength, and art ; they love those that ex- cel in them, and strive to equal them. In the tales and fables they hear, they begin to discern beauties of mind. Some characters and actions appear lovely, others give dis- gust. The intellectual and moral powers begin to open, and, if cherished by favour- able circumstances, advance gradually in strength, till they arrive at that degree of perfection to which human nature, in its present state, is limited. In our progress from infancy to maturity, our faculties open in a regular order ap- pointed by Nature ; the meanest first, those of more dignity in succession, until the mo- ral and rational powers finish the man. Every faculty furnishes new notions, brings new beauties into view, and enlarges the province of taste; so that we may say, there is a taste of childhood, a taste of youth, and a manly taste. Each is beau- tiful in its season ; but not so much so, when carried beyond its season. Not that the man ought to dislike the things that please the child or the youth, but to put less value upon them, compared with other beauties, with which he ought to be ac- quainted. Our moral and rational powers justly claim dominion over the whole man. Even taste is not exempted from their authority ; it must be subject to that authority in every case wherein we pretend to reason or dispute about matters of taste ; it is the voice of reason that our love or our admiration ought to be proportioned to the merit of the object. When it is not grounded on real worth, it must be the effect of constitution, or of some habit, or casual association. A fond mother may see a beauty in her dar- ling child, or a fond author in his work, to which the rest of the world are blind. In such cases, the affection is pre-engaged, and, as it were, bribes the judgmeut, to make the object worthy of that affection. For the mind cannot be easy in putting a value upon an object beyond what it con- ceives to be due. When affection is not carried away by somgL-natural or acquired bias, it naturally is and ought to be led by the judgment. [766] As, in the division which I have followed of our intellectual powers, I mentioned Moral Perception and Consciousness, the reader ^may expect that some reason should be given, why they are not treated of in this place. As to Consciousness, what I think neces- sary to be said upon it has been already said. Essay vi., chap. 5. As to the faculty of moral perception, it is indeed a most im- portant part of human understanding, and well worthy of the most attentive considera- tion, since without it we could have no con- ception of right and wrong, of duty and moral obligation, and since the first princi- ples of morals, upon which all moral rea- soning must be grounded, are its immediate dictates ; but, as it is an active as well as an intellectual power, and has an immediate relation to the other active powers of the mind, I apprehend that it is proper to defer the consideration of it till these be explained. [766] lfJW( I'MT 1 III 'A CIV IV, 101 IIJMAI 3 121001114 2435 University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 305 De Neve Drive - Parking Lot 17 • Box 951388 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90095-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. '^-i ^ ^J UC SOUTHERN RtGIONAL LIBRARY f ACUITY AA 000 622 426 5