{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_43116/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_43116","id":"gutenberg_43116","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43116","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Psychiatry/Psychology","Philosophy","Psychology"],"text":"LECTURES\n ON\n THE PHILOSOPHY\n OF\n THE HUMAN MIND.\n\n\n BY THE LATE\n THOMAS BROWN, M. D.\n\n PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF\n EDINBURGH.\n\n\n IN THREE VOLUMES.\n\n VOL. I.\n\n\n ANDOVER:\n PUBLISHED BY MARK NEWMAN.\n FLAGG AND GOULD, PRINTERS.\n 1822.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n LECTURE I.\n PAGE.\n Introduction, 9\n\n\n LECTURE II.\n\n Relation of the Philosophy of Mind to the Sciences in general, 20\n\n\n LECTURE III.\n\n Relation of the Philosophy of Mind to the Intellectual Sciences\n and Arts, 35\n\n\n LECTURE IV.\n\n Relation of the Philosophy of Mind to the Cultivation of\n Moral Feeling, 50\n\n\n LECTURE V.\n\n On the Nature of Physical Inquiry in general, 64\n\n\n LECTURE VI.\n\n On the Nature of Physical Inquiry in general, 80\n\n\n LECTURE VII.\n\n On Power, Cause, and Effect, 98\n\n\n LECTURE VIII.\n\n On Hypothesis and Theory, 113\n\n\n LECTURE IX.\n\n Recapitulation of the Four preceding Lectures, 129\n\n Application of the Laws of Physical Inquiry to the Study of\n Mind, 135\n\n\n LECTURE X.\n\n Continuation of the same Subject, 144\n\n\n LECTURE XI.\n\n Continuation of the same Subject, 162\n\n On the Phenomena of Mind in General, 167\n\n On Consciousness, 169\n\n\n LECTURE XII.\n\n On Consciousness, 178\n\n On Mental Identity, 180\n\n Identity irreconcilable with the Doctrine of Materialism, 180\n\n Distinction between Personal and Mental Identity, 182\n\n Shaftesbury's Opinion of Identity, 184\n\n Objections to the Doctrine of Mental Identity, 185\n\n\n LECTURE XIII.\n\n On the Direct Evidence of Mental Identity, 192\n\n Objections answered, 204\n\n\n LECTURE XIV.\n\n Continuation of the same Subject, 207\n\n\n LECTURE XV.\n\n Continuation of the same Subject, 224\n\n Opinion of Mr Locke respecting Identity, 230\n\n Source of his Paradox respecting it, 234\n\n Reflections suggested by his Paradox, 235\n\n\n LECTURE XVI.\n\n On the Classification of the Phenomena of Mind, 239\n\n\n LECTURE XVII.\n\n Continuation of the same Subject, 254\n\n On the External Affections of Mind, in general, 262\n\n On the less Definite External Affections, 264\n\n\n LECTURE XVIII.\n\n On the more Definite External Affections, 269\n\n\n LECTURE XIX.\n\n On the Corporeal Part of the Process, in Sensation, 283\n\n\n LECTURE XX.\n\n Particular Consideration of our Sensations, 298\n\n On Smell, 300\n\n On Taste, 301\n\n On Hearing, 305\n\n\n LECTURE XXI.\n\n Continuation of the same Subject, 312\n\n On Touch, 326\n\n\n LECTURE XXII.\n\n On the Feelings ascribed to the Sense of Touch, 328\n\n Analysis of these Feelings, 330\n\n\n LECTURE XXIII.\n\n Continuation of the same Subject, 345\n\n\n LECTURE XXIV.\n\n Continuation of the same Subject, 358\n\n\n LECTURE XXV.\n\n On the Distinction between Sensation and Perception, 379\n\n On the Primary and Secondary Qualities of Matter, 384\n\n\n LECTURE XXVI.\n\n On Dr. Reid's supposed Confutation of the Ideal System, 395\n\n Hypothesis of the Peripatetics regarding Perception, 396\n\n Opinion of Locke--Hobbes--Des Cartes--Arnauld--Le Clerc\n De Crousaz, regarding Perception, 399\n\n\n LECTURE XXVII.\n\n Examination of Dr Reid's supposed Confutation of Idealism 411\n\n\n LECTURE XXVIII.\n\n Conclusion of the Subject, 427\n\n On Vision,--Analysis of the Feelings ascribed to it, 431\n\n\n LECTURE XXIX.\n\n Continuation of the same Subject, 442\n\n\n LECTURE XXX.\n\n History of Opinions regarding Perception, 459\n\n Opinion of the Peripatetics, 462\n\n ---- of Des Cartes, 464\n\n ---- of Malebranche, 469\n\n ---- of St Austin, 472\n\n\n LECTURE XXXI.\n\n ---- of Leibnitz, 474\n\n On the External Affections combined with Desire, 479\n\n Attention, 482\n\n\n LECTURE XXXII.\n\n Continuation of the Same Subject, 490\n\n On the Internal Affections of Mind, 497\n\n On the Classification of these Affections, 500\n\n\n LECTURE XXXIII.\n\n On Locke, Condillac, and Reid's Classification of the Mental\n Phenomena, 505\n\n New Classification of the Internal Affections, 518\n\n\n LECTURE XXXIV.\n\n On Simple Suggestion, 523\n\n Advantages resulting from the Principle of Suggestion, 526\n\n On Mr Hume's Classification of the Associating or Suggesting\n Principles, 532\n\n\n\n\nLECTURES ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE HUMAN MIND.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE I.--(INTRODUCTION.)\n\n\n GENTLEMEN,\n\nThe subject on which we are about to enter, and which is to engage,\nI trust, a considerable portion of your attention for many months,\nis _the Philosophy of the Human Mind_,--not that _speculative_ and\n_passive_ philosophy only, which inquires into the nature of our\nintellectual part, and the mysterious connexion of this with the body\nwhich it animates, but that _practical_ science, which relates to the\nduties, and the hopes, and the great destiny of man, and which, even in\nanalyzing the powers of his understanding, and tracing all the various\nmodifications of which it is individually susceptible, views it chiefly\nas a general instrument of good--an instrument by which he may have the\ndignity of co-operating with his beneficent Creator, by spreading to\nothers the knowledge, and virtue, and happiness, which he is qualified\nat once to enjoy, and to diffuse.\n\n\u201cPhilosophy,\u201d says Seneca, \u201cis not formed for artificial show or\ndelight. It has a higher office than to free idleness of its languor,\nand wear away and amuse the long hours of a day. It is that which forms\nand fashions the soul, which gives to life its disposition and order,\nwhich points out what it is our duty to do, what it is our duty to\nomit. It sits at the helm, and in a sea of peril, directs the course\nof those who are wandering through the waves.\u201d \u201cNon est philosophia\npopulare artificium, nec ostentationi paratum; non in verbis sed in\nrebus est. Nec in hoc adhibetur ut aliqua oblectatione consumatur dies,\nut dematur otio nausea. Animum format et fabricat, vitam disponit,\nactiones regit, agenda et omittenda demonstrat, sedit ad gubernaculum,\net per ancipitia fluctuantium dirigit cursum.\u201d Ep. 16.\n\nSuch, unquestionably, is the great practical object of all philosophy.\nIf it increase the happiness and virtue of human kind, it must be\nallowed to have fulfilled, to human beings, the noblest of earthly\nends. The greatness of this primary object, however, perhaps fixed too\nexclusively the attention of the moral inquirers of antiquity, who, in\nconsidering man as capable of virtue and happiness, and in forming nice\nand subtle distinctions as to his supreme good, and the means by which\nhe might attain it, seem almost to have neglected the consideration of\nhis intellectual nature, as an object of mere physical science. Hence\nit happens, that, while the systems of ancient philosophy exhibit,\nin many instances, a dignity of moral sentiment as high, or almost\nas high, as the unassisted reason of man could be supposed to reach,\nand the defects of which we perhaps discover only by the aid of that\npurer light, which was not indulged to them, they can scarcely be said\nto have left us a single analysis of complex phenomena of thought\nand feeling. By some of them, indeed, especially by the Peripatetics\nand Stoics, much dialectic subtilty was employed in distinctions,\nthat may seem at first to involve such an analysis; but even these\ndistinctions were verbal, or little more than verbal. The _analytical\ninvestigation_ of the mind, in all its complexity of perceptions, and\nthoughts, and emotions, was reserved to form almost a new science in\nthe comprehensive philosophy of far later years.\n\nIf, however, during the flourishing periods of Greek and Roman letters,\nthis intellectual analysis was little cultivated, the department of\nthe philosophy of the mind, which relates to practical ethics, was\nenriched, as I have said, by moral speculations the most splendid and\nsublime. In those ages, indeed, and in countries in which no revealed\nwill of heaven had pointed out and sanctioned one unerring rule of\nright, it is not to be wondered at, that, to those who were occupied\nin endeavouring to trace and ascertain such a rule in the moral nature\nof man, all other mental inquiries should have seemed comparatively\ninsignificant. It is even pleasing thus to find the most important of\nall inquiries regarded as truly the most important, and minds of the\nhighest genius, in reflecting on their own constitution, so richly\ndiversified and adorned with an almost infinite variety of forms of\nthought, discovering nothing, in all this splendid variety, so worthy\nof investigation, as the conduct which it is fitting for man to pursue.\n\nBut another period was soon to follow, a period in which ages of long\nand dreary ignorance were to be followed by ages of futile labour,\nas long and dreary. No beautiful moral speculations were then to\ncompensate the poverty of intellectual science. But morality, and even\nreligion itself, were to be degraded, as little more than technical\nterms of a cold and unmeaning logic. The knowledge of our mental frame\nwas then, indeed, professedly cultivated with most assiduous zeal; and\nif much technical phraseology, and much contention, were sufficient\nto constitute an elaborate science, that assiduous zeal might well\ndeserve to have been rewarded with so honourable a name. But what\nreasonable hope of a progress truly scientific could be formed, when\nto treat of the philosophy of mind was to treat of every thing but of\nthe mind and its affections; when some of the most important questions,\nwith respect to it, were, Whether its essence were distinct from its\nexistence? whether its essence therefore might subsist, when it had no\nactual existence? and what were all the qualities inherent in it as a\nnonentity? In morals, whether ethics were an art or a science? whether,\nif the mind had freedom of choice, this independent _will_ be an entity\nor a quiddity? and whether we should say, with a dozen schoolmen, that\nvirtue is good, because it has intrinsic goodness, or, with a dozen\nmore, that it has this intrinsic goodness, because it is good?\n\nIn natural theology, questions of equal moment were contested with\nequal keenness and subtilty; but they related less to the Deity,\nof whose nature, transcendent as it is, the whole universe may be\nconsidered as in some degree a faint revelation, than to those\nspiritual ministers of his power, of whose very existence nature\naffords no evidence, and of whom revelation itself may be said to\nteach us little but the mere existence. Whether angels pass from one\npoint of space to another, without passing through the intermediate\npoints? whether they can visually discern objects in the dark? whether\nmore than one can exist at the same moment in the same physical point?\nwhether they can exist in a perfect vacuum, with any relation to the\nabsolute incorporeal void? and whether if an angel were in vacuo, the\nvoid could still truly be termed _perfect_?--such, or similar to these\nwere the great inquiries in that department of Natural Theology, to\nwhich, as to a separate science, was given the name of _Angelography_:\nand of the same kind were the principal inquiries with respect to the\nDeity himself, not so much an examination of the evidence which nature\naffords of his self-existence, and power, and wisdom, and goodness,\nthose sublime qualities which even our weakness cannot contemplate\nwithout deriving some additional dignity from the very greatness which\nit adores, as a solution of more subtile points, whether he exist in\nimaginary space as much as in the space that is real? whether he can\ncause a mode to exist without a substance? whether, in knowing all\nthings, he know universals, or only things singular? and whether he\nlove a possible unexisting angel better than an actually existing\ninsect?\n\n\u201cIndignandum de isto, non disputandum est.\u201d--\u201cSed non debuit hoc nobis\nesse propositum arguta disserere,[1] et philosophiam in has augustias\nex sua majestate detrahere. Quanto satius est, ire aperta via et\nrecta, quam sibi ipsi flexus disponere, quos cum magna molestia debeas\nrelegere?\u201d[2]--\u201cWhy waste ourselves,\u201d says the same eloquent moralist;\n\u201cwhy torture and waste ourselves in questions, which there is more real\nsubtilty in despising than in solving?\u201d--\n\n\u201cQuid te troques et maceras, in ea qu\u00e6stione quam subtilius est\ncontempsisse quam solvere?\u201d[3]\n\nFrom the necessity of such inquiries we are now fortunately freed.\nThe frivolous solemnities of argument, which, in the disputations of\nScotists and Thomists, and the long controversy of the believers and\nrejectors of the universal _a parti rei_, rendered human ignorance so\nvery proud of its temporary triumphs over human ignorance, at length\nare hushed forever; and, so precarious is all that glory, of which\nmen are the dispensers, that the most subtile works, which for ages\nconferred on their authors a reverence more than praise, and almost\nworship, would now scarcely find a philosophic adventurer, so bold, as\nto avow them for his own.\n\nThe progress of intellectual philosophy may indeed, as yet, have\nbeen less considerable than was to be hoped under its present better\nauspices. But it is not a little, to have escaped from a labyrinth,\nso very intricate, and so very dark, even though we should have done\nnothing more than advance into sunshine and an open path, with a long\njourney of discovery still before us. We have at last arrived at the\nimportant truth, which now seems so very obvious a one, that the mind\nis to be known best by observation of the series of changes which it\npresents, and of all the circumstances which precede and follow these;\nthat, in attempting to explain its phenomena, therefore, we should\nknow what those phenomena are; and that we might as well attempt to\ndiscover, by logic, unaided by observation or experiment, the various\ncoloured rays that enter into the composition of a sunbeam, as to\ndiscover, by dialectic subtilties, _a priori_, the various feelings\nthat enter into the composition of a single thought or passion.\n\nThe mind, it is evident, may, like the body to which it is united,\nor the material objects which surround it, be considered simply as\na substance possessing certain qualities, susceptible of various\naffections or modifications, which, existing successively as momentary\nstates of the mind, constitute all the phenomena of thought and\nfeeling. The general circumstances in which these changes of state\nsucceed each other, or, in other words, the laws of their succession,\nmay be pointed out, and the phenomena arranged in various classes,\naccording as they may resemble each other, in the circumstances that\nprecede or follow them, or in other circumstances of obvious analogy.\nThere is, in short, a science that may be termed _mental physiology_,\nas there is another science relating to the structure and offices of\nour corporeal frame, to which the term _physiology_ is more commonly\napplied; and as, by observation and experiment, we endeavour to trace\nthose series of changes which are constantly taking place in our\nmaterial part, from the first moment of animation to the moment of\ndeath; so, by observation, and in some measure also by experiment, we\nendeavour to trace the series of changes that take place in the mind,\nfugitive as these successions are, and rendered doubly perplexing by\nthe reciprocal combinations into which they flow. The innumerable\nchanges, corporeal and mental, we reduce, by generalizing, to a few\nclasses; and we speak, in reference to the mind, of its faculties or\nfunctions of perception, memory, reason, as we speak, in reference to\nthe body, of its functions of respiration, circulation, nutrition.\nThis mental physiology, in which the mind is considered simply as a\nsubstance endowed with certain susceptibilities, and variously affected\nor modified in consequence, will demand of course our first inquiry;\nand I trust that the intellectual analyses, into which we shall be led\nby it, will afford results that will repay the labour of persevering\nattention, which they may often require from you.\n\nIn one very important respect, however, the inquiries, relating to the\nphysiology of mind, differ from those which relate to the physiology\nof our animal frame. If we could render ourselves acquainted with the\nintimate structure of our bodily organs, and all the changes which\ntake place, in the exercise of their various functions, our labour,\nwith respect to them, might be said to terminate. But though our\nintellectual analysis were perfect, so that we could distinguish,\nin our most complex thought or emotion, its constituent elements,\nand trace with exactness the series of simpler thoughts which have\nprogressively given rise to them, other inquiries, equally, or still\nmore important, would remain. We do not know all which is to be known\nof the mind, when we know all its phenomena, as we know all which can\nbe known of matter, when we know the appearances which it presents, in\nevery situation in which it is possible to place it, and the manner in\nwhich it then acts or is acted upon by other bodies. When we know that\nman has certain affections and passions, there still remains the great\ninquiry, as to the propriety or impropriety of those passions, and of\nthe conduct to which they lead. We have to consider, not merely how he\nis capable of acting, but also, whether, acting in the manner supposed,\nhe would be fulfilling a duty or perpetrating a crime. Every enjoyment\nwhich man can confer on man, and every evil, which he can reciprocally\ninflict or suffer, thus become objects of two sciences--first of\nthat intellectual analysis which traces the happiness and misery, in\ntheir various forms and sequence, as mere phenomena or states of the\nsubstance _mind_;--and secondly, of that ethereal judgment, which\nmeasures our approbation and disapprobation, estimating, with more\nthan judicial scrutiny, not merely what is done, but what is scarcely\nthought in secrecy and silence, and discriminating some element of\nmoral good or evil, in all the physical good and evil, which it is in\nour feeble power to execute, or in our still frailer heart, to conceive\nand desire.\n\nTo this second department of inquiry belong the doctrines of general\n_ethics_.\n\nBut, though man were truly impressed with the great doctrine of moral\nobligation, and truly desirous, in conformity with it, of increasing,\nas far as his individual influence may extend, the sum of general\nhappiness, he may still err in the selection of the means which he\nemploys for this benevolent purpose. So essential is knowledge, if\nnot to virtue, at least to all the ends of virtue, that, without it,\nbenevolence itself, when accompanied with power, may be as destructive\nand desolating as intentional tyranny; and notwithstanding the great\nprinciples of progression in human affairs, the whole native vigour of\na state may be kept down for ages, and the comfort, and prosperity,\nand active industry of unexisting millions be blasted by regulations,\nwhich, in the intention of their generous projectors, were to stimulate\nthose very energies which they repressed, and to relieve that very\nmisery which they rendered irremediable. It therefore becomes an\ninquiry of paramount importance, what are the means best calculated for\nproducing the greatest amount of social good? By what ordinances would\npublic prosperity, and all the virtues which not merely adorn that\nprosperity, but produce it, be most powerfully excited and maintained?\nThis political department of our science, which is in truth only a\nsubdivision, though a very important one, of general practical ethics,\ncomprehends, of course, the inquiries as to the relative advantages\nof different forms of government, and the expediency of the various\ncontrivances which legislative wisdom may have established, or may be\nsupposed to establish, for the happiness and defence of nations.\n\nThe inquiries, to which I have as yet alluded, relate to the mind,\nconsidered simply as an object of physiological investigation; or to\nman, considered in his moral relations to a community, capable of\nderiving benefit from his virtues and knowledge, or of suffering by his\nerrors and his crimes. But there is another more important relation in\nwhich the mind is still to be viewed,--that relation which connects\nit with the Almighty Being to whom it owes its existence. Is man,\nwhose frail generations begin and pass away, but one of the links of\nan infinite chain of beings like himself, uncaused, and co-eternal\nwith that self-existing world of which he is the feeble tenant? or,\nIs he the offspring of an all creating Power, that adapted him to\nnature, and nature to him, formed together with the magnificent scene\nof things around him, to enjoy its blessings, and to adore, with the\ngratitude of happiness, the wisdom and goodness from which they flow?\nWhat attributes, of a Being so transcendent, may human reason presume\nto explore? and, What homage will be most suitable to his immensity,\nand our nothingness? Is it only for an existence of a few moments,\nin this passing scene, that he has formed us? or, Is there something\nwithin us, over which death has no power,--something, that prolongs\nand identifies the consciousness of all which we have done on earth,\nand that, after the mortality of the body, may yet be a subject of the\nmoral government of God? When compared with these questions, even the\nsublimest physical inquiries are comparatively insignificant. They\nseem to differ, as it has been said, in their relative importance and\ndignity, almost as philosophy itself differs from the mechanical arts\nthat are subservient to it. \u201cQuantum inter philosophiam interest,--et\nc\u00e6teras artes; tantum interesse existimo in ipsa philosophia, inter\nillam partem qu\u00e6 ad homines et hanc qu\u00e6 ad Deos spectat. Altior est h\u00e6c\net animosior: multum permisit sibi; non fuit oculis contenta. Majus\nesse quiddam suspicata est, ac pulchrius, quod extra conspectum natura\nposuisset.\u201d[4] It is when ascending to these sublimer objects, that the\nmind seems to expand, as if already shaking off its earthly fetters,\nand returning to its source; and it is scarcely too much to say,\nthat the delight which it thus takes in things divine is an internal\nevidence of its own divinity. \u201cCum illa tetigit, alitur, crescit: ac\nvelut vinculis liberatus, in originem redit. Et hoc habet argumentum\ndivinitatis su\u00e6, quod illum divina delectant.\u201d\n\nI have thus briefly sketched the various important inquiries, which\nthe philosophy of mind, in its most extensive sense, may be said to\ncomprehend. The nature of our spiritual being, as displayed in all\nthe phenomena of feeling and thought--the ties which bind us to our\nfellow-men, and to our Creator--and the prospect of that unfading\nexistence, of which life is but the first dawning gleam; such are the\ngreat objects to which in the department of your studies committed\nto my charge, it will be my office to guide your attention and\ncuriosity. The short period of the few months to which my course is\nnecessarily limited, will not, indeed, allow me to prosecute, with such\nfull investigation as I should wish, every subject that may present\nitself in so various a range of inquiry. But even these few months,\nI flatter myself, will be sufficient to introduce you to all which\nis most important for you to know in the science, and to give such\nlights as may enable you, in other hours, to explore, with success,\nthe prospects that here, perhaps, may only have opened on your view.\nIt is not, I trust, with the labours of a single season that such\ninquiries, on your part, are to terminate. Amid the varied occupations\nand varied pleasures of your future years,--in the privacy of domestic\nenjoyment, as much as in the busier scenes of active exertion,--the\nstudies on which you are about to enter must often rise to you again\nwith something more than mere remembrance; because there is nothing\nthat can give you interest, in any period or situation of your life,\nto which they are not related. The science of mind, is the science of\nyourselves; of all who surround you; of every thing which you enjoy or\nsuffer, or hope or fear: so truly the science of your very being, that\nit will be impossible for you to look back on the feelings of a single\nhour, without constantly retracing phenomena that have been here, to\na certain extent, the subjects of your analysis and arrangement. The\nthoughts and faculties of your own intellectual frame, and all which\nyou admire as wonderful in the genius of others,--the moral obligation,\nwhich, as obeyed or violated, is ever felt by you with delight or with\nremorse,--the virtues, of which you think as often as you think of\nthose whom you love; and the vices, which you view with abhorrence, or\nwith pity,--the traces of divine goodness, which never can be absent\nfrom your view, because there is no object in nature which does not\nexhibit them,--the feeling of your dependence on the gracious Power\nthat formed you,--and the anticipation of a state of existence more\nlasting than that which is measured by the few beatings of a feeble\npulse,--these in their perpetual recurrence, must often recal to you\nthe inquiries that, in this place, engaged your early attention. It\nwill be almost as little possible for you to abandon wholly such\nspeculations, as to look on the familiar faces of your home with a\nforgetfulness of every hour which they have made delightful, or to lose\nall remembrance of the very language of your infancy, that is every\nmoment sounding in your ears.\n\nThough I shall endeavour, therefore, to give as full a view as my\nlimits will permit of all the objects of inquiry which are to come\nbefore us, it will be my chief wish to awake in you, or to cherish,\na love of these sublime inquiries themselves. There is a philosophic\nspirit which is far more valuable than any limited acquirements of\nphilosophy; and the cultivation of which, therefore, is the most\nprecious advantage that can be derived from the lessons and studies\nof many academic years:--a spirit, which is quick to pursue whatever\nis within the reach of human intellect; but which is not less quick\nto discern the bounds that limit every human inquiry, and which,\ntherefore, in seeking much, seeks only what man may learn:--which\nknows how to distinguish what is just in itself from what is merely\naccredited by illustrious names; adopting a truth which no one has\nsanctioned, and rejecting an error of which all approve, with the same\ncalmness as if no judgment were opposed to its own:--but which, at\nthe same time, alive, with congenial feeling, to every intellectual\nexcellence, and candid to the weakness from which no excellence is\nwholly privileged, can dissent and confute without triumph, as it\nadmires without envy; applauding gladly whatever is worthy of applause\nin a rival system, and venerating the very genius which it demonstrates\nto have erred.\n\nSuch is that philosophic temper to which, in the various discussions\nthat are to occupy us, it will be my principal ambition to form your\nminds; with a view not so much to what you are at present, as to what\nyou are afterwards to become. You are now, indeed, only entering on\na science, of which, by many of you, perhaps, the very elements have\nnever once been regarded as subjects of speculative inquiry. You\nhave much, therefore, to learn, even in learning only what others\nhave thought. But I should be unwilling to regard you as the passive\nreceivers of a system of opinions, content merely to remember whatever\nmixture of truths and errors may have obtained your easy assent.\nI cannot but look to you in your maturer character, as yourselves\nthe philosophers of other years; as those who are, perhaps, to add\nto science many of its richest truths, which as yet are latent to\nevery mind, and to free it from many errors, in which no one has yet\nsuspected even the possibility of illusion. The spirit which is itself\nto become productive in you, is therefore, the spirit which I wish to\ncultivate; and happy, as I shall always be, if I succeed in conveying\nto you that instruction which it is my duty to communicate, I shall\nhave still more happiness if I can flatter myself, that, in this very\ninstruction, I have trained you to habits of thought, which may enable\nyou to enrich, with your own splendid discoveries, the age in which you\nlive, and to be yourselves the instructors of all the generations that\nare to follow you.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] Argutias serere. Lect. var.\n\n[2] Seneca, Ep. 102.\n\n[3] Ibid, 49.\n\n[4] Seneca Nat. Qu\u00e6st. Lib. 1. Pr\u00e6f.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE II.\n\nRELATION OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF MIND TO THE SCIENCES IN GENERAL.\n\n\nIn my former Lecture, Gentlemen, I gave you a slight sketch of\nthe departments into which the Philosophy of Mind divides itself,\ncomprehending, in the _first_ place, The physiology of the mind,\nconsidered as a substance capable of the various modifications, or\nstates, which constitute, as they succeed each other, the phenomena\nof thought and feeling; _secondly_, The doctrines of general ethics,\nas to the obligation, under which man lies, to increase and extend,\nas widely as possible, the happiness of all that live; _thirdly_, The\npolitical doctrines, as to the means which enable him, in society with\nhis fellow men, to furthermost successfully, and with the least risk\nof future evil, that happiness of all, which it is the duty of each\nindividually to wish and to promote; and, _fourthly_, The doctrines of\nnatural theology, as to the existence and attributes of that greatest\nof Beings, under whose moral government we live, and the foundations\nof our confidence that death is only a change of scene, which, with\nrespect to our mortality indeed, may be said to be its close; but\nwhich, with respect to the soul itself, is only one of the events of a\nlife that is everlasting.\n\nOf these great divisions of our subject, the _Physiology of the\nMind_, or the consideration of the regular series of phenomena which\nit presents, simply as states or affections of the mind, is that to\nwhich we are first to turn our attention. But, before entering on\nit, it may be useful to employ a few Lectures in illustrating the\n_advantages_, which the study of the mind affords, and the _principles\nof philosophizing_, in their peculiar application to it--subjects,\nwhich, though of a general kind, will, I trust, leave an influence that\nwill be felt in all the particular inquiries in which we are to be\nengaged; preparing you, both for appreciating better the importance of\nthose inquiries, and for prosecuting them with greater success.\n\nOne very obvious distinction of the physical investigations of mind\nand matter, is, that, in intellectual science, the _materials_ on\nwhich we operate, the _instruments_ with which we operate, and the\n_operating agent_, are the same. It is the mind, endowed with the\nfaculties of perception and judgment, observing, comparing, and\nclassifying the phenomena of the mind. In the physics of matter, it\nis, indeed, the mind which observes, compares, and arranges; but the\nphenomena are those of a world, which, though connected with the\nmind by many wonderful relations of reciprocal agency, still exists\nindependently of it--a world that presents its phenomena only in\ncircumstances, over most of which we have no controul, and over others\na controul that is partial and limited. The comparative facility,\nas to all external circumstances, attending the study of the mental\nphenomena, is unquestionably an advantage of no small moment. In every\nsituation in which man can be placed, as long as his intellectual\nfaculties are unimpaired, it is impossible that he should be deprived\nof opportunities of carrying on this intellectual study; because, in\nevery situation in which he can be placed, he must still have with him\nthat universe of thought, which is the true home and empire of the\nmind. No costly apparatus is requisite--no tedious waiting for seasons\nof observation. He has but to look within himself to find the elements\nwhich he has to put together, or the compounds which he has to analyze,\nand the instruments that are to perform the analysis or composition.\n\nIt was not, however, to point out to you the advantage which arises\nto the study of our mental frame, from the comparative facility as\nto the circumstances attending it, that I have led your attention to\nthe difference, in this respect, of the physics of mind and matter.\nIt was to show,--what is of much more importance,--how essential a\nright view of the science of mind is to every other science, even to\nthose sciences, which superficial thinkers might conceive to have no\nconnexion with it; and how vain it would be to expect, that any branch\nof the physics of mere matter could be cultivated to its highest degree\nof accuracy and perfection, without a due acquaintance with the nature\nof that intellectual medium, through which alone the phenomena of\nmatter become visible to us, and of those intellectual instruments, by\nwhich the objects of every science, and of every science alike, are\nmeasured, and divided, and arranged. We might almost as well expect to\nform an accurate judgment, as to the figure, and distance, and colour\nof an object, at which we look through an optical glass, without paying\nany regard to the colour and refractory power of the line itself. The\ndistinction of the sciences and arts, in the sense in which these words\nare commonly understood, is as just as it is familiar; but it may be\ntruly said, that, in relation to our power of discovery, science is\nitself an art, or the result of an art. Whether, in this most beautiful\nof processes, we regard the mind as the instrument or the artist, it\nis equally that by which all the wonders of speculative, or practical\nknowledge, are evolved. It is an agent operating in the production of\nnew results, and employing for this purpose the known laws of thought,\nin the same manner as, on other occasions, it employs the known laws of\nmatter. The objects, to which it may apply itself, are indeed various,\nand, as such, give to the sciences their different names. But, though\nthe objects vary, the observer and the instrument are continually the\nsame. The limits of the powers of this mental instrument, are not the\nlimits of its powers alone; they are also the only real limits, within\nwhich every science is comprehended. To the extent which it allows, all\nthose sciences, physical or mathematical, and all the arts which depend\non them, may be improved; but, beyond this point, it would be vain to\nexpect them to pass; or rather, to speak more accurately, the very\nsupposition of any progress beyond this point would imply the grossest\nabsurdity; since human science can be nothing more than the result\nof the direction of human faculties to particular objects. To the\nastronomer, the faculty by which he calculates the disturbing forces\nthat operate on a satellite of Jupiter, in its revolution round its\nprimary planet, is as much an instrument of his art, as the telescope\nby which he distinguishes that almost invisible orb; and it is as\nimportant, and surely as interesting, to know the real power of the\nintellectual instrument, which he uses, not for calculations of this\nkind only, but for all the speculative and moral purposes of life, as\nit can be to know the exact power of that subordinate instrument, which\nhe uses only for his occasional survey of the heavens.\n\nTo the philosophy of mind, then, every speculation, in every science,\nmay be said to have relation as to a common centre. The knowledge\nof the quality of matter, in the whole wide range of physics, is not\nitself a phenomenon of matter, more than the knowledge of any of our\nintellectual or moral affections; it is truly, in all its stages of\nconjecture, comparison, doubt, belief, a phenomenon of mind; or,\nin other words, it is only the mind itself existing in a certain\nstate. The inanimate bodies around us might, indeed, exhibit the same\nchanges as at present, though no mind had been created. But science\nis not the existence of these inanimate bodies; it is the principle\nof thought itself variously modified by them, which, as it exists in\ncertain states, constitutes that knowledge which we term _Astronomy_;\nin certain other states, that knowledge which we term _Chemistry_;\nin other states our Physiology, corporeal or mental, and all the\nother divisions and subdivisions of science. It would surely be\nabsurd to suppose, that the mixture of acids and alkalies constitutes\n_Chemistry_, or that Astronomy is formed by the revolution of planets\nround a sun. Such phenomena, the mere objects of science, are only the\noccasions on which Astronomy and Chemistry arise in the mind of the\ninquirer, Man. It is the mind which perceives bodies, which reasons\non their apparent relations, which joins them in thought as similar,\nhowever distant they may be in sphere, or separates them in thought\nas dissimilar, though apparently contiguous. These perceptions,\nreasonings, and classifications of the mind must, of course be\nregulated by the laws of mind, which mingle in their joint result\nwith the laws of matter. It is the object indeed which affects the\nmind when sentient; but it is the original susceptibility of the mind\nitself, which determines and modifies the particular affection, very\nnearly, if I may illustrate what is mental by so coarse an image, as\nthe impression which a seal leaves on melted wax depends, not on the\nqualities of the wax alone, or of the seal alone, but on the softness\nof the one, and the form of the other. Change the external object which\naffects the mind in any case, and we all know, that the affection of\nthe mind will be different. It would not be less so, if, without any\nchange of object, there could be a change in the mere feeling, whatever\nit might be, which would result from that different susceptibility\nbecoming instantly as different, as if not the mind had been altered,\nbut the object which it perceived. There is no physical science,\ntherefore, in which the laws of mind are not to be considered together\nwith the laws of matter; and a change in either set of laws would\nequally produce a change in the nature of the science itself.\n\nIf, to take one of the simplest of examples, the mind had been formed\nsusceptible of all the modifications which it admits at present, with\nthe single exception of those which it receives on the presence of\nlight, of how many objects and powers in nature, which we are now\ncapable of distinguishing, must we have remained in absolute ignorance!\nBut would this comparative ignorance of many objects be the only effect\nof such a change of the laws of mind, as I have supposed? Or rather,\nis it not equally certain, that this simple change alone would be\nsufficient to alter the very nature of the limited science of which the\nmind would still be capable, as much as it narrowed its extent? Science\nis the classification of relations; varying, too, in every case, as the\nrelations observed are different; and how very differently should we,\nin such circumstances, have classed the few powers of the few objects,\nwhich might still have become known to us, since we could no longer\nhave classed them according to any of those visual relations, which\nare always the most obvious and prominent. It is even, perhaps, an\nextravagant supposition, that a race of the blind, unless endowed with\nsome other sense to compensate the defect of sight, could have acquired\nso much command of the common arts of life, or so much science of any\nsort, as to preserve themselves in existence. But though all this, by\na very strong license of _supposition_, were taken for granted, it\nmust surely be admitted, that the knowledge which man could in those\ncircumstances acquire, would be not merely less in degree, but would be\nas truly different from that which his powers at present have reached,\nas if the objects of his science, or the laws which regulate them, had\nthemselves been changed to an extent, at least as great as the supposed\nchange in the laws of mind. The _astronomy_ of the blind, if the word\nmight still be used to express a science so very different from the\npresent, would, in truth, be a sort of _chemistry_. Day and night, the\nmagnificent and harmonious revolution of season after season, would\nbe nothing more than periodical changes of temperature in the objects\naround; and that great Dispenser of the seasons, the Source of light,\nand beauty, and almost of animation, at whose approach nature seems\nnot merely to awake, but to rise again, as it was at first, from the\ndarkness of its original chaos, if its separate existence could be at\nall inferred, would probably be classed as something similar, though\ninferior in power, to that unknown source of heat, which, by a perilous\nand almost unknown process, was fearfully piled and kindled on the\nhousehold hearth.\n\nSo accustomed are we, however, to consider the nature and limits of the\ndifferent sciences, as depending on the objects themselves, and not on\nthe laws of the mind, which classes their relations, that it may be\ndifficult for you at first to admit the influence of these mere laws\nof mind, as modifying general physics, at least to the extent which\nI have now stated. But, that a change in the laws of human thought,\nwhatever influence it might have in altering the very nature and limits\nof the physical sciences, would at least affect greatly the state of\ntheir progress, must be immediately evident to those who consider for\na moment on what discovery depends; the progress of science being\nobviously nothing more than a series of individual discoveries, and\nthe number of discoveries varying with the powers of the individual\nintellect. The same phenomena which were present to the mind of Newton,\nhad been present, innumerable times before, not to the understandings\nof philosophers only, but to the very senses of the vulgar. Every thing\nwas the same to him and to them, except the observing and reasoning\nmind. To him alone, however, they suggested those striking analogies,\nby which on a comparison of all the known circumstances in both, he\nventured to class the force which retains the planets in their orbits,\nwith that which occasions the fall of a pebble to the earth.\n\n \u201cHave ye not listen'd, while he bound the suns\n And planets to their spheres! the unequal task\n Of human kind till then. Oft had they roll'd\n O'er erring man the year, and oft disgraced\n The pride of schools.\n ----He took his ardent flight\n Through the blue infinite; and every star\n Which the clear concave of a winter's night\n Pours on the eye, or astronomic tube,\n Far-stretching, snatches from the dark abyss,\n Or such as farther in successive skies\n To fancy shine alone, at his approach\n Blazed into suns, the living centre each\n Of an harmonious system; all combined,\n And ruled unerring by that single power,\n Which draws the stone projected to the ground.\u201d[5]\n\nIt is recorded of this almost superhuman Genius, whose powers and\nattainments at once make us proud of our common nature, and humble us\nwith our disparity, that, in acquiring the Elements of Geometry, he\nwas able, in a very large proportion of cases, to pass immediately\nfrom Theorem to Theorem, by reading the mere enunciation of each,\nperceiving, as it were intuitively, that latent evidence, which others\nare obliged slowly to trace through a long series of Propositions.\nWhen the same Theorem was enunciated, or the same simple phenomenon\nobserved, the successions of thought, in his mind, were thus obviously\ndifferent from the successions of thought in other minds; but it is\neasy to conceive the original susceptibilities of all minds such, as\nexactly to have corresponded with those of the mind of Newton. And if\nthe minds of all men, from the creation of the world, had been similar\nto the mind of Newton, is it possible to conceive, that the state of\nany science would have been, at this moment, what it now is, or in any\nrespect similar to what it now is, though the laws which regulate the\nphysical changes in the material universe, had continued unaltered, and\nno change occurred, but in the simple original susceptibilities of the\nmind itself?\n\nThe laws of the observing and comparing mind, then, it must be\nadmitted, have modified, and must always continue to modify, every\nscience, as truly as the laws of that particular department of nature\nof which the phenomena are observed and compared. But, it may be said,\nwe are Chemists, we are Astronomers, without studying the philosophy of\nmind. And true it certainly is, that there are excellent Astronomers,\nand excellent Chemists, who have never paid any particular attention\nto intellectual philosophy. The general principles of philosophizing,\nwhich a more accurate intellectual philosophy had introduced, have\nbecome familiar to them, without study. But those general principles\nare not less the effect of that improved philosophy of mind, any more\nthan astronomy and chemistry themselves have now a less title to\nbe considered as sciences,--because, from the general diffusion of\nknowledge in society, those who have never professedly studied either\nscience, are acquainted with many of their most striking truths. It is\ngradually, and almost insensibly, that truths diffuse themselves--at\nfirst admired and adopted by a few, who are able to compare the\npresent with the past, and who gladly own them, as additions to former\nknowledge,--from them communicated to a wider circle, who receive them,\nwithout discussion, as if familiar and long known; and at length, in\nthis widening progress, becoming so nearly universal, as almost to seem\neffects of a natural instinctive law of human thought:--like the light,\nwhich we readily ascribe to the sun, as it first flows directly from\nhim, and forces his image on our sight; but which, when reflected from\nobject to object, soon ceases to remind us of its origin, and seems\nalmost to be a part of the very atmosphere which we breathe.\n\nI am aware, that it is not to improvements in the mere philosophy of\nmind, that the great reformation in our principles of physical inquiry\nis commonly ascribed. Yet it is to this source--certainly at least to\nthis source chiefly, that I would refer the origin of those better\nplans of philosophical investigation which have distinguished with\nso many glorious discoveries the age in which we live, and the ages\nimmediately preceding. When we think of the great genius of Lord Bacon,\nand of the influence of his admirable works, we are too apt to forget\nthe sort of difficulties which his genius must have had to overcome,\nand to look back to his rules of philosophizing, as a sort of ultimate\ntruths, discoverable by the mere perspicacity of his superior mind,\nwithout referring them to those simple views of nature in relation to\nour faculties of discovery, from which they were derived. The rules\nwhich he gives us, are rules of physical investigation; and it is very\nnatural for us, therefore, in estimating their value, to think of\nthe erroneous physical opinions which preceded them, without paying\nsufficient attention to the false theories of intellect, which had\nled to those very physical absurdities. Lord Bacon, if he was not the\nfirst who discovered that we were in some degree idolaters, to use his\nown metaphor, in our intellectual worship, was certainly the first who\ndiscovered the extent of our idolatry. But we must not forget, that the\ntemple which he purified, was not the temple of external nature, but\nthe temple of the mind,--that in its inmost sanctuaries were all the\nidols which he overthrew,--and that it was not till these were removed,\nand the intellect prepared for the presence of a nobler divinity, that\nTruth would deign to unveil herself to adoration;--as in the mysteries\nof those Eastern religions, in which the first ceremony for admission\nto the worship of the God is the purification of the worshipper.\n\nIn the course of our analysis of the intellectual phenomena, we shall\nhave frequent opportunities of remarking the influence, which errors\nwith respect to these mere phenomena of mind must have had, on the\ncontemporary systems of general physics, and on the spirit of the\nprevailing plans of inquiry. It may be enough to remark at present\nthe influence of one fundamental error, which, as long as it retained\nits hold of the understanding, must have rendered all its energies\nineffectual, by wasting them in the search of objects, which it\nnever could attain, because in truth they had no real existence,--to\nthe neglect of objects that would have produced the very advantage\nwhich was sought. I allude to the belief of the schools, in the\nseparate existence, or entity as they technically termed it, of the\nvarious orders of universals, and the mode in which they conceived\nevery acquisition of knowledge in reasoning, to take place, by the\nintervention of certain intelligible forms or species, existing\nseparately in the intellect, as the direct objects of thought,--in\nthe same manner as they ascribed simple perception to the action of\nspecies of another order, which they termed sensible species,--the\nimages of things derived indeed from objects without, but when thus\nderived, existing independently of them. When we amuse ourselves with\ninquiring into the history of human folly--that most comprehensive\nof all histories--which includes, at least for many ages, the whole\nhistory of philosophy; or rather, to use a word more appropriate than\namusement,--when we read with regret the melancholy annals of genius\naspiring to be pre-eminently frivolous, and industry labouring to be\nignorant, we often discover absurdities of the grossest kind, which\nalmost cease to be absurdities, on account of other absurdities,\nprobably as gross, which accompany them; and this is truly the case, in\nthe grave extravagance of the logic of the schools. The scholastic mode\nof philosophizing, ridiculous as it now seems, was far from absurd,\nwhen taken in connection with the scholastic philosophy. It was indeed\nthe only mode of procedure, which that philosophy could consistently\nadmit. To those who believed that singular objects could afford no real\nknowledge, _singularium nullam dari scientiam_: and that this was to be\nobtained only from what they termed _intelligible species_, existing\nnot in external things, but in the intellect itself, it must have\nseemed as absurd to wander, in quest of knowledge, out of that region\nin which alone they supposed it to exist, and to seek it among things\nsingular, as it would now, to us, seem hopeless and absurd, to found\na system of physical truths on the contemplation and comparison of\nuniversals. While this false theory of the mental phenomena prevailed,\nwas it possible, that the phenomena of matter should have been studied\non sounder principles of investigation, when any better plan must have\nbeen absolutely inconsistent with the very theory of thought? It was in\nmind that the student of general nature was to seek his guiding light,\nwithout which all then was darkness. The intellectual philosopher, if\nany such had then arisen, to analyze simply the phenomena of thought,\nwithout any reference to general physics, would in truth have done more\nin that dark age, for the benefit of every physical science, than if he\nhad discovered a thousand properties of as many different substances.\n\nLet us suppose, for a moment, that an accurate view of the intellectual\nprocess of abstraction could have been communicated to a veteran sage\nof the schools, at the very moment when he was intently contemplating\nthe tree of Porphyry, in all its branches of species and genera,\nbetween the individual and the _summum genus_; and when he was\npreparing perhaps, by this contemplation of a few universals, to unfold\nall the philosophy of colours, or of the planetary movements, would the\nbenefit which he received from this clearer view of a single process\nof thought have terminated in the mere science of mind--or would not\nrather his new views of mind have extended with a most important\ninfluence to his whole wide views of matter?--He must immediately have\nlearned, that, in the whole tree of genera and species, the individual\nat the bottom of his scale was the only real independent existence, and\nthat all the rest, the result of certain comparisons of agreement or\ndisagreement, were simple modifications of his own mind, not produced\nby any thing existing in his intellect but by the very constitution of\nhis intellect itself; the consideration of a number of individuals as\nof one species being nothing more than the feeling of their agreement\nin certain respects, and the feeling of this agreement being as simple\na result of the observation of them together, as the perception of\neach, individually, was of its individual presence. It would surely\nhave been impossible for him, with this new and important light, to\nreturn to his transcendental inquiries, into entities, and quiddities,\nand substantial forms; and the simple discovery of a better theory of\nabstraction, as a process of the mind, would thus have supplied the\nplace of many rules of philosophizing.\n\nThe philosophy of mind then, we must admit, did, in former ages at\nleast, exercise an important influence on general science:--and are we\nto suppose that it has now no influence?\n\nEven though no other advantage were to be obtained from our present\njuster views of mind, than the protection which they give, from those\ngross errors of inquiry to which the philosophers of so long a series\nof ages were exposed, this alone would surely be no slight gain. But,\ngreat as this advantage is, are we certain, that it is all which the\nnicest mental analysis can afford,--or rather, is it not possible at\nleast, that we may still, in our plans of physical investigation, be\nsuffering under the influence of errors from which we should be saved,\nby still juster views of the faculties employed in every physical\ninquiry?\n\nThat we are not aware of any such influence, argues nothing; for to\nsuppose us aware of it, would be to suppose us acquainted with the very\nerrors which mislead us. Aquinas and Scotus, it is to be presumed, and\nall their contentious followers, conceived themselves as truly in the\nright path of physical investigation, as we do at this moment; and,\nthough we are free from their gross mistakes, there may yet be others\nof which we are less likely to divest ourselves, from not having as\nyet the slightest suspicion of their existence. The question is not,\nWhether our method of inquiry be juster than theirs?--for, of our\nsuperiority in this respect, if any evidence of fact were necessary,\nthe noble discoveries of these later years are too magnificent a proof\nto allow us to have any doubt,--but, Whether our plan of inquiry may\nnot still be susceptible of improvements, of which we have now as\nlittle foresight, as the Scotists and Aquinists of the advantages\nwhich philosophy has received from the general prosecution of the\ninductive method? There is, indeed, no reason now to fear, that the\nobservation of particular objects, with a view to general science,\nwill be despised as incapable of giving any direct knowledge, and\nall real science be confined to universals. \u201cSingularium _datur_\nscientia.\u201d But, though a sounder view of one intellectual process\nmay have banished from philosophy much idle contention, and directed\ninquiry to fitter objects, it surely does not therefore follow, that\nsubsequent improvements in the philosophy of mind are to be absolutely\nunavailing. On the contrary, the presumption unquestionably is, that\nif by understanding better the simple process of abstraction, we have\nfreed ourselves from many errors in our plans of inquiry, a still\nclearer view of the nature and limits of all the intellectual processes\nconcerned in the discovery of truth, may lead to still juster views of\nphilosophizing.\n\nEven at present, I cannot but think that we may trace, in no\ninconsiderable degree, the influence of false notions, as to some of\nthe phenomena of the mind, in misdirecting the spirit of our general\nphilosophy. I allude in particular, to one very important intellectual\nprocess,--that by which we acquire our knowledge of the relation on\nwhich all physics may be said to be founded. He must have paid little\nattention to the history of philosophy, and even to the philosophy of\nhis own time, who does not perceive, how much the vague and obscure\nnotions entertained of that intermediate tie, which is supposed to\nconnect phenomena with each other, have tended to favour the invention\nand ready admission of physical hypotheses, which otherwise could not\nhave been entertained for a moment;--hypotheses, which attempt to\nexplain what is known by the introduction of what is unknown; as if\nsuccessions of phenomena were rendered easier to be understood merely\nby being rendered more complicated. This very unphilosophic passion\nfor complexity, (which, unphilosophic as it is, is yet the passion of\nmany philosophers,) seems, to me, to arise, in a great measure, from a\nmysterious and false view of causation; as involving always, in every\nseries of changes, the intervention of something unobserved, between\nthe observed antecedent and the observed effect;--a view which may very\nnaturally be supposed to lead the mind, when it has observed no actual\nintervention, to imagine any thing which is not absolutely absurd, that\nit may flatter itself with the pleasure of having discovered a cause.\nIt is unnecessary, however, to enlarge at present on this subject, as\nit must again come before us; when you will perhaps see more clearly,\nhow much the general diffusion of juster views, as to the nature and\norigin of our notion of the connection of events, would tend to the\nsimplification, not of our theories of mind only, but, in a still\nhigher degree, of our theories of matter.\n\nThe observations already made, I trust, have shown how important, to\nthe perfection of every science, is an accurate acquaintance with\nthat intellectual medium, through which alone the objects of every\nscience become known to us, and with those intellectual instruments,\nby which, alike in every science, truth is to be detected and evolved.\nOn this influence, which the philosophy of mind must always exercise\non general philosophy, I have dwelt the longer, because, important as\nthe relation is, it is one which we are peculiarly apt to forget; and\nthe more apt to forget it, on account of that very excellence of the\nphysical sciences, to which it has itself essentially contributed. The\ndiscoveries, which reward our inquiry into the properties of matter, as\nnow carried on, on principles better suited to the nature and limits of\nour powers of investigation, are too splendid to allow us to look back\nto the circumstances which prepared them at a distance; and we avail\nourselves of rules, that are the result of logical analysis, without\nreflecting, and almost without knowing, that they are the result of\nany analysis whatever. We are, in this respect, like navigators on the\ngreat ocean, who perform their voyage successfully by the results of\nobservations, of which they are altogether ignorant; who look, with\nperfect confidence, to their compass and chart, and think of the stars\nas useful only in those early ages, when the pilot, if he ventured\nfrom shore, had no other directors of his course. It is only some more\nskilful mariner who is still aware of their guidance; and who knows,\nhow much he is indebted to the satellites of Jupiter for the accuracy\nof that very chart, by which the crowds around him are mechanically\ndirecting their course.\n\nThe chief reason, however, for my dwelling so long on this central\nand governing relation, which the philosophy of intellect bears to\nall other philosophy, is, that I am anxious to impress their relation\nstrongly on your minds; not so much with a view to the importance\nwhich it may seem to give to the particular science that is to engage\nus together, as with a view to those other sciences in which you may\nalready have been engaged, or which may yet await you in the course\nof your studies. The consideration of mind, as universally present\nand presiding,--at once the medium of all the knowledge which can be\nacquired, and the subject of all the truths of which that knowledge\nconsists,--gives, by its own unity, a sort of unity and additional\ndignity to the sciences, of which their scattered experiments and\nobservations would otherwise be unsusceptible. It is an unfortunate\neffect of physical inquiry, when exclusively devoted to the properties\nof external things, to render the mind, in our imagination, subordinate\nto the objects on which it is directed; the faculties are nothing,\nthe objects every thing. The very nature of such inquiry leads us\nperpetually without to observe and arrange, and nothing brings us back\nto the observer and arranger within; or, if we do occasionally cast an\ninquisitive glance on the phenomena of our thought, we bring back with\nus what Bacon, in his strong language, calls \u201cthe smoke and tarnish\nof the furnace;\u201d--the mind seems, to us, to be broken down to the\nlittleness of the objects which it has, been habitually contemplating;\nand we regard the faculties that measure earth and heaven, and that\nadd infinity to infinity, with a curiosity of no greater interest,\nthan that with which we inquire into the angles of a crystal, or\nthe fructification of a moss. \u201cLudit istis animus,\u201d says one of the\nmost eloquent of the ancients,--\u201cLudit istis animus, non proficit;\net philosophiam a fastigio deducit in planum.\u201d To rest in researches\nof this minute kind, indeed, if we were absolutely to REST in them,\nwithout any higher and profounder views, would truly be, as he says,\nto drag down philosophy from that pure eminence on which she sits, to\nthe very dust of the plain on which we tread. To the inquirer, however,\nwhose mind has been previously embued with this first philosophy,\nand who has learned to trace, in the wonders of every science, the\nwonders of his own intellectual frame, there is no physical research,\nhowever minute its object, which does not at once elevate the mind, and\nderive elevation from it. Nothing is truly humble, which can exercise\nfaculties that are themselves sublime.\n\n ----Search, undismayed the dark profound,\n Where Nature works in secret; view the beds\n Of mineral treasure, and the eternal vault\n That bounds the hoary ocean; trace the forms\n Of atoms, moving with incessant change,\n Their elemental round; behold the seeds\n Of being, and the energy of life,\n Kindling the mass with ever active flame;\n Then to the secrets of the working mind\n Attentive turn; from dim oblivion call\n Her fleet ideal band; and bid them go\n Break through time's barrier, and o'ertake the hour\n That saw the heavens created; then declare,\n If ought were found in these external scenes\n To move thy wonder now.[6]\n\nIn the physics of the material universe, there is, it must be owned,\nmuch that is truly worthy of our philosophic admiration, and of the\nsublimest exertions of philosophic genius. But even that material world\nwill appear more admirable, to him who contemplates it, as it were,\nfrom the height of his own mind, and who measures its infinity with the\nrange of his own limited but aspiring faculties. He is unquestionably\nthe philosopher most worthy of the name, who unites to the most\naccurate knowledge of mind, the most accurate knowledge of all the\nphysical objects amid which he is placed; who makes each science, to\neach, reciprocally a source of additional illumination; and who learns,\nfrom both, the noblest of all the lessons which they can give,--the\nknowledge and adoration of that divine Being, who has alike created,\nand adapted to each other, with an order so harmonious, the universe of\nmatter, and the universe of thought.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[5] Thomson's Poem on the Death of Sir Isaac Newton.\n\n[6] Akenside's Pleasures of Imagination, Book I. v. 512-526.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE III.\n\nRELATION OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF MIND TO THE SCIENCES AND ARTS MORE\nSTRICTLY INTELLECTUAL.\n\n\nIn my last Lecture, Gentlemen, I illustrated, at great length, the\nrelation which the Philosophy of Mind bears to all the other sciences,\nas the common centre of each. These sciences I represented, as,\nin their relation to the powers of discovery, that are exercised\nin them, truly arts, in all the various intellectual processes of\nwhich, the artist is the same, and the instruments the same; and as\nto the perfection of any of the mechanical arts, it is essential,\nthat we know the powers of the instruments employed in it, so, in\nthe inventive processes of science of every kind, it seems essential\nto the perfection of the process, that we should know, as exactly as\npossible, the powers and the limits of these intellectual instruments,\nwhich are exercised alike in all,--that we may not waste our industry,\nin attempting to accomplish with them what is impossible to be\naccomplished, and at the same time may not despair of achieving with\nthem any of the wonders to which they are truly adequate, if skilfully\nand perseveringly exerted; though we should have to overcome many of\nthose difficulties which present themselves, as obstacles to every\ngreat effort, but which are insurmountable, only to those who despair\nof surmounting them.\n\nIt was to a consideration of this kind, as to the primary importance\nof knowing the questions to which our faculties are competent, that we\nare indebted for one of the most valuable works in our science, a work,\nwhich none can read even now, without being impressed with reverence\nfor the great talents of its author; but of which it is impossible\nto feel the whole value, without an acquaintance with the verbal\ntrifling, and barren controversies, that still perplexed and obscured\nintellectual science at the period when it was written.\n\nThe work to which I allude is the _Essay on the Human Understanding_,\nto the composition of which Mr Locke, in his preface, states himself\nto have been led by an accidental conversation with some friends who\nhad met at his chamber. In the course of a discussion, which had no\nimmediate relation to the subject of the Essay, they found themselves\nunexpectedly embarrassed by difficulties that appeared to rise on every\nside, when after many vain attempts to extricate themselves from the\ndoubts which perplexed them, it occurred to Mr Locke, that they had\ntaken a wrong course,--that the inquiry in which they were engaged\nwas probably one which was beyond the reach of human faculties, and,\nthat their _first_ inquiry should have been, into the nature of the\nunderstanding itself, to ascertain what subjects it was fit to explore\nand comprehend.\n\n\u201cWhen we know our own strength,\u201d he remarks, \u201cwe shall the better know\nwhat to undertake with hopes of success: and when we have well surveyed\nthe powers of our own minds, and made some estimate what we may expect\nfrom them, we shall not be inclined either to sit still, and not set\nour thoughts on work at all, in despair of knowing anything; or, on\nthe other side, question every thing, and disclaim all knowledge,\nbecause some things are not to be understood. It is of great use to\nthe sailor, to know the length of his line, though he cannot with it\nfathom all the depths of the ocean. It is well he knows, that it is\nlong enough to reach the bottom, at such places as are necessary to\ndirect his voyage, and caution him against running upon shoals that\nmay ruin him.--This was that which gave the first rise to this essay\nconcerning the understanding. For I thought, that the first step\ntowards satisfying several inquiries, the mind of man was very apt\nto run into, was to take a survey of our own understandings, examine\nour own powers, and see to what things they were adapted. Till that\nwas done, I suspected we began at the wrong end, and in vain sought\nfor satisfaction in a quiet and sure possession of truths that most\nconcerned us, while we let loose our thoughts into the vast ocean of\nbeing, as if all that boundless extent were the natural and undoubted\npossession of our understandings.--Thus men, extending their inquiries\nbeyond their capacities, and letting their thoughts wander into those\ndepths, where they can find no sure footing, it is no wonder that they\nraise questions and multiply disputes, which, never coming to any clear\nresolution, are proper only to continue and increase their doubts, and\nto confirm them, at last, in perfect scepticism; whereas, were the\ncapacities of our understanding well considered, the extent of our\nknowledge once discovered, and the horizon found, which sets the bounds\nbetween the enlightened and dark parts of things, between what is and\nwhat is not comprehensible by us, men would perhaps, with less scruple,\nacquiesce in the avowed ignorance of the one, and employ their thoughts\nand discourse, with more advantage and satisfaction in the other.\u201d[7]\n\nThese observations of Mr Locke illustrate, very happily, the importance\nof a right view of the limits of our understanding, for directing our\ninquiries to the objects that are truly within our reach. It is not the\nwaste of intellect, as it lies torpid in the great multitude of our\nrace, that is alone to be regretted in relation to science, which in\nbetter circumstances, it might improve and adorn. It is in many cases,\nthe very industry of intellect, busily exerted, but exerted in labours\nthat must be profitless, because the objects, to which the labour is\ndirected, are beyond the reach of man. If half the zeal, and, I may\nadd, even half the genius, which, during so many ages, were employed\nin attempting things impossible, had been given to investigations, on\nwhich the transcendental inquirers of those times would certainly have\nlooked down with contempt, there are many names that are now mentioned\nonly with ridicule or pity, for which we should certainly have felt the\nsame deep veneration, which our hearts so readily offer to the names of\nBacon and Newton; or perhaps even the great names of Bacon and Newton\nmight, in comparison with them, have been only of secondary dignity. It\nwas not by idleness that this high rank of instructors and benefactors\nof the world was lost, but by a blind activity more hurtful than\nidleness itself. To those who never could have thought of numbering the\npopulation of our own little globe, it seemed an easy matter to number,\nwith precise arithmetical accuracy, the tribes of angels, and to assign\nto each order of spiritual beings its separate duties, and separate\ndignities, with the exactness of some heraldic pomp; and, amid all\nthose visible demonstrations of the Divinity which surround us wherever\nwe turn our view, there were minds that could think in relation to\nhim, of every thing but his wisdom and goodness; as if He who created\nus, and placed around us this magnificent system of things, were an\nobject scarcely worthy of our reverence, till we had fixed his precise\nstation in our logical categories, and had determined, not the majestic\nrelations which he bears to the universe, as created and sustained by\nhis bounty, but all the frivolous relations which he can be imagined to\nbear to impossibilities and nonentities.\n\n O, son of earth! attempt ye still to rise,\n By mountains pil'd on mountains, to the skies!\n Heaven still, with laughter, the vain toil surveys,\n And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.[8]\n\nIt is, indeed, then, to borrow Mr Locke's metaphor, of no slight\nimportance to know the length of our line, though we cannot, with it,\nfathom all the depths of the ocean. With the knowledge, that, to a\ncertain depth at least, we may safely confide in it, we shall not be\ncorrupted, by our fear, to coast along the shore, with such cautious\ntimidity as to lose all the treasures which might be obtained by a\nmore adventurous voyage; nor tempted in the rashness of ignorance or\ndespair, to trust ourselves wildly to every wind, though our course\nshould be amidst rocks and quicksands.\n\nThe study of the natural limits of the faculties of the mind, has,\nindeed, sometimes been misrepresented, as favouring a tendency to vague\nand unlimited doubt on all subjects, even on those most important to\nindividual and social happiness; as if the great names, to which we\nhave long given our admiration, for the light which they have thrown\non the powers and weaknesses of the human understanding, were not also\nthe very names which we have been accustomed, not to admire merely, but\nto venerate, for excellence of a still nobler kind. Far from leading\nto general scepticism, it is, on the contrary, a sound study of the\nprinciples of our intellectual and moral nature, which alone can free\nfrom the danger of it. If the sceptical philosophy be false, as the\nassertors of this objection will allow that it most assuredly is, it\ncan be overcome and destroyed only by a philosophy that is true;\nand the more deeply, and the more early, the mind is embued with the\nprinciples of truth, the more confidently may we rely on its rejection\nof the errors that are opposed to them. It is impossible for one,\nwho is not absolutely born to labour, to pass through life without\nforming, in his own mind, occasionally, some imperfect reflections on\nthe faculties by which he perceives and reasons; or without catching,\nfrom those with whom he may associate, some of those vague notions, of\na vague philosophy, which pass unexamined from mind to mind, and become\ncurrent in the very colloquial language of the day. The alternatives,\ntherefore, (if we can, indeed, think of any other alternative when\ntruth is one,) are not those of knowledge and absolute ignorance of\nthe mental phenomena, but of knowledge more or less accurate; because\nabsolute ignorance, even though it were a state to be wished, is\nbeyond our power to preserve, in one who enjoys, in any respects, the\nbenefit of education and liberal society. We might, with much greater\nprospect of success, attempt, by merely keeping from his view all\nprofessed treatises on Astronomy, to prevent him from acquiring that\nslight and common acquaintance with the system of the heavenly bodies,\nwhich is necessary for knowing that the sun does not go round the\nearth, than we could hope to prevent him from forming, or receiving,\nsome notions, accurate or inaccurate, as to the nature of mind; and\nwe surely cannot suppose, that the juster those opinions are, as to\nthe nature and force of the principles of belief, the feebler must the\nprinciples of belief appear. It is not so, that nature has abandoned\nus, with principles which we must fear to examine, and with truths and\nillusions which we must never dare to separate. In teaching us what our\npowers are incapable of attaining, she has at the same time, taught\nus what truths they may attain; and within this boundary, we have the\nsatisfaction of knowing, that she has placed all the truths that are\nimportant for our virtue and happiness. He, whose eyes are the clearest\nto distinguish the bounding circle, cannot surely, be the dullest to\nperceive the truths that are within. To know only to doubt, is but the\nfirst step in philosophy; and to rest at this first step, is either\nimbecility or idleness. It is not there that Wisdom sees, and compares,\nand pronounces; it is Ignorance, that, with dazzled eyes, just opening\nfrom the darkness of the night, perceives that she has been dreaming,\nwithout being able to distinguish, in the sunshine, what objects\nreally existing are around. He alone is the philosopher truly awake,\nwho knows both how to doubt, and how to believe; believing what is\nevident on the very same principles, which lead him to doubt, with\nvarious degrees of uncertainty, where the evidence is less sure. To\nconceive, that inquiry must lead to scepticism, is itself a species of\nscepticism, as to the power and evidence of the principles to which we\nhave given our assent, more degrading, because still more irrational,\nthan that open and consistent scepticism which it dreads. It would,\nindeed, be an unworthy homage to truths, which we profess to venerate,\nto suppose, that adoration can be paid to them only while we are\nignorant of their nature; and that to approach their altars would be to\ndiscover, that the majestic forms, which seem animated at a distance,\nare only lifeless idols, as insensible as the incense which we have\noffered to them.\n\nThe study of the powers and limits of the understanding, and of the\nsources of evidence in external nature and ourselves, instead of either\nforming or favouring a tendency to scepticism, is then, it appears,\nthe surest, or rather the only mode, of removing the danger of such a\ntendency. That mind may soon doubt even of the most important truths,\nwhich has never learned to distinguish the doubtful from the true. But\nto know well the irresistible evidence on which truth is founded, is to\nbelieve in it, and to believe in it forever.\n\nNor is it from the danger of scepticism only, that a just view of the\nprinciples of his intellectual constitution tends to preserve the\nphilosophic inquirer. It saves him, also, from that presumptuous and\nhaughty dogmatism, which, though free from doubt, is not, therefore,\nnecessarily free from error; and which is, indeed, much more likely\nto be fixed in error than in truth, where the inquiry, that precedes\nconviction, has been casual and incomplete. A just view of our nature\nas intelligent beings, at the same time that it teaches us enough\nof our strength to allow us to rest with confidence on the great\nprinciples, physical, moral, and religious, in which alone it is of\nimportance for us to confide, teaches us also enough of our weakness,\nto render us indulgent to the weakness of others. We cease to be\nastonished that multitudes should differ from us; because we know well,\nthat while nature has made a provision for the universal assent of\nmankind to those fundamental physical truths, which are essential to\ntheir very existence, and those _fundamental truths_ of another kind,\nwhich are equally essential to their existence as subjects of moral\ngovernment, she has left them, together with principles of improvement\nthat ensure their intellectual progress, a susceptibility of error,\nwithout which there could be no progression; and while we almost\ntrace back the circumstances which have modified our own individual\nbelief, we cannot but be aware, at the same time, how many sources\nthere are of prejudice, and, consequently, of difference of opinion,\nin the various situations in which the multitudes, that differ from\nus, have been placed. To feel anger at human error, says an ancient\nphilosopher, is the same thing as if we were to be angry with those who\nstumble in the dark,--with the deaf for not obeying our command,--with\nthe sick,--with the aged,--with the weary. That very dulness of\ndiscernment, which excites at once our wonder and our wrath, is but a\npart of the general frailty of mortality; and the love of our errors\nis not less inherent in our constitution than error itself. It is this\ngeneral constitution which is to be studied by us, that we may know\nwith what mistakes and weaknesses we must have to deal, when we have to\ndeal with our fellow-men; and the true art, therefore, of learning to\nforgive _individuals_, is to learn first how much we have to forgive\n_to the whole human race_. \u201cIllud potius cogitabis, non esse irascendum\nerroribus. Quid enim, si quis irascatur in tenebris parum vestigia\ncerta ponentibus? Quid si quis surdis, imperia non exaudientibus? Quid\nsi pueris, quod neglecto dispectu officiorum, ad lusus et ineptos\n\u00e6qualium jocos spectent? Quid si illis irasci velis, qui \u00e6grotant,\nsenescunt, fatigantur? Inter c\u00e6tera mortalitatis incommoda, et h\u00e6c\nest, caligo mentium: nec tantum necessitas errandi, sed errorum amor.\nNe singulis irascaris, universis ignoscendum: generi humano venia\ntribuenda est.\u201d[9]\n\nHow much of the fury of the persecuting spirit of darker ages would\nhave been softened and turned into moderation, by juster views of the\nnature of man, and of all the circumstances on which belief depends! It\nappears to us so very easy to believe what we consider as true,--or,\nrather, it appears to us so impossible to disbelieve it,--that, if we\njudge from our own momentary feelings only, without any knowledge of\nthe general nature of belief, and of all the principles in our mental\nconstitution by which it is diversified, we very naturally look on\nthe dissent of others as a sort of wilful and obstinate contrariety,\nand almost as an insulting denial of a right of approbation, which we\nconsider ourselves, in these circumstances, as very justly entitled to\nclaim. The transition from this supposed culpability to the associated\nideas of pains and penalties, is a very natural one; and there is,\ntherefore a sufficient fund of persecution in mere ignorance, though\nthe spirit of it were not, as it usually is, aggravated by degrading\nnotions of the divine Being, and false impressions of religious duty.\nVery different are the sentiments which the science of mind produces\nand cherishes. It makes us tolerant, not merely by showing the\nabsurdity of endeavouring to overcome, by punishment, a belief which\ndoes not depend on suffering; but which may remain, and even gather\nadditional strength, in imprisonment, in exile, under the axe, and\nat the stake. The absurdity of every attempt of this kind it shews\nindeed; but it makes us feel, still more intimately, that injustice\nof it, which is worse than absurdity,--by shewing our common nature,\nin all the principles of truth and error, with those whom we would\noppress; all having faculties that may lead to truth, and tendencies of\nvarious kinds which may mislead to error, and the mere accidental and\ntemporary difference of power being, if not the greatest, at least the\nmost obvious circumstance, which, in all ages, has distinguished the\n_persecutor_ from the _persecuted_.\n\n Let not this weak, unknowing hand,\n Presume thy bolts to throw;\n Or deal damnation round the land,\n On all I judge thy foe!\n\n If I am right,--thy grace impart,\n Still in the right to stay;\n If I am wrong,--O, teach my heart,\n To find the better way.[10]\n\nSuch is the language of devout philosophy. No proud assertion of\nindividual infallibility,--no triumph over the consequences in others,\nof a fallible nature, which ourselves partake in common,--but the\nexpression of feelings more suited to earthly weakness,--of a modest\njoy of belief, which is not less delightful for the humility that\ntempers it; and of a modest sorrow for the seeming errors of others, to\nwhich the consciousness of our own nature gives a sympathy of warmer\ninterest. The more important the subject of difference, the _greater_,\nnot the _less_, will be the indulgence of him who has learned to trace\nthe sources of human error,--of error, that has its origin not in\nour weakness and imperfection merely, but often in the most virtuous\naffections of the heart,--in that respect for age, and admiration of\nvirtue, and gratitude for kindness received, which make the opinions\nof those whom we love and honour seem to us, in our early years, as\nlittle questionable, as the virtues which we love to contemplate, or\nthe very kindness which we feel at every moment beaming on our heart,\nin the tender protection that surrounds us. That the subjects on which\nwe may differ from others, are _important to happiness_, of course\nimplies, that it is no slight misfortune _to have erred_; and that the\nmere error, therefore, must be already too great an evil to require any\naddition from our individual contempt or indignation, far less from the\nvengeance of public authority,--that _may_ be right, in the opinions\nwhich it conceives to be insulted by partial dissent; but which _must_\nbe wrong, in the means which it takes to avenge them. To be sincerely\nthankful for truths received, is, by the very nature of the feeling, to\nbe sensible how great a blessing those have lost who are deprived of\nthe same enjoyment; and to look down, then, with insolent disdain, on\nthe unfortunate victim of error, is, indeed to render contemptible, (as\nfar as it is in our feeble power to render it contemptible,) not the\nerror which we despise, but the truth which allows us to despise it.\n\nThe remarks which I have as yet made, on the effects of acquaintance\nwith the Philosophy of Mind, relate to its influence on the general\nspirit of philosophical inquiry; the advantages which must be derived,\nin every science, from a knowledge of the extent of the power of the\nintellectual instruments which we use for the discovery of truth; the\nskill which we thence acquire in distinguishing the questions in which\nwe may justly hope to discover truth, from those questions of idle and\nendless controversy, the decision of which is altogether beyond the\nreach of our faculties; and the consequent moderation in the temper,\nwith which we look both to our own possible attainments, and to the\nerrors of others.\n\nBut beside these general advantages, which the Philosophy of Mind\nextends to all the inquiries of which human genius is capable, there\nare some advantages more peculiarly felt in certain departments of\nscience or art. It is not merely _with_ the mind that we operate;\nthe subject of our operations is also often the _mind itself_. In\neducation, in criticism, in poetry, in eloquence, the mind has to act\nupon mind, to produce in it either emotions that are _temporary_, or\naffections and opinions that are _permanent_. We have to instruct\nit,--to convince it,--to persuade it,--to delight it,--to soften it\nwith pity,--to agitate it with terror or indignation;--and all these\neffects, when other circumstances of genius are the same, we shall\nsurely be able to produce more readily, if we know the natural laws of\nthought and emotion; the feelings which are followed by other feelings;\nand the thoughts, which, expanding into other thoughts, almost of\nthemselves produce the very passion, or conviction, which we wish to\nexcite.\n\n\u201cOne considerable advantage,\u201d says Mr Hume, \u201cwhich results from the\naccurate and abstract philosophy, is its subserviency to the easy and\nhumane; which, without the former, can never attain a sufficient degree\nof exactness in its sentiments, precepts, or reasonings. All polite\nletters are nothing but pictures of human life in various attitudes\nand situations; and inspire us with different sentiments of praise\nor blame, admiration or ridicule, according to the qualities of the\nobject which they set before us. An artist must be better qualified to\nsucceed in this undertaking; who, besides a delicate taste and quick\napprehension, possesses an accurate knowledge of the internal fabric,\nthe operations of the understanding, the workings of the passions, and\nthe various species of sentiment which discriminate vice and virtue.\nHowever painful this inward search or inquiry may appear, it becomes,\nin some measure, requisite to those who would describe with success\nthe obvious and outward appearances of life and manners. The anatomist\npresents to the eye the most hideous and disagreeable objects; but his\nscience is highly useful to the painter in delineating even a Venus\nor an Helen. While the latter employs all the richest colours of his\nart, and gives his figures the most graceful and engaging airs, he must\nstill carry his attention to the inward structure of the human body,\nthe position of the muscles, the fabric of the bones, and the use and\nfigure of every part or organ. Accuracy is, in every case, advantageous\nto beauty, and just reasoning to delicacy of sentiment;--in vain would\nwe exalt the one by depreciating the other.\u201d[11]\n\nThere is a most striking passage to the same purport, in that beautiful\ndialogue on ancient oratory, which has been ascribed, without any\nvery satisfactory evidence, to various authors, particularly to\nQuinctilian, the younger Pliny, and Tacitus, and which is not unworthy\nof the most eminent of the names to which it has been ascribed. After\ndwelling on the universal science and erudition of the great master\nof Roman eloquence, the chief speaker in the dialogue proceeds to\nshow the peculiar advantage which oratory must derive from _moral and\nintellectual science_, to the neglect of which fundamental study, as\nsuperseded by the frivolous disputations of the rhetorical schools, he\nascribes the decay of eloquence in the age of which he speaks.\n\n\u201cIta enim est, optimi viri, ita, ex multa eruditione, ex pluribus\nartibus, et omnium rerum scientia, exundat et exuberat illa admirabilis\neloquentia. Neque oratoris vis et facultas, sicut ceterarum rerum,\nangustis et brevibus terminis eluditur; sed is est orator, qui de\nomni qu\u00e6stione pulchre, et ornate, et ad persuadendum apte dicere,\npro dignitate rerum ad utilitatem temporum, cum voluptate audientium,\npossit. H\u00e6c sibi illi veteres persuadebant. Ad h\u00e6c efficienda\nintelligebant opus esse, non ut Rhetorum scholis declamarent,--sed\nut his artibus pectus implerent, in quibus de bonis ac malis, de\nhonesto ac turpi, de justo et injusto disputatur;--de quibus copiose,\net varie, et ornate, nemo dicere potest, nisi qui cognovit naturam\nhumanam.--Ex his fontibus etiam illa profluunt, ut facilius iram\njudicis vel instiget, vel leniat, qui scit quid ira, promptius ad\nmiserationem impellat qui scit quid sit misericordia, et quibus animi\nmotibus concitetur. In his artibus exercitationibusque versatus orator,\nsive apud infestos, sive apud cupidos, sive apud invidentes, sive\napud tristes, sive apud timentes dicendum habuerit, tenebit habenas\nanimorum, et prout cujusque natura postulabit, adhibebit manum et\ntemperabit orationem, parato omni instrumento, et ad usum reposito.\u201d[12]\n\nWhat is the whole art of criticism, in its most important\napplications, but the knowledge of the most natural successions of\nthought and feeling in the mind? We judge of the perspicuity and order\nof a discourse, by knowing the progress in which the mind, by the\ndevelopement of truth after truth, may be made at last to see the full\nmeaning of the most complex proposition. We judge of the beauty of\nimpassioned poetry or eloquence, by knowing whether the figures, the\nimages, the very feelings described, be such as, from our observation\nof the laws that regulate the internal series of changes in the mind,\nwe know to be consistent with that state of emotion, in which a mind\nmust exist that has been placed in the situation supposed. If all other\ncircumstances be equal, he will undoubtedly be the best critic, who\nknows best the phenomena of human thought and feeling; and, without\nthis knowledge, criticism can be nothing but a measurement of words,\nor a repetition of the ever repeated and endless common places of\nrhetoric. The knowledge of _nature_,--of the necessity of which critics\nspeak so much, and so justly, and which is as essential to the critic\nhimself, as to the writer on whom he sits in judgment,--is only another\nname for the knowledge of the successive transitions of feeling of\nthe mind, in all the innumerable diversities in which it is capable\nof being modified, by the variety of circumstances in which it maybe\nplaced. It is for this reason, that, with so great an abundance of\nthe mere art, or rather of the mere technical phrases of criticism,\nwe have so very little of the _science_ of it; because the science\nof criticism implies an acquaintance with the philosophy of thought\nand passion, which few can be expected to possess; and though nothing\ncan be easier than to deliver opinions, such as pass current in the\ndrawing-room, and even in the literary circle, which the frivolous may\nadmire as profound, and the ignorant as erudite, and which many voices\nmay be proud to repeat; though even the dull and pedantic are as able\nas the wise to say, in fluent language, that one passage of a work of\ngenius is beautiful, and another the reverse,--because one of them is\nin accordance with some technical rules, or because Homer and Milton\nhave passages similar to the one, and not to the other: it is far from\nbeing equally easy to show, how the one passage is beautiful, from its\ntruth of character, and the other, though perhaps rich in harmony of\nrhythm and rhetorical ornament, is yet faulty, by its violation of the\nmore important harmony of thought and emotion,--a harmony which nature\nobserves as faithfully, in the progress of those vehement passions\nthat appear most wild and irregular, as in the calmest successions of\nfeeling of the most tranquil hours. It would indeed, be too much to\nsay, as in the well known couplet of Pope,\n\n \u201cLet such teach others who themselves excel,\n And censure freely, who have written well;\u201d[13]\n\nfor the critic requires only _one_ of the two great talents, which in\nthe poet, ought to exist together, but which may yet exist separately.\nIn the poet, there must be, in the first place, an inventive fancy\nto bring together thoughts and images which have never been combined\nbefore; and with this inventive fancy, a discriminating judgment, which\nis to measure, by the standard of nature, the products of invention;\nand to retain them, only if they appear such, as though perhaps never\nbefore combined, might yet, in conformity with the natural laws of\nthought, have occurred to a mind, in the circumstances represented, as\ntruly, as the other thoughts or images, which the works of other poets\nhave rendered more familiar. This latter talent,--the judgment which\ndetermines the intrinsic beauty and fidelity to general nature,--is all\nwhich is absolutely requisite to the _critic_, who is not, therefore,\nunder the necessity of being himself \u201cthe great sublime\u201d which he\ndraws. Yet, though all the elements of excellence in the artist are not\nabsolutely requisite for the judgment of the sage and discriminating\nadmirer of the noble works which that excellence may have produced,\nsome of these elements unquestionably are requisite,--elements, for\nwhich the critic may search in vain in all the rules of rhetoricians,\nand even in the perusal of all the masterpieces of ancient and modern\ntimes, unless, to an acquaintance with these, he add an accurate\nacquaintance with that _intellectual and moral nature of man_, the\nbeautiful conformity to which was the essential charm of all the\npathos, and all the eloquence, which he has admired.\n\nThere is another art, however, to which knowledge of the intellectual\nand moral nature of man is still more important--that noble art, which\nhas the charge of training the ignorance and imbecility of infancy\ninto all the virtue, and power, and wisdom of maturer manhood--of\nforming, of a creature, the frailest and feeblest perhaps which heaven\nhas made, the intelligent and fearless sovereign of the whole animated\ncreation, the interpreter, and adorer, and almost the representative\nof the Divinity. The art, which performs a transformation so wondrous,\ncannot but be admirable itself; and it is from observation of the laws\nof mind, that all which is most admirable in it is derived. These\nlaws we must follow indeed, since they exist not by our contrivance,\nbut by the contrivance of that nobler wisdom, from which the very\nexistence of the mind has flowed; yet, if we know them well, we can\n_lead_ them, in a great measure, even while we _follow_ them. And,\nwhile the helpless subject of this great moral art is every moment\nrequiring our aid,--with an understanding that may rise, from truth\nto truth, to the sublimest discoveries, or may remain sunk forever in\nignorance, and with susceptibilities of vice that may be repressed, and\nof virtue that may be cherished,--can we know too well the means of\nchecking what is evil, and of fostering what is good? It is too late\nto lie by, in indolent indulgence of affection, till vice be already\nformed in the little being whom we love, and to labour then to remove\nit, and to substitute the virtue that is opposite to it. Vice already\nformed, is almost beyond our power. It is only in the state of latent\npropensity, that we can with much reason expect to overcome it by the\nmoral motives which we are capable of presenting; and to distinguish\nthis propensity before it has expanded itself, and even before it is\nknown to the very mind in which it exists,--to tame those passions\nwhich are never to rage, and to prepare, at a distance, the virtues of\nother years,--implies a knowledge of the mental constitution, which\ncan be acquired only by a diligent study of the nature, and progress,\nand successive transformations of feeling. It is easy to know, that\npraise or censure, reward or punishment, may increase or lessen, the\ntendency to the repetition of any particular action; and this, together\nwith the means of elementary instruction, is all which is commonly\ntermed _education_. But the true science of education is something far\nmore than this. It implies a skilful observation of the past, and that\nlong foresight of the future, which experience and judgment united\nafford. It is the art of seeing, not the _immediate effect_ only,\nbut the _series of effects_ which may follow any particular thought\nor feeling, in the infinite variety of possible combinations--the\nart often of drawing virtue from apparent evil, and of averting evil\nthat may rise from apparent good. It is, in short, the philosophy\nof the human mind applied practically to the human mind,--enriching\nit, indeed, with all that is useful or ornamental in knowledge, but\nat the same time giving its chief regard to objects of yet greater\nmoment--averting evil, which all the sciences together could not\ncompensate, or producing good, compared with which all the sciences\ntogether are as nothing.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[7] Essay on the Human Understanding.--Introd. sect. 6, 7.\n\n[8] Pope's Essay on Man, Ep. iv. v. 73-76.\n\n[9] Seneca, de Ira, lib. ii. cap. 9.\n\n[10] Pope's Universal Prayer, v. 25-32.\n\n[11] Inquiry concerning the Human Understanding, sec. I.\n\n[12] Tacitus, edit. Lipsii, p. 484, 5.\n\n[13] Essay on Criticism, v. 15, 16.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE IV.\n\nRELATION OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF MIND TO THE CULTIVATION OF MORAL FEELING.\n\n\nWe have already, Gentlemen, considered the relation which the\n_Philosophy of Mind_ bears to the _Sciences in general_, and its\nparticular application to those sciences and arts, in which the mind\nis not merely the instrument with which we carry on our intellectual\noperations, but the very subject on which we operate, as in the great\narts of reasoning, and persuading, of delighting with all the charms\nof poetry and eloquence, of judging of the degrees of excellence that\nhave been attained in these delightful arts; and, still more, its\napplication to the noblest, though, in proportion to its value, the\nleast studied of all the arts, the art of _education_. It remains\nstill, to point out some moral effects which the study of the Science\nof Mind produces in the _inquirer himself_, effects which may not be\nobvious at first sight, but which result from it, as truly as the\nintellectual advantages already pointed out.\n\nOne very powerful and salutary influence of moral science arises\ndirectly from the mere contemplation of the objects with which it is\nconversant--the benevolent affections, the pleasure which attends\nthese, the sacrifices that are made by generous virtue, and all the\nsublime admiration which they excite--the sordid and malevolent, and\njoyless passions of the selfish--the fear and shame that attend the\nguilty in society, and the horrors that, with a certainty of constant\nreturn more dreadful than their very presence, await them in their\nsolitary hours. It is good to have these often before us, and to\ntrace and contrast all the immediate, and all the remote effects of\nvice and virtue, even though we should form, at the time, no direct\nreference to our own past or future conduct. Without any such reference\nto ourselves, we must still be sensible of the pleasure and serene\nconfidence which attend the one, and of the insecurity and remorse\nwhich forever hang over the other; and the remaining impressions\nof love and disgust, will have an influence on our future conduct,\nof which we may probably be altogether unconscious at the time. It\nis, in truth, like the influence of the example of those with whom\nwe habitually associate, which no one perceives at any particular\nmoment, though all are every moment subject to it; and to meditate\noften on virtue and happiness, is thus almost to dwell in a sort of\nsocial communion with the virtuous and happy. The influence of moral\nconceptions has, in this respect, been compared to that of _light_,\nwhich it is impossible to approach, without deriving from it some faint\ncolouring, even though we should not sit in the very sunshine,--or\nto that of _precious odours_, amid which we cannot long remain,\nwithout bearing away with us some portion of the fragrance. \u201cEa enim\nphilosophi\u00e6 vis est, ut non solum studentes, sed etiam conversantes\njuvet. Qui in solem venit, licet non in hoc venerit, colorabitur: qui\nin unguentaria taberna resederunt, et paulo diutius commorati sunt,\nodorem secum loci ferunt: et qui apud philosophiam fuerunt, traxerint\naliquid necesse est, quod prodesset etiam negligentibus.\u201d[14]\n\nThe nature of the process, by which this moral benefit arises from the\nmere contemplation of moral objects, frequently repeated, is far from\nobscure, though it depends on a cause to which you may perhaps as yet\nhave paid little attention, but which, in an after part of the course,\nI shall have an opportunity of illustrating at length,--the influence\nof the associating principle in the mind,--of that principle, by which\nideas and other feelings, that have often co-existed, acquire, forever\nafter, an almost indissoluble union. It is not merely, therefore, by\nhaving traced, more accurately than others, the consequences of vice\nand virtue, as affecting the general character, that the lover of moral\nscience strengthens his admiration of virtue, and his abhorrence of\nvice. But, by the frequent consideration of virtue, together with the\nhappiness which it affords, and of vice, together with its consequent\nmisery, the notions of these become so permanently, and so deeply\nassociated, that future virtue appears almost like happiness about\nto be enjoyed, and future vice like approaching misery. The dread of\nmisery, and the love of happiness, which are essential principles of\nour very physical existence, are thus transformed into principles of\n_moral conduct_, that operate, before reflection, with the rapidity,\nand almost with the energy of instincts,--and that, after reflection,\nadd to our virtuous resolutions a force and stability, which, as\nresults of mere reasoning, they could not possess.\n\nIt is, besides, no small advantage of the abstract consideration of\nvirtue, as opposed to the miseries of vice, that, in considering\nthese philosophically, we regard them as stripped of every thing that\ncan blind or seduce us; and we behold them, therefore, truly as they\nare. It is not in the madness of intemperate enjoyment, that we see\ndrunkenness in the goblet, and disease in the feast. Under the actual\nseduction of a passion, we see dimly, if we see at all, any of the\nevils to which it leads; and if the feelings, of which we are then\nconscious, were those which were forever after to be associated with\nthe remembrance of the passion, it would appear to us an object, not\nof disgust or abhorrence, but of delight and choice, and almost of a\nsort of moral approbation. It is of importance, then, that we should\nconsider the passion, at other moments than these, that the images\nassociated with it may be not of that brief and illusive pleasure,\nwhich stupifies its unfortunate victim, but of its true inherent\ncharacter, of deformity, and of the contempt and hatred which it\nexcites in others. Such is the advantage of the point of view, in\nwhich it is seen by the _moral inquirer_, to whom it presents itself,\nnot under its momentary character of pleasure, but under its lasting\ncharacter of pain and disgust. By habituating himself to consider the\n_remote_, as well as the immediate results of all the affections and\npassions, he learns to regard virtue, not merely as good in itself, at\nthe moment in which it is called into exercise, but as an inexhaustible\nsource of good which is continually increasing; and vice not merely\nas a temporary evil in itself, but as a source of permanent and yet\ndeeper misery and degradation. Every generous principle, which nature\nhas given him, is thus continually deriving new strength, from the very\ncontemplation of the good which it affords; and if, in the frailty\nof mortality, he should still be subject to the occasional influence\nof those very passions, which, in cooler moments, he detests, he\nyet does not fall, thoroughly and hopelessly. There are lingering\nassociations of moral beauty and happiness in his mind, which may save\nhim still,--associations that must render it, in some degree at least,\nmore difficult for him than for others, to yield to seductions, of\nwhich he has long known the vanity, and which perhaps even may, in\nsome happier hour, lead him back to that virtue, of which he has never\nwholly forgotten the charms.\n\nThe charms of virtue, indeed, it is scarcely possible, for him who has\nfelt them, wholly to forget. There may be eyes that can look unmoved\non the external beauty which once delighted them. But who is there\nthat has ever been alive to its better influence, who can think of\nmoral loveliness without a feeling of more than admiration,--without a\nconscious enjoyment, in the possession of what is so truly admirable,\nor a sigh at having lost the privilege of dwelling on it with delight,\nand at being obliged to shrink from the very thought of what it once\nappeared?\n\n \u201cFor what can strive\n With virtue? which of nature's regions vast\n Can in so many forms produce to sight\n Such powerful beauty?--Beauty, which the eye\n Of hatred cannot look upon secure;\n Which Envy's self contemplates, and is turn'd\n Ere long to tenderness, to infant smiles,\n Or tears of humblest love. Is ought so fair,\n In all the dewy landscapes of the Spring,\n The Summer's noontide groves, the purple eve\n At harvest-home, or in the frosty moon\n Glittering on some smooth sea, is aught so fair\n As virtuous friendship? As the honour'd roof,\n Whither, from highest heaven, immortal love,\n His torch etherial, and his golden bow,\n Propitious brings, and there a temple holds,\n To whose unspotted service gladly vow'd,\n The social bond of parent, brother, child,\n With smiles, and sweet discourse, and gentle deeds,\n Adore his power? What gift of richest clime\n E'er drew such eager eyes, or prompted such\n Deep wishes, as the zeal, that snatcheth back\n From Slander's poisonous tooth a _foe's_ renown,\n Or crosseth Danger in his lion-walk,\n A rival's life to rescue?\u201d\n\nThe study of moral science, then, we have seen, has a direct tendency\nto strengthen our attachment to the virtues which we habitually\ncontemplate. _Another_ most important advantage derived from it,\nrelates to us in our higher character of beings _capable of religion_,\nincreasing our devotion and gratitude to the Divinity, by the clearest\nmanifestation which it gives us of his provident goodness in the\nconstitution and government of the moral world.\n\nThe _external universe_, indeed, though our study were confined to the\nlaws which regulate its phenomena, would afford, in itself, abundant\nproof of the power and wisdom by which it was created. But power and\nwisdom _alone_ excite admiration only, not love; which, though it may\nbe feigned in the homage that is universally paid to power, is yet,\nas an offering of the heart, paid to it only when it is combined with\nbenevolence. It is the splendid benevolence, therefore, of the Supreme\nBeing, which is the object of our grateful adoration; and, to discover\nthis benevolence, we must look to creatures that have not existence\n_merely_, like inanimate things, but a capacity of enjoyment, and means\nof enjoyment. It is in man,--or in beings capable of knowledge and\nhappiness, like man,--that we find the solution of the wonders of the\ncreation; which would otherwise, with all its regularity and beauty,\nbe but a solitary waste, like the barren magnificence of rocks and\ndeserts. God, says Epictetus, has introduced man into the world, to\nbe the spectator of his works, and of their divine Author; and not to\nbe the spectator only, but to be the announcer and interpreter of the\nwonders which he sees and adores. \u1f49 \u0398\u03b5\u1f78\u03c2--\u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u1f04\u03bd\u03b8\u03c1\u03c9\u03c0\u03bf\u03bd \u03b8\u03b5\u03b1\u03c4\u1f74\u03bd \u03b5\u1f30\u03c3\u03ae\u03b3\u03b1\u03b3\u03b5\u03bd\n\u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03c4\u03b5 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03c4\u1ff6\u03bd \u1f14\u03c1\u03b3\u03c9\u03bd \u03c4\u1ff6\u03bd \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6\u00b7 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u03bf\u1f56 \u03bc\u03cc\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd \u03b8\u03b5\u03b1\u03c4\u1f74\u03bd \u1f00\u03bb\u03bb\u1f70 \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f10\u03be\u03b7\u03b3\u03b7\u03c4\u1f74\u03bd\n\u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u1ff6\u03bd.[15] \u201cH\u00e6c qui contemplatur,\u201d says another ancient Stoic, with a\nlittle of the bold extravagance of his school,--\u201cH\u00e6c qui contemplatur,\nquid Deo pr\u00e6stat? Ne tanta ejus opera sine teste sint.\u201d--\u201cCuriosum\nnobis natura ingenium dedit; et artis sibi ac pulchritudinis suae\nconscia, spectatores nos tantis rerum spectaculis genuit, perditura\nfructum sui, si tam magna, tam clara, tarn subtiliter ducta, tam\nnitida, et non uno genere formosa solitudini ostenderet.\u201d[16]\n\nIn the study of what might be considered as the very defects of our\nmoral nature, how pleasing is it, to the philosophic inquirer, to\ndiscover that provident arrangement of a higher Power, which has\nrendered many of the most striking of the apparent evils of life\nsubservient to the production of a general utility, that had never\nentered into the contemplation of its remote authors. He who has never\nstudied the consequences of human actions, perceives, in the great\nconcourse of mankind, only a multitude of beings consulting each\nhis own peculiar interest, or the interest of the very small circle\nimmediately around him, with little, if any, apparent attention to the\ninterests of others. But he who has truly studied human actions and\ntheir consequences, sees, in the prosecution of all these separate\ninterests, that universal interest which is their great result;\nand the very principle of self-regard thus contributing to social\nhappiness,--unconsciously indeed, but almost as surely as the principle\nof benevolence itself.\n\n Each individual seeks a several goal,\n But Heaven's great view is _one_, and that the whole.\n That counterworks each folly and caprice;\n That disappoints the effect of every vice;--\n All Virtue's ends from Vanity's can raise;\n Which seeks no interest, no reward but praise;\n And build on wants, and on defects of mind,\n The joy, the peace, the glory of mankind.[17]\n\nI have already,[18]--when treating of the influence of just views\nof the extent and limits of our faculties, in fixing the proper\ntone of inquiry, and lessening equally the tendency to the opposite\nextremes of dogmatism and scepticism,--stated some important moral\nadvantages that arise from this very moderation of the tone of inquiry,\nparticularly with respect to the temper with which it prepares us to\nreceive dissent from our opinions without anger, or insolent disdain,\nor even astonishment. So much of the intercourse of human society\nconsists in the reciprocal communication of opinions which must often\nbe opposed to each other, that this preparation of the temper, whether\nfor amicable and equal discussion, or for mutual silent forbearance,\nis not to be lightly appreciated as an element in the sum of human\nhappiness. On this point, however, and on its relation to the still\ngreater advantages, or still greater evils, of national or legislative\ntolerance or intolerance, I before offered some remarks, and therefore\nmerely allude to it at present.\n\nThe tolerance with which we receive the opinions of others is a part,\nand an indispensable part, of that general refinement of manners to\nwhich we give the name of _politeness_. But politeness itself, in\nall its most important respects,--indeed in every respect, in which\nit is to be separated from the mere fluctuating and arbitrary forms\nand ceremonies of the month or year,--is nothing more than _knowledge\nof the human mind directing general benevolence_. It is the art\nof producing the greatest happiness, which, in the mere external\ncourtesies of life, can be produced, by raising such ideas or other\nfeelings in the minds of those with whom we are conversant, as will\nafford the most pleasure, and averting, as much as possible, every idea\nwhich may lead to pain. It implies, therefore, when perfect, a fine\nknowledge of the natural series of thoughts, so as to distinguish, not\nmerely the thought which will be the immediate or near effect of what\nis said or done, but those which may arise still more remotely; and\nhe is the most successful in this art of giving happiness, who sees\nthe future at the greatest distance. It is this foresight acquired by\nattentive observation of the various characters of mankind in a long\nintercourse with society, which is the true knowledge of the world; for\nthe knowledge of the mere _forms_ and _ceremonies_ of the world, which\nis of far easier acquisition, is scarcely worthy of being called a part\nof it. The essential, and the only valuable part of politeness then,\nis as truly the result of study of the human mind, as if its minutest\nrules had formed a regular part of our systems of intellectual and\nmoral philosophy. It is the philosophy indeed of those, who scarcely\nknow that they are philosophizing; because _philosophy_, to them,\nimplies something which has no other ornaments than _diagrams_ and\nfrightful _algebraic characters_, laid down in systems, or taught in\nschools and universities, with the methodical tediousness of rules of\ngrammar; and they are conscious, that all, or the greatest part of what\nthey know, has been the result of their own observation, and acquired\nin the very midst of the amusements of life. But he, who knows the\nworld, must have studied the mind of man, or at least--for it is only\na partial view of the mind which is thus formed--must have studied it\nin some of its most striking aspects. He is a _practical_ philosopher,\nand, therefore, a _speculative_ one also, since he must have founded\nhis rules of action on certain principles, the results of his own\nobservation and reflection. These results are, indeed, usually lost\nto all but to the individual: and the loss is not to be considered as\nslight, merely because the knowledge, which thus perishes, has been\nusually applied by its possessor to frivolous purposes, and sometimes\nperhaps to purposes still more unworthy. When we read the maxims of\nLa Rochefoucauld, which, false as they would be, if they had been\nintended to give us a faithful universal picture of the moral nature\nof man, were unfortunately too faithful a delineation of the passions\nand principles that immediately surrounded their author, and met his\ndaily view, in the splendid scenes of vanity and ambitious intrigue\nto which his observation was confined,--it is impossible not to feel,\nthat, acute and subtle as they are, many of these maxims must have been\nonly the expression of principles, which were floating, without being\nfixed in words, in the minds of many of his fellow courtiers; and the\ninstruction, which might be received from those who have been long\nconversant with mankind, in situations favourable to observation, if,\nby any possibility, it could be collected and arranged, would probably\nfurnish one of the most important additions which could be made to\nmoral science.\n\nHow much politeness consists in knowledge of the natural succession of\nthoughts and feelings, and a consequent ready foresight of the series\nof thoughts, which it is in our power indirectly to excite or avert,\nmust have presented itself in a very striking manner to every one,\nwhose professional duties, or other circumstances, have led him to pay\nattention to the lower orders of society. The most benevolent of the\npoor, in situations too in which their benevolence is most strongly\nexcited, as in the sickness of their relations or friends, and in which\nthey exert themselves to relieve obvious pain, with an assiduity of\nwatching and fatigue, after all the ordinary fatigues of the day, that\nis truly honourable to their tenderness, have yet little foresight\nof the mere pains of thought; and while in the same situation, the\nrich and better educated, with equal, or perhaps even with less\nbenevolence of intention, carefully avoid the introduction of any\nsubject, which might suggest, indirectly to the sufferer the melancholy\nimages of parting life, the conversation of the poor, around the bed\nof their sick friend, is such as can scarcely fail to present to him\nevery moment, not the probability merely, but almost the certainty\nof approaching death. It is impossible to be present, in these two\nsituations, without remarking the benefit of a little knowledge of\nthe human mind, without which, far from fulfilling its real wishes,\nbenevolence itself may be the most cruel of torturers.\n\nThe same species of foresight which is essential to the refinements\nof social intercourse, is equally essential in the active occupations\nof life, to that knowledge of times and circumstances, which is so\nimportant to success; and though this knowledge may be too often\nabused, to unworthy purposes, by the sordid and the servile, it is\nnot the less necessary to those who pursue only honourable plans, and\nwho avail themselves only of honourable means. Such is the nature of\nsociety, that the most generous and patriotic designs still require\nsome _conduct_ to procure for them authority; and, at least in the\npublic situations of life, without a knowledge of the nature both of\nthose who are to govern, and of those who are to be governed, though it\nmay be very easy to _wish well to society_, the hardest of all tasks\nwill be the task of _doing it good_.\n\nMay I not add, as another salutary moral effect of the Science of\nMind, the tendency which the study of the general properties of our\ncommon nature has to lessen that undue veneration, which, in civilized\nsociety, must always attend the adventitious circumstances of fortune,\nand to bring this down, at least some degrees, nearer to that due\nrespect which is indispensable for the tranquillity and good order of\na state, and which no wise and patriotic moralist, therefore, would\nwish to see diminished. It is only in the tumultuous phrenzy of a\nrevolution, however, or in periods of great and general discontent,\nthat the respect of the multitude for those who are elevated above\nthem, in rank and fortune, is likely to fall beneath this salutary\npoint. So many of the strongest principles of our nature, favour the\n_excess_ of it, that, in the ordinary circumstances of society, it\nmust always pass far beyond the point of calm respect; so far beyond\nit, indeed, that the lesson which the people require most frequently\nto be taught, is, not to venerate the very guilt and folly of the rich\nand powerful, because they are the guilt and folly of the rich and\npowerful. It is to the objects of the idolatry themselves, however,\nthat the study of a science, which considers them as stripped of every\nadventitious distinction, and possessing only the common virtues and\ntalents of mankind, must be especially salutary. In the ordinary\ncircumstances of a luxurious age, it is scarcely possible for the\ngreat to consider themselves as what they truly are; and though, if\nquestioned as to their belief of their common origin with the rest of\nmankind, they would no doubt think the question an absurd one, and\nreadily own their descent from the same original parentage; there can\nbe as little doubt, that in the silence of their own mind, and in\nthose hours of vanity and ambition, which, to many of them, are almost\nthe whole hours of life, this tie of common nature is rarely, if ever\nfelt. It is impossible indeed, that it should be often felt, because,\nin the circumstances in which they are placed, there is every thing to\nremind them of a _superiority_, of which their passions themselves are\nsufficiently ready to remind them, and very little to remind them of an\n_equality_, from the contemplation of which all their passions are as\nready to turn away. There are, however, some circumstances which are\ntoo strong for all these passions to overcome, and which force in spite\nof them, upon the mind that self-knowledge, which in other situations,\nit is easy to avoid. In pain and sickness, notwithstanding all the vain\nmagnificence which the pride of grandeur spreads around the couch, and\nthe profusion of untasted delicacies, with which officious tenderness\nstrives to solicit an appetite that loathes them, he who lies upon the\ncouch within, begins to learn his own nature, and sees through the\nsplendour that seems to surround him, as it were, without touching him,\nhow truly foreign it is to that existence, of which before it seemed\nto form a part. The feeling that he is but a _man_, in the true sense\nof that word, as a frail and dependant being like those around him, is\none of the first feelings, and perhaps not one of the least painful,\nwhich arise in such a situation. The impression, however, of this\ncommon nature, is, while it lasts, a most salutary one; and it is to be\nregretted only, that health cannot return without bringing back with it\nall those flattering circumstances which offer the same seductions as\nbefore to his haughty superiority.\n\nThe sight of death, or of the great home of the dead, in like manner,\nseldom fails to bring before us our common and equal nature. In spite\nof all the little distinctions which a churchyard exhibits, in mimic\nimitation, and almost in mockery, of the great distinctions of life,\nthe turf, the stone with its petty sculptures, and all the columns and\nimages of the marble monument; as we read the inscription, or walk over\nthe sod, we think only _of what lies beneath in undistinguishable\nequality_. There is scarcely any one on whom these two great equalizing\nobjects, sickness and the sight of death, have not produced, for a\nshort time, at least, some salutary moral impression. But these are\nobjects which cannot often occur, and which are accompanied with too\nmany distressing circumstances, to render it desirable that they should\nbe of very frequent occurrence. The study of the _mind_, of our common\nmoral and intellectual nature, and of those common hopes which await\nus, as immortal beings, seems in some degree to afford the advantage,\nwithout the mixture of evil: for, though in such speculative inquiries,\nthe impression may be less striking than when accompanied with painful\ncircumstances, it is more permanent, because, from the absence of those\npowerful circumstances, it is more frequently and willingly renewed.\nIn the philosophy of mind, all those heraldic differences which have\nconverted mere human vanity into a science, are as nothing. It is _man_\nthat is the object of investigation, and man with no distinctions that\nare adventitious. The feelings, the faculties, which we consider, are\nendowments of the rich and powerful indeed; but they are endowments\nalso of the meanest of those on whom they look with disdain. It is\nsomething, then, for those whose thoughts are continually directed\nby external circumstances, to that perilous elevation on which they\nare placed, to be led occasionally, as in such inquiries they must\nbe, to measure themselves and others without regard to the accidental\ndifferences of the heights on which they stand, and to see what it\nis in which they truly _differ_, and what it is in which they truly\n_agree_.\n\nIn the remarks already made, on the study of the Science of Mind, we\nhave considered its effects on the progress of the other sciences,\nand on the moral dispositions. But, though the study had no effects\nof this kind, moral or intellectual, is not the mind itself a part of\nnature, and _as a mere physical object_, deserving of our profoundest\nand most intent investigation? or shall it be said, that while we\nstrive, not merely to measure the whole earth, and to follow in our\nthought the revolutions of these great orbs, whose majesty may almost\nbe said to force from us this homage of admiration, but to arrange,\nin distinct tribes, those animalcular atoms, whose very existence we\nlearn only from the glass through which we view them; the observing\nand calculating mind itself is less an object of universal science,\nthan the antennae of an insect, or the filaments of a weed? Would it\nbe no reproach to man, even though he knew all things besides, that\nhe yet knew far less accurately than he might know, his own internal\nnature,--like voyagers who delight in visiting every coast of the most\ndistant country, without the slightest acquaintance, perhaps, with the\ninterior of their own?\n\n Qui terr\u00e6 pelagique vias, mundique per omnes\n Articulos spatiatur ovans, metasque suorum\n Herculeas audet supra posuisse laborum,\n Neglectus jacet usque sibi, dumque omnia qu\u00e6rit,\n Ipse sui qu\u00e6sitor abest; incognita tellus\n Solus nauta latet, propiorque ignotior orbis.\n\nWould the lines which follow these, if indeed there were any one to\nwhom they were applicable in their full extent, convey praise less high\nthan that which might be given to the observer of some small nerve or\nmembrane, that had never been observed before, or the discoverer of a\nnew species of earth, in some pebble before unanalyzed?\n\n Tu melior Tiphys, spreto jam Phasidis auro,\n In te vela paras, animatos detegis orbes,\n Humanasque aperis ausis ingentibus oras.\n Jamque novos laxari sinus, anim\u00e6que latentis\n Arcanas reserare vias, c\u0153losque recessus\n Fas aperire tibi, totamque secludere mentem.\n\nTo the _mind_, considered as a mere object of physical inquiry, there\nis one circumstance of interest, that is peculiar. It is the part of\nour mixed nature which we have especially in view as often as we think\nof _self_,--that by which we began to exist, and continue to exist, by\nwhich in every moment of our being, we have rejoiced, and hoped, and\nfeared, and loved; or rather, it is that which has been itself, in all\nour emotions, the rejoicer, the hoper, the fearer. To inquire into the\nhistory of the mind, therefore, is in truth to look back, as far as it\nis permitted to us to look back, on the whole history of our life. It\nis to think of those many pleasing emotions which delighted us when\npresent, or of those sadder feelings, which when considered as past,\nbecome delightful, almost like the feelings that were in themselves\noriginally pleasing, and in many cases, are reviewed with still greater\ninterest. We cannot attempt to think of the origin of our knowledge,\nwithout bringing before us scenes and persons most tenderly familiar;\nand though the effect of such remembrances is perhaps less powerful,\nwhen the mind is prepared for philosophical investigation, than in\nmoments in which it is more passive, still the influence is not\nwholly lost. He must be a very cold philosopher indeed, who, even in\nintellectual analysis, can retrace the early impressions of his youth,\nwith as little interest as that with which he looks back on the common\noccurrences of the past day.\n\nBut it is not any slight interest which it may receive from such\npeculiar remembrances, that can be said to give value to the philosophy\nof mind. It furnishes, in itself, the sublimest of all speculations,\nbecause it is the philosophy of the sublimest of all created things.\n\u201cThere is but one object,\u201d says St. Augustine, \u201cgreater than the soul,\nand that one is its Creator.\u201d \u201cNihil est potentius illa creatura qu\u00e6\nmens dicitur rationalis, nihil est sublimius. _Quicquid supra illam\nest jam Creator est._\u201d When we consider the powers of his mind, even\nwithout reference to the wonders which he has produced on earth, what\nroom does man afford for astonishment and admiration! His senses,\nhis memory, his reason, the past, the present, the future, the whole\nuniverse, and, if the universe have any limits, even more than the\nwhole universe, comprised in a single thought; and, amid all these\nchanges of feelings that succeed each other, in rapid and endless\nvariety, a permanent and unchangeable duration, compared with which,\nthe duration of external things is but the existence of a moment.\n\n \u201cO what a patrimony this! a being\n Of such inherent strength and majesty,\n Not worlds possest can raise it; worlds destroy'd\n Not injure;[19] which holds on its glorious course,\n When thine, O Nature, ends!\u201d[20]\n\nSuch, in dignity and grandeur, is the mind considered, even\nabstractedly. But when, instead of considering the mind itself, we\nlook to the wonders which it has performed--the cities, the cultivated\nplains, and all the varieties of that splendid scene to which the art\nof man has transformed the deserts, and forests, and rocks of original\nnature; when we behold him, not limiting the operations of his art\nto that earth to which he seemed confined, but bursting through the\nvery elements, that appeared to encircle him as an insurmountable\nbarrier--traversing the waves--struggling with the winds, and making\ntheir very opposition subservient to his course; when we look to\nthe still greater transformations which he has wrought in the\n_moral scene_, and compare with the miseries of barbarous life, the\ntranquillity and security of a well ordered state; when we see, under\nthe influence of legislative wisdom, insurmountable multitudes obeying,\nin opposition to their strongest passions, the restraints of a power\nwhich they scarcely perceive, and the crimes of a single individual\nmarked and punished, at the distance of half the earth; is it possible\nfor us to observe all these wonders, and yet not to feel some curiosity\nto examine the faculties by which they have been wrought, some interest\nin a being so noble, that leads us to speculate on the future wonders\nwhich he may yet perform, and on the final destiny which awaits him?\nThis interest we should feel, though no common tie connected us with\nthe object of our admiration; and we cannot surely admit that the\nobject of our admiration is less interesting to us, or less sublime in\nnature, because the faculties which we admire are those which ourselves\npossess, and the wonders such as we are capable of achieving and\nsurpassing.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[14] Seneca, Ep. 108.\n\n[15] Dissertat. ab Arrian, collect, lib. i. c. 6.--p. 35. Edit. Upton.\n\n[16] Seneca de otio Sapent. c. 32.\n\n[17] Pope's Essay on Man, Ep. ii. v. 237-240, and 245-248.\n\n[18] Lect. III.\n\n[19] Can't injure. _Orig._\n\n[20] Young's Night Thoughts, VI. v. 535-539.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE V.\n\nON THE NATURE OF PHYSICAL INQUIRY IN GENERAL.\n\n\nThe preceding Lectures, Gentlemen, have, I trust, sufficiently\nconvinced you of the _importance_ of the science on which we are to\nenter,--if, indeed, many of the advantages which we have considered\nwere not of themselves so obvious, as readily to have occurred to your\nown reflection, or at least to require less illustration, than,--in\nmy desire to interest not your attention merely, but your zealous\nardour, in a science which appears to me so truly to deserve it,--I\nhave thought necessary to give them. We have seen, how interesting the\nmind is, as an object of study, _from its own intrinsic excellence_,\neven though it were to be considered in no other light, than as a\nmere part of the universal system of things, necessary, therefore,\nto be comprehended with every other existing substance, _in a system\nof general physics_. We have seen, likewise, in how many important\nrespects, the study of the science of Mind is favourable to the growth\nof virtuous sentiment, and to the refinement and happiness of society;\nand, above all, how essential an acquaintance with it is, to the proper\nconduct of our inquiries,--not merely in those sciences, the objects of\nwhich are kindred or analogous, but in every other science, the various\nobjects of which, however independent, and even remote from it they may\nseem, must always be considered, not as they exist in _themselves_, but\nas they exist in _relation to it_; since they can be known to us only\nthrough the medium of the mental affections, or feelings, excited by\nthem, which have laws peculiar to themselves, and analyzed and arranged\nonly by our mental faculties, which have their own peculiar limits of\nextent and power.\n\nThe first great division of our course of inquiry is purely\nphysiological. It has for its object the mind, considered as\nsusceptible of various states or affections, and constituting, as\nit is thus variously affected, the whole phenomena of thought and\nfeeling, which, though expressed by a variety of terms, of functions,\nor faculties, are still but the _one_ mind itself existing in different\nstates. On retracing these states, which form the whole progress of\nour sentient, intellectual, and moral life, we have to inquire into\nthe properties of the substance, mind, according to the same laws of\ninvestigation, by which we inquire into the properties of external\nsubstances,--not by assuming principles, from which the phenomena may\nbe supposed to flow, but by observing and generalizing, till we arrive\nat those few simple principles or laws, which, however pompous the\nterm _laws_ may seem, as if it denoted something different from the\nphenomena themselves, and paramount to them, are in truth, nothing\nmore than the expression of the most general circumstances, in which\nthe phenomena themselves have been felt by us to agree. As we say of\ngold, that it is that which is of a certain specific weight, yellow,\nductile, fusible at a certain temperature, and capable of certain\ncombinations,--because all these properties have been observed by\nourselves or others,--so we say of the _mind_, that it is that which\nperceives, remembers, compares, and is susceptible of various emotions\nor other feelings; because of all these we have been conscious, or have\nobserved them indirectly in others. We are not entitled to state with\nconfidence any quality, as a property of gold, which we do not remember\nto have observed ourselves, or to have received on the faith of the\nobservation of others, whose authority we have reason to consider as\nindubitable; and as little are we entitled to assert any quality, or\ngeneral susceptibility, as belonging to the human _mind_, of which we\nhave not been conscious ourselves in the feelings resulting from it, or\nfor which we have not the authority of the indubitable consciousness of\nothers. The exact coincidence, in this respect, of the physics of mind\nand of matter, it is important that you should have constantly before\nyou, that you may not be led to regard the comparative indistinctness\nand vagueness of the mental phenomena as a warrant for greater\nboldness of assertion, and looseness of reasoning with respect to\nthem. There is, on the contrary, in such a case, still greater reason\nto adhere rigidly to the strict rules of philosophizing; because the\nless definite the phenomena are, the greater danger is there of being\nmisled in discriminating and classing them. The laws of inquiry,\nthose general principles of the logic of physics, which regulate our\nsearch of truth in all things, external and internal, do not vary with\nthe name of a science, or its objects or instruments. They are not\nlaws of _one_ science, but of _every_ science, whether the objects of\nit be mental or material, clear or obscure, definite or indefinite;\nand they are thus universal, because, in truth, though applicable\nto _many sciences_, they are only laws of _the one inquiring mind_,\nfounded on the weakness of its powers of discernment, in relation to\nthe complicated phenomena on which those powers are exercised. The\nsort of reasoning which would be false in chemistry, would be false\nin astronomy, would be false in the physiology of our corporeal or\nintellectual and moral nature, and in all, for the same reason; because\nthe mind is the inquirer in all alike, and is limited, by the very\nconstitution of its faculties, to a certain order of inquiry, which it\nmust, in this case of supposed erroneous reasoning, have transgressed.\n\nOn these general laws of inquiry, as relating alike to the\ninvestigation of the properties of _matter_ and of _mind_, it is my\nintention to dwell, for some time, with full discussion; for, though\nthe subject may be less pleasing, and may require more severe and\nunremitting attention on your part, than the greater number of the\ninquiries which await us, it is still more important than any of these,\nbecause it is, in truth, _essential_ to them all. The season of your\nlife is not that which gathers the harvest; it is that which prepares\nthe soil, by diligent cultivation, for the fruits which are to adorn\nand enrich it;--or, to speak without a metaphor, you do not come here,\nthat you may make yourselves acquainted, in a few months, with all the\nphenomena of the universe,--as if it were only to look on the motions\nof the planets in an orrery, or to learn a few names of substances and\nqualities,--but that you may acquire those _philosophical principles_,\nwhich in the course of a long and honourable life, are to enable you\nto render yourselves more familiar every day with the works of nature,\nand with the sublime plans of its beneficent Author:--and if without\nthe knowledge of a single word of fact, in matter or in mind, it were\npossible for you to carry away from these walls a clear notion of the\nobjects of inquiry, and of the plan on which alone investigation can\nbe pursued with advantage, I should conceive, that you had profited\nfar more, than if, with confused notions of the objects and plan of\ninvestigation, you carried with you the power of talking fluently,\nof observations, and experiments, and hypotheses, and systems, and of\nusing, in their proper places, all the hardest words of science.\n\nI must remark, however, that I should not have thought it necessary,\nthus to direct so much of your attention to the principles of\nscientific inquiry in general, if I could have taken for granted,\nthat you had already enjoyed the benefit of the instruction of my\nillustrious colleague in another Chair, whose Lectures on Natural\nPhilosophy, exemplifying that soundness of inquiry, which I can only\nrecommend, would, in that case, have enlightened you more, as to the\nprinciples of physical investigation, than any mere rules, of which it\nis possible to point out to you the utility and the excellence.\n\nAll physical science, whatever may be the variety of objects, mental or\nmaterial, to which it is directed, is nothing more than the comparison\nof phenomena, and the discovery of their agreement or disagreement,\nor order of succession. It is on _observation_, therefore, or on\nconsciousness, which is only another name for _internal_ observation,\nthat the whole of science is founded; because there can be no\ncomparison, without observation of the phenomena compared, and no\ndiscovery of agreement or disagreement, without comparison. So far,\nthen, as man has observed the phenomena of matter or of mind, so far,\nand no farther, may he infer, with confidence, the properties of\nmatter and of mind; or, in the words of the great primary aphorism of\nLord Bacon, which has been so often quoted, and so often quoted in\nvain, \u201cHomo, natur\u00e6 minister et interpres, tantum facit et intelligit,\nquantum de natur\u00e6 ordine re vel mente observaverit; nec amplius scit\naut potest.\u201d[21]\n\nWhat is it that we truly mean, however, when we say, that we are\nabout to inquire into the nature and properties of any substance? The\nquestion is a most important one, and is far from being so simple as\nit may at first appear. From the mere misunderstanding of the import\nof this question, the brightest talents of a long succession of\nages,--talents, which, with clearer views of _this single point_, might\nhave anticipated all the discoveries of our own time, and introduced\nus, perhaps, to discoveries still more brilliant and astonishing, were\nwasted in inquiries as barren as the frivolous glory which attended\nthem,--that produced indeed much contention, and more pride, but\nproduced nothing more; and, without giving any additional knowledge,\ntook away from ignorance only its humility, and its power of being\ninstructed.\n\nWhat is it that we truly have in view, or should have in view, when we\ninquire into the nature of a substance?\n\nThe material universe, and all the separate substances which compose\nit, may be considered in _two_ lights,--either simply, as composed\nof parts that co-exist, and are to our feelings continuous, so as to\nform, of many separate and independent elements, one apparent whole;\nor of parts that change their relative positions, constituting, by\nthis change of place, all the physical events of the material system\nof the world; and inquiry may have reference to a substance in both,\nor either of those points of view. What is this body? may be inquired\nof us, when any particular body is pointed out; and the answer which\nwe give will be very different according to the _particular_ light in\nwhich we may have viewed it, though it must always relate to it in\n_one_ or _other_ of these two aspects. Let us suppose, for example, the\nbody, concerning which the question is put, to be a piece of glass;\nI select intentionally a substance which is familiar to you all, and\nof which many of you probably have sufficient chemical knowledge to\nbe acquainted with the composition. It may be asked of us, then, What\nis the substance termed _glass_? and our answer will vary, as I have\nsaid, with the view which we take of it. If we consider it merely as\na _continuous whole_, our answer will be, that it is a _compound of\nalkaline and siliceous matter_--meaning that particles of alkali and\nflint co-exist, and are apparently continuous, in that mass of which we\nspeak.\n\nSuch is _one_ of the answers which may be given to the question;\nand this sort of answer is one which is very commonly given to such\nquestions. It is, you will perceive, nothing more than the enumeration\nof the constituent parts of the substance, and considers the substance,\nsimply as it exists alone, without regard to any other bodies that may\nexist around it, or near it, and without any allusion to change of _any\nkind_.\n\nThis sort of view, however, may be altogether reversed; and, instead\nof thinking of the parts that exist together in the substance, without\nreference to any changes, of which it is either the agent or the\nsubject, we may think only of such changes, without reference to its\nconstituent parts.\n\nIn this latter point of view, we may say, in answer to the question, as\nto the nature of the substance termed glass, that it is a transparent\nsubstance, which, according to the general laws of refraction, bends\nthe light that passes through it variously, according to the different\ndensity of the medium through which the rays have immediately passed\nbefore arriving at it, or of the medium, through which they are to\npass after penetrating it; that it is a substance fusible at a certain\ntemperature, not dissolved by the common powerful acids, but soluble\nin a particular acid termed the _fluoric_ acid; that, when strongly\nrubbed, by certain other substances, it communicates, for a time, to\nvarious bodies, the power of attracting or repelling other bodies; and\nwe may add to our description, in like manner, as many other qualities\nas there are various substances which produce in it any change, or\nare in any way changed by it. In all answers of this kind, you will\nperceive that regard is uniformly had, not to the _mere substance_,\nconcerning which the question is put, but also to some other substance\nwith which, in consequence of some motion of one or other of the\nbodies, at the time of the phenomenon of which we speak, it has changed\nits relative position; for, if all the objects in nature remained\nconstantly at rest, it is very evident that we could have no notion of\nany property of matter whatever. In the enumeration of the qualities of\nglass, for example, when we speak of its properties, we suppose it to\nhave changed, in every case, some relative position with the _light_\nthat passes through it, the _heat_ that melts it, the _fluoric acid_\nthat dissolves it, and the various bodies that excite in it, or conduct\nfrom it, electricity; and all these bodies, therefore, we must have in\nview, in our enumeration, as much as the glass itself.\n\nAs there are only these two different aspects in which matter can\nbe viewed, all physical inquiry, with respect to matter, _must_, as\nI have said, have reference to one of them; and if we think that we\nare inquiring further concerning it, our inquiry is truly without an\nobject, and we know not what we seek. We may consider it, simply as it\nexists in space, or as it exists in time. Any substance, considered\nas it exists in space, is the mere name which ourselves give to\nthe co-existence of a multitude of bodies, similar in nature, or\ndissimilar, in apparent continuity; considered as it exists in time,\nit is that which is affected by the prior changes of other bodies,\nor which itself produces a change of some sort in other bodies. As\nit exists in space, therefore, we inquire into its composition, or,\nin other words, endeavour to discover what are the elementary bodies\nthat co-exist in the space which it occupies, and that are all which\nwe truly consider, when we think that we are considering the compound\nas one distinct body. As it exists in time, we inquire into its\nsusceptibilities or its powers, or, in other words, endeavour to trace\nall the series of prior and subsequent changes, of which its presence\nforms an intermediate link.\n\n_This_, then, is our meaning, when we speak of inquiring into the\nnature of a substance. We have one, or both of _two_ objects in view,\nthe discovery of the separate bodies that co-exist in the substance,\nor rather that constitute the substance, which is nothing more than\nthe separate bodies themselves, or the discovery of that series of\nchanges, of which the presence of this particular substance, in some\nnew relative position with respect to other bodies, forms a part; the\nchanges which other bodies, in consequence of this altered relative\nposition, occasion in _it_, with the changes which it occasions in\nother bodies.\n\nOn these two different objects of physical investigation, the\nco-existing elements of bodies, and their successions of changes, it\nmay be of advantage to dwell a little more fully in elucidation of\nthe method which we have to pursue in our own department of physical\nresearch; for, though it may perhaps at first appear to you, that\nto treat of the principles of inquiry, in the physics of _matter_,\nis to wander from the intellectual and moral speculations which\npeculiarly concern us; it is in truth only as they are illustrative\nof inquiries which we are to pursue in the _physiology of the mind_,\nthat I am led to make these general remarks. The principles of\nphilosophic investigation are, as I have already said, common to all\nthe sciences. By acquiring more precise notions of the objects of any\none of them, we can scarcely fail to acquire, in some degree, more\nprecision in our notions of every other, and each science may thus be\nsaid to profit indirectly by every additional light that is thrown\nupon each. It is by this diffusive tendency of its spirit, almost as\nmuch as by its own sublime truths, and the important applications\nof these to general physics, that the study of geometry has been of\nsuch inestimable advantage to science. Those _precise definitions_\nwhich insure to every word the same exact signification, in the mind\nof every one who hears it pronounced, and that lucid progress in\nthe developement of truth after truth, which gives, even to ordinary\npowers, almost the same facility of comprehension with the highest\ngenius, are unquestionably of the utmost benefit to the mathematical\nstudent, while he is prosecuting his particular study, without any\ncontemplation of other advantages to be reaped from them. But there can\nbe no doubt that they are, at the same time, preparing his mind for\nexcellence in other inquiries, of which he has then no conception; that\nhe will ever after be less ready to employ, and be more quicksighted\nthan he would otherwise have been in detecting vague and indefinite\nphraseology, and loose and incoherent reasoning; and that a general\nspirit of exactness and perspicuity may thus at length be diffused in\nsociety, which will extend its influence, not to the sciences merely,\nbut, in some faint degree, also to works of elegant literature, and\neven to the still lighter graces of conversation itself. \u201cThe spirit of\ngeometrical inquiry,\u201d says Fontenelle, \u201cis not so exclusively attached\nto geometry, as to be incapable of being applied to other branches of\nknowledge. A work of morals, of politics, of criticism, or even of\neloquence, will, if all other circumstances have been the same, be the\nmore beautiful, for having come from the hand of a geometrician. The\norder, the clearness, the precision, which, for a considerable time,\nhave distinguished works of excellence on every subject, have most\nprobably had their origin in that mathematical turn of thought, which\nis now more prevalent than ever, and which gradually communicates\nitself even to those who are ignorant of mathematics. It often happens\nthat a single great man gives the tone to the whole age in which he\nlives; and we must not forget, that the individual who has the most\nlegitimate claim to the glory of having introduced and established a\nnew art of reasoning, was an excellent geometer.\u201d[22] The philosopher\nto whom this improvement of the art of reasoning is ascribed, is\nevidently Descartes, whose claim is certainly much less legitimate than\nthat of our own illustrious countryman; but the works of Bacon were\nnot very extensively studied on the continent, at the time at which\nFontenelle wrote; while especially in France, the splendid reputation\nof the great geometer, who shook, as much with his own wild hypothesis,\nas with the weight of his reasoning, the almost idolatrous worship of\nthe God of the Schools, seemed to sweep before it the glory of every\nother reformer. The instance of Descartes, however, is a still more\nhappy one than his ingenious countryman, who was himself a Cartesian,\ncould have imagined it to be. It is, indeed, impossible to conceive\na more striking example of that diffusive influence of the _general\nspirit of scientific inquiry_, which I wish to illustrate; since, in\nthis instance, it survived the very system by which it was diffused;\nall that was sceptical in that mixed system of scepticism and dogmatism\nwhich constituted the philosophy of Descartes, having long continued,\nand even now continuing, to operate beneficially, when scarcely a\ndoctrine of his particular philosophy retains its hold.\n\nYou will not then, I trust, take for granted, that precise notions as\nto the objects of inquiry, in any science, even in the department of\nexternal physics, can be so absolutely without benefit to our plans of\ninquiry into mind, which must be pursued on the same principles, if it\nbe pursued with any prospect of success; and I may, therefore, safely\nsolicit your attention to a little farther elucidation of the two\nobjects which we have in view, in general physical inquiry, whether it\nbe relative to _matter_ or to _mind_.\n\nTo inquire into the composition of a substance, is to consider as\n_one_, many substances, which have not the less an independent\nexistence, because they are in immediate proximity to each other. What\nwe term a _body_, however minute, is a multitude of bodies, or to\nspeak more exactly, an infinite number of bodies, which appear limited\nto us, indeed, but may perhaps appear, in their true character of\ninfinity, to beings of a higher order, who may be able to distinguish\nas _infinite_, what our limited senses allow us to perceive only as\n_finite_. They are _one_, not in nature, but in our thought; as one\nthousand individuals, that in nature must always be one thousand,\nreceive a sort of unity that is relative merely to our conception,\nwhen ranked by us as a single regiment, or as many regiments become\n_one_ by forming together an army. In the energies of external matter,\nthe innumerable separate bodies are thus regarded by us as _one_,\nwhen the space which divides them is not measurable by our imperfect\nvision, and as distinct or separate, when the space can be measured by\nus. The _unity_ of the aggregate is here no absolute quality of the\nmass, but is truly relative to the observer's power of distinguishing\nthe component parts; the mass being one or many, as his senses are\nless or better able to distinguish these. This whole globe of earth,\nwith its oceans, and rivers, and mountains, and woods, and with all\nthe separate multitudes of its animated inhabitants, may seem to some\nbeing of another species, only one continuous and uniform mass; as the\nmasses, that seem to us uniform and continuous, may seem a whole world\nof separate and varied parts, to the insect population that swarms\nupon its surface. \u201cA single leaf of a tree,\u201d to borrow an obvious\nillustration from a French writer, \u201cis a little world inhabited by\ninvisible animals, to whose senses it appears of immense extent, who\nsee in it mountains and abysses that are almost immeasurable, and who,\nfrom one side of the leaf to the other, hold as little communication\nwith the opposite animalcula, who have their dwellings there, as we do\nwith our Antipodes.\u201d[23]\n\nNothing can appear to our eyes more uniform than a piece of glass;\nyet we know, from its composition, as a product of art, that it is\na congeries of bodies, which have no similarity to each other, and\nwhich truly exist separately from each other, in the compound, as\nthey existed separately before the composition, though the lines of\nspace which divide them have now ceased to be visible to our weak\norgans; and though, instead of being composed of alkaline and siliceous\nmatter, which we know to be different in their qualities, the beautiful\ntransparent substance, considered by us, were, as far as we know,\n_simple_, in the chemical sense of the term, it would still be as\ntruly an aggregate of many bodies, not dissimilar, indeed, as in the\nformer case, but each similar in qualities to the aggregate itself.\nThe aggregate, in short, is, in every case, but a name invented by\nourselves; and what we term the constituent elements, are all that\ntruly exists. To inquire into the composition of a body, is, therefore,\nonly to inquire what these separate bodies are which we have chosen to\nconsider as _one_, or rather which are ranked by us as one, from their\napparent continuity.\n\nI have dwelt the longer on this point of the _unity_ of an aggregate\nmass, as derived from the mind of the observer only, and not from its\nconstituent bodies, which are truly separate and independent of each\nother, and must always be separate and independent, whatever changes\nthey may seem to undergo, in the various processes of composition\nand decomposition, because this is one of the most simple, and, at\nthe same time, one of the most convincing examples of a tendency of\nthe mind, which we shall often have occasion to remark in the course\nof our intellectual analysis,--the tendency to ascribe to substances\nwithout, as if existing in them like permanent physical qualities,\nthe relations which ourselves have formed, by the mere comparison of\nobjects with objects, and which, in themselves, as relations, are\nnothing more than modifications of our own mind. It is very difficult\nfor us to believe, that, when we speak of a rock, or a mountain, or,\nperhaps, still more, when we speak of a single leaf or blade of grass\nas _one_, we speak of a plurality of independent substances, which\nmay exist apart, as they now exist together, and which have no other\nunity than in our conception. It is the same with every other species\nof relation. The tallness of a tree, the lowness of a shrub or weed,\nas these relative terms are used by _us_ in opposition, do not express\nany real quality of the tree, or shrub, or weed, but only the fact\nthat our mind has considered them together; all which they express, is\nthe mere comparison that is in _us_, not any quality in the external\nobjects; and yet we can scarcely bring ourselves to think, but that\nindependently of this comparison, there is some quality, in the tree,\nwhich corresponds with our notion of tallness, and some opposite\nquality in the shrub or weed, which corresponds with our notion of\nshortness or lowness; so that the tree would deserve the name of tall,\nthough it were the only object in existence, and the shrub or weed, in\nlike manner, the epithet of lowly, though it alone existed, without\na single object with which it could be compared. These instances, as\nI have said, are simple, but they will not be the less useful, in\npreparing your minds for considering the more important natures of\nrelation in general, that imply, indeed, always some actual qualities\nin the objects themselves, the perception of which leads us afterwards\nto consider them as related, but no actual quality in either of the\nobjects that primarily and directly corresponds with the notion of the\nrelation itself, as there are qualities of objects that correspond\ndirectly with our sensations of warmth or colour, or any other of the\nsensations excited immediately by external things. The relation is, in\nevery sense of the word _mental_, not merely as being a feeling of\nthe mind, for our knowledge of the qualities of external things is,\nin this sense, equally mental; but, as having its cause and origin\ndirectly in the very nature of the _mind itself_, which cannot regard a\nnumber of objects, without forming some comparison, and investing them\nconsequently with a number of relations. I have already spoken of the\nintellectual medium, through which external objects become known to us;\nand the metaphor is a just one. The medium, in this case, as truly as\nin the transmission of light, communicates something of its own to that\nwhich it conveys; and it is as impossible for us to perceive objects\nlong or often together, without that comparison which instantly invests\nthem with certain relations, as it would be for us to perceive objects,\nfor a single moment, free from the tint of the coloured glass through\nwhich we view them. \u201cOmnes perceptiones,\u201d says Lord Bacon, using a\nsimilar figure, \u201comnes perceptiones, tam sensus quam mentis, sunt ex\nanalogia hominis, non ex analogia universi; estque intellectus humanus\ninstar speculi in\u00e6qualis ad radios rerum, qui suam naturam natur\u00e6 rerum\nimmiscet, eamque distorquet et inficit.\u201d\n\nBut, whatever may be thought of relations in general, there can be no\nquestion, at least, as to the nature of that unity which we ascribe to\nbodies. We have seen, that the substance, which, in thought we regard\nas _one_, is, in truth, not _one_, but _many_ substances, to which\nour thought alone gives unity; and that all inquiry, therefore, with\nrespect to the nature of a substance, as it exists in space, is an\ninquiry into the nature of those separate bodies, that occupy the space\nwhich we assign to the imaginary aggregate.\n\nTo dissipate this imaginary aggregate of our own creation, and to show\nus those separate bodies which occupy its space, and are all that\nnature created, is the great office of the analytic art of _Chemistry_,\nwhich does for us only what the microscope does, that enables us to\nsee the small objects which are before us at all times, without our\nbeing able to distinguish them. When a chemist tells us, that glass,\nwhich appears to us one uniform substance, is composed of different\nsubstances, he tells us, what, with livelier perceptive organs, we\nmight have known, without a single experiment; since the siliceous\nmatter and the alkali were present to us in every piece of glass, as\nmuch before he told us of their presence, as after it. The art of\nanalysis, therefore, has its origin in the mere imperfection of our\nsenses, and is truly the art of the blind, whose wants it is always\nstriving to remedy, and always discovering sufficient proof of its\ninability to remedy them.\n\nWe boast, indeed, of the chemical discoveries which we have made of\nlate, with a rapidity of progress as brilliant, as it is unexampled\nin the history of any other science; and we boast justly, because we\nhave found, what the generations of inquirers that have preceded us\non our globe,--far from detecting,--had not even ventured to guess.\nWithout alluding to the agency of the _Galvanic power_,--by which all\nnature seems to be assuming before us a different aspect--we have seen\nfixed in the products of our common fires, and in the drossy rust of\nmetals, the purest part of that ethereal fluid which we breathe, and\nthe air itself, which was so long considered as simple, ceasing to\nbe an element. Yet whatever unsuspected similarities and diversities\nof composition we may have been able to trace in bodies, all our\ndiscoveries have not created a single new particle of matter. They\nhave only shown these to exist, where they always existed, as much\nbefore our analysis as after it,--unmarked indeed, but unmarked,\nonly because our senses alone were not capable of making the nice\ndiscrimination. If man had been able to perceive, with his mere organs\nof sense, the different particles that form together the atmospheric\nair--if he had at all times seen the portion of these which unites\nwith the fuel that warms him, enter into this union, as distinctly as\nhe sees the mass of fuel itself, which he flings into his furnace, he\ncould not have thought it a very great intellectual achievement, to\nstate in words so common and familiar a fact,--the mere well-known\nchange of place of a few well-known particles; and yet this is what,\nin the imperfect state of his perceptive organs, he so proudly terms\nhis _Theory of Combustion_, the developement of which was hailed by a\nwondering world, and in these circumstances justly hailed by it, as a\n_scientific era_. To beings, capable of perceiving and distinguishing\nthe different particles, that form by their aggregation, those small\nmasses, which, after the minutest mechanical division of which we are\ncapable, appear atoms to us, the pride which we feel, in our chemical\nanalyses, must seem as ludicrous, as to us would seem the pride of the\nblind, if one, who had never enjoyed the opportunity of beholding the\nsun, were to boast of having discovered, by a nice comparison of the\nchanging temperature of bodies, that, during certain hours of the day,\nthere passed over our earth some great source of heat. The addition\nof one new sense to us, who have already the inestimable advantages\nwhich vision affords, might probably, in a few hours, communicate more\ninstruction, with respect to matter, than all which is ever to repay\nand consummate the physical labours of mankind,--giving, perhaps, to a\nsingle glance, those slow revelations of nature, which, one by one, at\nintervals of many centuries, are to immortalize the future sages of our\nrace.\n\n\u201cAll philosophy,\u201d says an acute foreign writer, \u201cis founded on these\ntwo things,--that we have a great deal of curiosity, and very bad eyes.\nIn astronomy, for example, if our eyes were better, we should then see\ndistinctly, whether the stars really are, or are not, so many suns,\nilluminating worlds of their own; and if, on the other hand, we had\nless curiosity, we should then care a very little about this knowledge,\nwhich would come pretty nearly to the same thing. But we wish to know\nmore than we see, and there lies the difficulty. Even if we saw _well_\nthe little which we do see, this would at least be some small knowledge\ngained. But we observe it different from what it is; and thus it\nhappens, that a true philosopher passes his life, in not believing what\nhe sees, and in labouring to guess what is altogether beyond his sight.\nI cannot help figuring to myself,\u201d continues the same lively writer,\n\u201cthat nature is a great public spectacle, which resembles that of the\nopera. From the place at which we sit in the theatre, we do not see the\nstage quite as it is. The scenes and machinery are arranged, so as to\nproduce a pleasing effect at a distance; and the weights and pullies,\non which the different movements depend, are hid from us. We therefore\ndo not trouble our heads with guessing, how this mechanical part of\nthe performance is carried on. It is perhaps only some mechanician,\nconcealed amid the crowd of the pit, who racks his brain about a\nflight through the air, which appears to him extraordinary, and who\nis seriously bent on discovering by what means it has been executed.\nThis mechanic, gazing, and wondering, and tormenting himself, in the\npit of the opera, is in a situation very like that of the philosopher\nin the theatre of the world. But what augments the difficulty to the\nphilosopher, is, that, in the machinery which nature presents, the\ncords are completely concealed from him,--so completely indeed, that\nthe constant puzzle has been to guess, what that secret contrivance is,\nwhich produces the visible motions in the frame of the universe. Let us\nimagine all the sages collected at an opera,--the Pythagorases, Platos,\nAristotles, and all those great names, which now-a-days make so much\nnoise in our ears. Let us suppose, that they see the flight of Phaeton,\nas he is represented carried off by the winds; that they cannot\nperceive the cords to which he is attached; and that they are quite\nignorant of every thing behind the scenes. It is a _secret virtue_,\nsays one of them, that carries off Phaeton. Phaeton, says another, is\ncomposed of certain _numbers_, which cause him to ascend. A third says,\nPhaeton has a certain _affection_ for the top of the stage. He does\nnot feel at his ease, when he is not there. Phaeton, says a fourth, is\nnot formed to fly; but he likes better to _fly_, than to leave the top\nof the stage empty,--and a hundred other absurdities of the kind, that\nmight have ruined the reputation of antiquity, if the reputation of\nantiquity, for wisdom could have been ruined. At last, come Descartes,\nand some other moderns, who say, Phaeton ascends, because he is drawn\nby cords, and because a weight, more heavy than he, is descending as\na counterpoise. Accordingly, we now no longer believe, that a body\nwill stir, unless it be drawn or impelled by some other body, or that\nit will ascend, or descend, unless by the operation of some spring or\ncounterpoise; and thus to see nature, such as it really is, is to see\nthe back of the stage at the opera.\u201d[24]\n\nIn this exposition of the phenomena of the universe, and of those\nstrange \u201cfollies of the wise,\u201d which have been gravely propounded in\nthe systems of philosophers concerning them, there is much truth, as\nwell as happy pleasantry. As far, at least, as relates to matter,\nconsidered merely as existing in space,--the first of the two lights\nin which it may be physically viewed,--there can be no question,\nthat philosophy is nothing more than an endeavour to repair, by art,\nthe badness of our eyes, that we may be able to see what is actually\nbefore us at every moment. To be fairly behind the scenes of the great\nspectacle of nature, however, is something more than this. It is not\nmerely to know, at any one moment, that there are many objects existing\non the stage, which are invisible where the spectators sit, but to\nknow them as pieces of machinery, and to observe them operating in all\nthe wonders of the drama. It is, in short, to have that _second_ view\nof nature, as existing in time as well as space, to the consideration\nof which I am to proceed in my next Lecture.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[21] Nov. Org. Aph. 1.\n\n[22] Preface aux Eloges--\u0152uvres, tom. v. p. 8.\n\n[23] Fontenelle, Pluralit\u00e9 des Mondes, Conversat. 3.\n\n[24] Fontenelle, Pluralit\u00e9 des Mondes, Conversat. 1.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE VI.\n\nTHE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.\n\n\nIn my last Lecture, Gentlemen, I considered, at some length, the nature\nof _Physical Inquiry in general_, and stated to you, in particular, the\n_two lights_, in which objects may be physically viewed, as existing\nsimply in _space_, or as existing in _time_,--the inquiries, with\nrespect to the one, having regard to the composition of bodies; the\ninquiries, with respect to the other, having regard to the changes,\nof which they are either the subjects or occasions, and consequently\nto their susceptibilities or their powers--their susceptibilities of\nbeing affected by other substances, their powers of affecting other\nsubstances. I use the word _susceptibility_, you will perceive, as,\nin this case, synonymous with what Mr Locke, and some other writers,\nhave denominated _passive power_, to avoid the apparent verbal\ncontradiction, or at least the ambiguity, which may arise from annexing\nthe term _passive_ to a word, which is generally employed to signify,\nnot the _subject_ of change, but the cause or occasion of change.\n\nOf these two points of view, then, in which an object may be\nregarded, when the question is put, What is it? we have seen, I hope,\nsufficiently distinctly, the nature of one. If, in answering the\nquestion, we regard the object merely as it exists in space, and say,\nthat it is a _compound_ of certain substances, we mean nothing more,\nthan that, in the portion of space, which we conceive to be occupied\nby this one imaginary aggregate, there is truly a plurality of bodies,\nwhich, though seemingly contiguous, have an existence, as separate and\nindependent of each other, as if they were at the most remote distance;\nthe one aggregate being nothing more than a name for these separate\nbodies, to which ourselves give all the unity which they have, merely\nby considering them as _one_.\n\nThe necessity of inquiring into the nature of these separate elementary\nbodies,--which constitutes one of the two great departments of physical\ninvestigation,--we found to arise from the imperfection of our senses,\nthat are not sufficiently acute to discover, of themselves, the\ncomponent parts of the masses, which nature everywhere presents to us.\nWe are thus obliged to form to ourselves an _art of analysis_, merely\nthat we may perceive what is constantly before our eyes, in the same\nmanner, as we are obliged to have recourse to the contrivances of the\noptician, to perceive stars and planets, that are incessantly shedding\non us their light.\n\nThere is, indeed, something truly worthy of our astonishment, in\nthe sort of knowledge of the qualities of matter, which, with our\nvery imperfect senses, we are still able to attain. What we conceive\nourselves to know is an aggregate of many bodies, of each of which,\nindividually, we may be said, in the strictest sense of the term, to\nbe absolutely ignorant; and yet the aggregate, which we know, has no\nreal existence, but as that very multitude of bodies, of which we are\nignorant. When water was regarded as a _simple substance_, every one\nwho looked upon a lake or river, conceived that he knew as well what\nthe liquid was which flowed in it, as the chemist, who now considers it\nas compound; and the chemist, who has learned to regard it as compound,\nis perhaps as ignorant of the true nature of the separate bodies that\nexist in it, as those who formerly regarded it as simple; since one\nadditional discovery may prove the very elements, which he now regards\nas the ultimate constituents of water, to be truly compounded of other\nelements, still more minute, and now altogether unknown to him.\n\nThat our only knowledge of matter should be of a multitude of\nbodies, of the nature of each of which, individually, we are in\nabsolute ignorance, may seem, at first sight, to justify many of the\nmost extravagant doubts of the sceptic: and yet there is really no\nground for such scepticism, since, though the _coexisting_ bodies be\n_separately_ unknown, the effect, which they produce when coexisting in\nthe circumstances observed by us, is not the less certain and definite;\nand it is this joint effect of the whole, thus certain and definite,\nwhich is the true object of our knowledge; not the uncertain effect,\nwhich the minuter elements might produce, if they existed alone. The\nsame aggregates, whatever their elementary nature may be, operate on\nour senses, as often as they recur, in the same manner; the unknown\nelements which constitute an oak, or a tower, or the ivy that clings\naround it, exciting in the mind those particular sensations, to the\nexternal causes of which we continue to give the name of _oak_ or\n_tower_ or _ivy_; and exciting these, as precisely and uniformly, as\nif we were acquainted with each minute element of the objects without.\nOur knowledge of nature must in this way, indeed, be confined to the\n_mixed effects_ of the masses which it exhibits; but it is not on that\naccount less valuable, nor less sure; for to the certainty of this\nlimited knowledge all which is necessary is uniformity of the mixed\neffects, whatever their unknown coexisting causes may be. It is with\n_masses_ only, not with _elements_ that we are concerned, in all the\nimportant purposes of life; and the provident wisdom of the Author of\nNature, therefore, has in this as in every other case, adapted our\npowers to our necessities,--giving to all mankind the knowledge, that\nis requisite for the purposes which all mankind must equally have in\nview, and leaving to a few philosophic inquirers, the curiosity of\ndiscovering what the substances around us truly are in their elementary\nstate, and the means of making continual progress, in this never-ending\nanalysis.\n\nSuch then is the nature of _one_ of the views, in which physical\ninquiry may be directed to the discovery of elements, that are existing\ntogether, at the same moment. But is not this species of inquiry, it\nmay be asked, peculiar to _matter_, or may it also be extended to\n_mind_? It is easy to conceive that, if matter always have extension,\nand therefore necessarily be composed of parts, an inquiry into its\ncomposition may form an important part of physical investigation;\nbut this sort of inquiry will seem to you altogether inadmissible in\nthe _philosophy of mind_, since the mind is not composed of parts\nthat coexist, but is simple and indivisible. If, indeed, the term\ncomposition, in this application of it, be understood strictly in the\nsame sense as when applied to matter, it is very evident, that there\ncan be no inquiry into the composition of thoughts and feelings, since\nevery thought and feeling is as simple and indivisible as the mind\nitself; being, in truth, nothing more than the mind itself existing at\na certain moment in a certain state; and yet, in consequence of some\nvery wonderful laws, which regulate the successions of our mental\nphenomena, the science of mind is, in all its most important respects,\na science of analysis, or at least a science which exhibits to our\ncontemplation the same results as if it were strictly analytical; and\nwe inquire into the separate ideas or other feelings, involved in\none complex thought or emotion, very nearly as we inquire into the\ncorpuscular elements, that coexist in one seemingly continuous mass.\nThe nature of this very wonderful application of analysis, or at least\nof a process which is virtually the same as analysis, to a substance,\nthat is necessarily at all times simple and indivisible, will, however,\nbe better understood by you, after we have turned our attention to\nthe other general division of physical inquiry, which is still to be\nconsidered by us. I need not I hope, repeat, after the remarks which I\nmade in my last Lecture, that, in leading your thoughts, for so long\na time, to the subject of general science, I have had constantly in\nview its application to the phenomena of our own department of it, and\nthat we are truly learning to study _mind_ with accuracy, when we are\nlearning what it is, which is to be studied in the great system of\nthings. There can be no question at least, that he who has erroneous\nnotions of the objects of physical investigation in the material\nuniverse, will be very likely also to err, or rather cannot fail to\nerr, in his notions of the objects of physical investigation, as it\nrelates to mind.\n\nI proceed, then, to consider, what it is which we truly have in\nview, when we direct our inquiry, not to the mere composition of\nobjects existing continuously in _space_, but to the succession of\nchanges which they exhibit in _time_,--to their susceptibility of\nbeing affected by other substances, or their power of affecting\nother substances. The inquiry, as you must perceive, involves the\nconsideration of some words about which a peculiar mystery has been\nvery generally supposed to hang--_causation_, _power_, _connexion_ of\nevents. But we shall perhaps find that what is supposed so peculiarly\nmysterious in them, is not in the very simple notions themselves, but\nin the misconceptions of those who have treated of them.\n\nIt is not in this case, as in the former department of physical\ninvestigation, the mere imperfection of our senses, that produces the\nnecessity of inquiry. Matter, as existing in space, is wholly before\nus, and all which is necessary for perfect knowledge of it, in this\nrespect, is greater delicacy of our perceptive organs, that we may\ndistinguish every element of the seemingly continuous mass. To know the\nmere _composition_ of a substance, is to know only what is actually\npresent at the very moment, which we may imagine senses of the highest\nperfection to be capable of instantly perceiving; but to know all the\n_susceptibilities_ and _powers_ of a substance, the various modes in\nwhich it may affect or be affected by every other, is to know it, not\nmerely as it exists before us in the particular circumstances of any\none moment, but as it _might_ have existed, or _may_ exist, in all\npossible circumstances of combination,--which our senses, that are\nnecessarily confined to the circumstances of the present moment, never\ncould teach us, even though they were able to distinguish every atom of\nthe minutest mass.\n\nIf, indeed, there were any thing, in the mere appearance of a body,\nwhich could enable us to predict the changes that would take place\nin it, when brought into every possible variety of situation, with\nrespect to other bodies, or the changes which it would then produce in\nthose other bodies, the two views, into which I have divided physical\ninquiry, would coincide exactly; so that to know the _continuous\nelements_ of any substance, would be to know, at the same time, its\n_susceptibilities_ and _powers_. But there is nothing, in the mere\nsensible qualities of bodies, considered separately, that can give\nus even the slightest intimation of the changes, which, _in new\ncircumstances of union_, they might reciprocally suffer or produce.\nWho could infer, from the _similar_ appearance of a lump of sugar and\na lump of calcareous spar, that the one would be soluble in water, and\nthe other remain unmelted; or, from the _different_ aspect of gunpowder\nand snow, that a spark would be extinguished, if it fell upon the one,\nand, if it fell upon the other, would excite an explosion that would\nbe almost irresistable? But for experience, we should be altogether\nincapable of predicting any such effects, from either of the objects\ncompared; or, if we did know, that the peculiar susceptibility belonged\nto one of the two, and not the other, we might as readily suppose, that\ncalcareous spar would melt in water as sugar, and as readily, that\n_snow_ as that _gunpowder_ would detonate, by the contact of a spark.\nIt is _experience_ alone, which teaches us that these effects ever take\nplace, and that they take place, not in all substances, but only in\nsome particular substances.\n\nIt has, indeed, been supposed by many ingenious philosophers, that,\nif we were acquainted with what they term the _intimate structure_\nof bodies, we should then see, not merely _what_ corpuscular changes\ntake place in them, but _why_ these changes take place in them; and\nshould thus be able to predict, before experience, the effects which\nthey would reciprocally produce. \u201cI doubt not,\u201d says Locke, \u201cbut\nif we could discover the figure, size, texture, and motion of the\nminute constituent parts of any two bodies, we should know without\ntrial several of their operations one upon another, as we do now the\nproperties of a square or a triangle. Did we know the mechanical\naffections of the particles of rhubarb, hemlock, opium, and a man; as a\nwatch-maker does those of a watch, whereby it performs its operations,\nand of a file, which by rubbing on them will alter the figure of any\nof the wheels; we should be able to tell before-hand, that rhubarb\nwill purge, hemlock kill, and opium make a man sleep; as well as a\nwatch-maker can, that a little piece of paper laid on the balance will\nkeep the watch from going, till it be removed; or that, some small part\nof it being rubbed by a file, the machine would quite lose its motion,\nand the watch go no more. The dissolving of silver in aquafortis, and\ngold in aqua regia, and not _vice versa_, would be then perhaps no more\ndifficult to know, than it is to a smith to understand why the turning\nof one key will open a lock, and not the turning of another. But\nwhile we are destitute of senses acute enough to discover the minute\nparticles of bodies, and to give us ideas of the mechanical affections,\nwe must be content to be ignorant of their properties and ways of\noperation; nor can we be assured about them any farther, than some few\ntrials we make are able to reach. But whether they will succeed again\nanother time, we cannot be certain. This hinders our certain knowledge\nof universal truths concerning natural bodies: and our reason carries\nus herein very little beyond particular matter of fact.\n\n\u201cAnd therefore I am apt to doubt, that how far soever human industry\nmay advance useful and experimental philosophy in physical things,\nscientifical will still be out of our reach; because we want perfect\nand adequate ideas of those very bodies which are nearest to us, and\nmost under our command. Those which we have ranked into classes under\nnames, and we think ourselves best acquainted with, we have but very\nimperfect and incomplete ideas of. Distinct ideas of the several sorts\nof bodies that fall under the examination of our senses perhaps we\nmay have; but adequate ideas, I suspect, we have not of any one among\nthem. And though the former of these will serve us for common use\nand discourse, yet while we want the latter, we are not capable of\nscientifical knowledge; nor shall ever be able to discover general,\ninstructive, unquestionable truths concerning them. Certainty and\ndemonstration are things we must not, in these matters, pretend to. By\nthe colour, figure, taste, and smell, and other sensible qualities, we\nhave as clear and distinct ideas of sage and hemlock, as we have of a\ncircle and a triangle; but having no ideas of the particular primary\nqualities of the minute parts of either of these plants, nor of other\nbodies which we would apply them to, we cannot tell what effects they\nwill produce; nor when we see those effects, can we so much as guess,\nmuch less know, their manner of production. Thus having no ideas of the\nparticular mechanical affections of the minute parts of bodies that\nare within our view and reach, we are ignorant of their constitutions,\npowers, and operations: and of bodies more remote we are yet more\nignorant, not knowing so much as their very outward shapes, or the\nsensible and grosser parts of their constitutions.\u201d[25]\n\nThe fallacy of the reasoning of this very eminent philosopher consists\npartly, in the present case, in a sort of _petitio principii_, or,\nat least, a false assumption that is involved in the very phrase\n_mechanical affections_, and in all the mechanical illustrations\nadduced. If rhubarb purge, and hemlock kill, by qualities that can be\nsaid to be mechanical, and if these qualities be PERMANENT, there can\nbe no question, that to know accurately the _mechanical qualities_ of\nthese substances, in relation to the human body, would be to know,\nthat rhubarb must purge, and hemlock kill, as much as to know the\nmechanism of a watch would be to know, that the watch must stop, if\na small part of it were rubbed by a file. But the inquiry is still\nleft, whether it be thus, by the mere principles of mechanical action,\nthat rhubarb and hemlock produce their peculiar effects on the animal\nsystem, and that silver is dissolved in aqua fortis, and gold in aqua\nregia; and, if there be no reason whatever to suppose this, we must\nthen surely admit that the prophecy would still be beyond our power,\nthough we were acquainted with \u201cthe figure, size, texture, and motion,\nof the minute constituent parts\u201d of the different bodies. In the same\nmanner, as, in the mechanical division of a substance, we must still\ncome to other substances capable of further division, so, though we\ncould reduce all the changes that appear to be wrought in the great\nmasses around us, to the changes wrought in their minute parts, we must\nstill come to certain ultimate changes as inexplicable as those which\nwe see at present. It is as difficult to predict, without experience,\nthe motion of one atom to or from another atom, as the motion of one\nmass of atoms to or from another mass of atoms. That the globe of the\nearth should tend towards the sun, which is at so great a distance from\nit, and should thus be every moment arrested within that orbit, from\nwhich, if there were no such deflecting force, it would every moment\nhave a tendency to escape by flying off in a straight line, is, indeed,\nmost wonderful. But precisely the same laws which operate on the whole\nglobe of the earth, operate on every particle of which the earth is\ncomposed,--since the earth itself is only these separate particles\nunder another name; and if it be wonderful that all of these should\nhave a tendency to approach the sun, it must be equally wonderful,\nthat each minute constituent particle should tend individually,\nthough, to use Mr Locke's words, we were accurately acquainted with\nthe \u201cfigure, size, texture, and motion of each.\u201d The same original\nmystery of gravitation, then, would remain, though our senses enabled\nus to discover every gravitating particle in the intimate structure of\nthe gravitating mass. By knowing the intimate structure of bodies, we\nshould indeed, know _what_ were their elements mutually affected, but\nnot _why_ these elements were mutually affected, or were affected in\n_one_ way rather than in _another_.\n\nThe chief error of Mr Locke, in this respect, evidently consisted,\nas I have said, in his assumption of the very thing to be proved, by\ntaking for granted, that all the changes of bodies are the effects\nof their immediate contact and impulse, and of a kind, therefore,\nwhich may be termed strictly mechanical,--an assumption, indeed,\nwhich harmonized with the mathematical chemistry and medicine of the\nage in which he lived, but of the justness of which there is not the\nslightest evidence in the general phenomena, chemical and nervous, of\nwhich he speaks. If, instead of confining his attention to the action\nof bodies in apparent contact, he had turned his thought to the great\ndistant agencies of nature in the motions of the planetary world, it is\nscarcely possible to conceive that he should not have discovered his\nmistake. In another of his works, his _Elements of Natural Philosophy_,\nhe has stated very justly, as a consequence of the law of gravitation,\nthat if the earth were the sole body in the universe, and at rest, and\nthe moon were suddenly created at the same distance from the earth\nas at present, the earth and the moon would instantly begin to move\ntowards one another in a straight line. What knowledge of the \u201cfigure,\nsize, and texture,\u201d of the particles of the earth could have enabled\nits human inhabitants to predict this instant change? and if the\nparticles of gold and aqua regia, and of hemlock, rhubarb, and opium,\nwhich, together with all the other particles of our globe, would in\nthe case supposed, instantly begin to move towards the moon,--can thus\nattract and be attracted, in gravitation, with tendencies that are\nindependent of every mechanical affection, what authority can there\nbe for supposing, that the chemical and vital agencies of the same\nparticles must be mechanical, or that the one set of changes could have\nbeen predicted _a priori_, if the other was confessedly beyond the\npower of philosophic divination?\n\nBut even with regard to the mechanical affections of matter themselves,\nthough all the changes which take place in nature were truly reducible\nto them, we should still have ultimately the same difficulty in\nattempting to predict, without experience, the changes that would ensue\nfrom them. The mechanical properties are indeed the most familiar to\nour thought, because they are those which we are constantly witnessing\nin the great displays of human power that are most striking to our\nsenses. The house, the bridge, the carriage, the vessel, every\nimplement which we use, and the whole wide surface of the cultivated\nearth, present to us, as it were, one universal trophy of the victories\nof the great mechanist, man. We cannot look back to the time when we\nwere ignorant of the mechanical properties of matter; but still there\nwas a time when they first became known to us, and became known by\nexperience of the motions that resulted from them. What can be simpler\nthan the phenomena of impulse? That a ball in motion, when it meets\nanother at rest, should force this to quit its place, appears now to be\nsomething which it required no skill or experience to predict; and yet,\nthough our faculties were, in every respect, as vigorous as now,--if we\ncould imagine this most common of all phenomena to be wholly unknown\nto us,--what reason should we be able to discover in the circumstances\nthat immediately precede the shock, for inferring the effect that\ntruly results, rather than any other effect whatever? Were the laws of\nmotion previously unknown, it would be in itself as presumable, that\nthe moving ball should simply stop when it reached the other, or that\nit should merely rebound from it, as that the quiescent ball should\nbe forced by it to quit its state of rest, and move forward in the\nsame direction. We know, indeed, that the effect is different, but it\nis because we have witnessed it that we know it; not because the laws\nof motion, or any of the mechanical affections of matter whatever are\nqualities that might be inferred independently of observation.\n\nExperience, then, is necessary in every case, for discovering the\nmutual tendencies of the _elements_ of bodies, as much as for\ndetermining the reciprocal affections of the _masses_. But experience\nteaches us the past only, not the future, and the object of physical\ninquiry is, not the mere solitary fact of a change which has taken\nplace, but the similar changes which will continually take place as\noften as the objects are again in the same circumstances,--not the\n_phenomena_ only, but the _powers_ by which the phenomena are produced.\n\nWhy is it, then, we believe that continual similarity of the future\nto the past, which constitutes, or at least is implied, in our notion\nof power? A stone tends to the earth,--a stone will always tend to\nthe earth,--are not the same proposition; nor can the _first_ be said\nto involve the _second_. It is not to experience, then, alone that we\nmust have recourse for the origin of the belief, but to some other\nprinciple, which converts the simple facts of experience into a general\nexpectation, or confidence, that is afterwards to be physically the\nguide of all our plans and actions.\n\nThis principle, since it cannot be derived from experience itself,\nwhich relates only to the past, must be an original principle of our\nnature. There is a tendency in the very constitution of the mind\nfrom which the expectation arises,--a tendency that, in every thing\nwhich it adds to the mere facts of experience, may truly be termed\n_instinctive_; for though that term is commonly supposed to imply\nsomething peculiarly mysterious, there is no more real mystery in it\nthan in any of the simplest successions of thought, which are all, in\nlike manner, the results of natural tendency of the mind to exist in\ncertain states, after existing in certain other states. The belief\nis, a state or feeling of the mind as easily conceivable as any other\nstate of it,--a new feeling, arising in certain circumstances as\nuniformly as in certain other circumstances. There arise other states\nor feelings of the mind, which we never consider as mysterious; those,\nfor example, which we term the sensations of sweetness or of sound.\nTo have our nerves of taste or hearing affected in a certain manner,\nis not, indeed, to taste or to hear, but it is immediately afterwards\nto have those particular sensations; and this merely because the mind\nwas originally so constituted, as to exist directly in the one state\nafter existing in the other. To observe, in like manner, a series\nof antecedents and consequents, is not, in the very feeling of the\nmoment, to believe in the future similarity, but, in consequence of a\nsimilar original tendency, it is immediately afterwards to believe,\nthat the _same antecedents_ will invariably be followed by the _same\nconsequents_. That this belief of the future is a state of mind very\ndifferent from the mere perception or memory of the past, from which\nit flows, is indeed true; but what resemblance has sweetness, as a\nsensation of the mind, to the solution of a few particles of sugar on\nthe tongue,--or the harmonies of music, to the vibration of particles\nof air? All which we know, in both cases, is, that these successions\nregularly take place; and in the regular successions of nature,\nwhich could not, in one instance more than in another, have been\npredicted without experience, nothing is mysterious, or every thing is\nmysterious. It is wonderful, indeed,--for what is not wonderful?--that\nany belief should arise as to a _future_ which as yet has no existence;\nand which, therefore, cannot, in the strict sense of the word, be an\nobject of our knowledge. But, when we consider Who it was who formed\nus, it would, in truth, have been more wonderful, if the mind had been\nso differently constituted that the belief had not arisen; because, in\nthat case, the phenomena of nature, however regularly arranged, would\nhave been arranged in vain, and that Almighty Being, who, by enabling\nus to foresee the physical events that are to arise, has enabled us\nto provide for them, would have left the creatures, for whom he has\nbeen so bounteously provident, to perish, ignorant and irresolute, amid\nelements that seemed waiting to obey them,--and victims of confusion,\nin the very midst of all the harmonies of the universe.\n\nMr Hume, indeed, has attempted to show, that the belief of the\nsimilarity of future sequences of events is reducible to the influence\nof custom, without the necessity of any intuitive expectation; but he\nhas completely failed in the reasoning with which he has endeavoured\nto support this opinion. Custom may account for the mere suggestion of\none object by another, as a part of a train of images, but not for that\nbelief of future realities, which is a very different state of mind,\nand which, perhaps, does not follow every such suggestion, however\nfrequent and habitual. The phenomenon A, a stone has a thousand times\nfallen to the earth; the phenomenon B, a stone will always, in the same\ncircumstances, fall to the earth; are propositions that differ as much\nas the propositions, A, a stone has _once_ fallen to the earth; B, a\nstone will always fall to the earth. At whatever link of the chain we\nbegin, we must still meet with the same difficulty--the conversion of\nthe past into the future. If it be absurd to make this conversion at\none stage of inquiry, it is just as absurd to make it at any other\nstage; and, as far as our memory extends, there never was a time at\nwhich we did not make the instant conversion,--no period, however\nearly, at which we were capable of knowing that a stone had fallen,\nand yet believed that, in exactly the same circumstances, there was\nno reason to suppose that it would fall again. But on this particular\nerror of Mr Hume, the very narrow outline, within which the present\nsketch is necessarily bounded, will not permit me to enlarge. I have\nexamined it, at considerable length, in the third edition of the\nInquiry which I have published on the Relation of Cause and Effect.\n\nIt is more immediately our present purpose to consider, What it truly\nis which is the object of inquiry, when we examine the physical\nsuccessions of events, in whatever manner the belief of their\nsimilarity of sequence may have arisen? Is it the mere series of\nregular antecedents and consequents themselves? or, Is it any thing\nmore mysterious, which must be supposed to intervene and connect them\nby some invisible bondage?\n\nWe see, in nature, one event followed by another. The fall of a\nspark on gunpowder, for example, followed by the deflagration of the\ngunpowder; and, by a peculiar tendency of our constitution, which we\nmust take for granted, whatever be our theory of power, we believe,\nthat as long as all the circumstances continue the same, the sequence\nof events will continue the same; that the deflagration of gunpowder,\nfor example, will be the invariable consequence of the fall of a spark\non it;--in other words, we believe the gunpowder to be susceptible of\ndeflagration on the application of a spark,--and a spark to have the\npower of deflagrating gunpowder.\n\nThere is nothing more, then, understood in the trains of events,\nhowever regular, than the regular order of antecedents and consequents\nwhich compose the train; and between which, if any thing else existed,\nit would itself be a part of the train. All that we mean, when we\nascribe to one substance a susceptibility of being affected by another\nsubstance, is, that a certain change will uniformly take place in it\nwhen that other is present;--all that we mean, in like manner when we\nascribe to one substance a power of affecting another substance, is,\nthat, when it is present a certain change will uniformly take place\nin that other substance. Power, in short, is significant not of any\nthing different from the invariable antecedent itself, but of the mere\ninvariableness of the order of its appearance in reference to some\ninvariable consequent,--the invariable antecedent being denominated\na _cause_, the invariable consequent an _effect_. To say, that water\nhas the power of dissolving salt, and to say, that salt will always\nmelt when water is poured upon it, are to say precisely the same\nthing;--there is nothing in the one proposition, which is not exactly,\nand to the same extent, enunciated in the other.\n\nIt would, indeed, be a very different theory of causation, if, without\ntaking into account the important circumstance of invariableness or\nthe uniform certainty of being at all times followed by a particular\nevent, we were to say, that power is mere antecedence; for there can\nbe no question, that phenomena precede other phenomena, which we never\nconsider as having any permanent relation to them. They are regarded\nas antecedents, but not invariable antecedents, and the reason of this\nis obvious. Innumerable events are constantly taking place together\nin the immense system of the universe. There must, therefore, always\nbe innumerable co-existing series, the parts of each of which, though\npermanently related to each other, may have no permanent relation\nto the parts of the other series; and one event of one series, may\nthus precede, not its own effect merely, which is to be its constant\nand uniform attendant, in all similar circumstances, but the events\nalso of other co-existing series, which may never occur with it again\nat the same moment. There is no superstition in believing that an\neclipse _may_ be followed by a pestilence, or an unpleasant dream\nby some unforeseen calamity of the day, though there would be much\nsuperstition in believing, that these antecedents and consequents\nhad any _permanent_ relation to each other. In ordinary and familiar\ncases, at least, every one knows sufficiently the distinction of\nwhat is thus _casual_ only, and what is _invariable_ in the order of\nnature. Yet it is only by losing all sight of a distinction so very\nobvious, and confounding invariable with casual consequences, that\nDr Reid, and other eminent philosophers, have been led into much\nlaborious argumentation, in the confidence of confuting one of the\nsimplest and justest of metaphysical opinions. To prove that power\nis more than invariable antecedence, they prove that it is more than\ncasual antecedence, and that events do not follow each other, loosely\nand confusedly, as if antecedents could be invariable, which had not\nconsequents as invariable, or, as if an uniform series were not merely\nanother name for a number of uniform antecedents and consequents. A\n_cause_ is, perhaps, not that which has merely _once_ preceded an\nevent; but we give the name to that which _has_ always been followed\nby a certain event, _is_ followed by a certain event, and according to\nour belief, _will continue_ to be in future followed by that event, as\nits immediate consequent; and causation, power, or any other synonymous\nwords which we may use, express nothing more than this permanent\nrelation of that which has preceded to that which has followed. If this\ninvariableness of succession, past, present, and future, be not that\nwhich constitutes one event the _effect_ of another, Dr Reid, at least,\nhas not pointed out any additional circumstance which we must combine\nwith it, in our definition of an effect, though he has shown, indeed,\nwith most abundant evidence, if any evidence at all were necessary,\nthat the antecedents and consequents are not the same; that we use\nactive and passive verbs, in different senses, applying, as might well\nbe supposed, the one to the antecedent, the other to the consequent;\nthat we speak of effects and causes as if truly different, since it\nis unquestionably not the same thing to _follow_ uniformly a certain\nchange, and to _precede_ uniformly a certain change, and that we never\nthink of giving those names where we do not conceive that there is some\npermanent relation. But, though these distinctions might be allowed\nto have irresistible weight, in opposition to the scepticism, if such\nextravagant scepticism there ever were, which affirmed the sequences\nof events to be altogether casual and irregular, they are surely of\nno weight against that simple definition of power, which affirms it\nto consist in the probability of the invariable _sequence_. of some\nevent as its immediate _consequent_; since this very regularity of the\nsequences, which is supposed by the definition, must, of itself, have\ngiven occasion to all those distinctions of thought and language which\nDr Reid has adduced.\n\nThat one event should invariably be followed by another event,\nis indeed, it will be allowed, as every thing in nature is, most\nwonderful, and can be ascribed only to the infinite source of every\nthing wonderful and sublime; the will of that divine Being, who gave\nthe universe its laws, and who formed these with a most beneficent\narrangement for the happiness of his creatures, who, without a belief\nin the uniformity of these laws, to direct their conduct, could not\nhave known how to preserve even their animal existence. But the\nuniformity of succession is surely not rendered less wonderful, by a\nmere change of name. It is the same unaltered wonder still, when we\nascribe the term _power_ to the prior of two events, as when we ascribe\nto it the exactly synonymous phrase _invariableness of antecedence_;\neach of these terms implying nothing more than that the one event\ncannot take place without being immediately followed by the other.\nThe permanence and uniformity of the relation are the essential\ncircumstances. To be that which cannot exist, without being instantly\nfollowed by a certain event, is to be the _cause_ of the _event_, as\na correlative _effect_. It is impossible for us to believe, that the\ninvariable antecedent is any thing but the cause, or the cause any\nthing but the invariable antecedent; as it is impossible for us to\nbelieve that _homo_ is the Latin synonime of _man_, and yet that _man_\nis not the English synonime of _homo_.\n\nTo know the _powers_ of nature, is, then, nothing more than to know\nwhat antecedents are and will be _invariable_, followed by what\nconsequents; for this invariableness, and not any distinct existence,\nis all which the shorter term power, in any case, expresses; and this,\nand this alone, is the true object of physical inquiry, in that second\npoint of view, in which we have considered it, as directed to the\nsuccessions of events.\n\nWhenever, therefore, the question is put, as to any object, What is\nit? there are two answers, and only two answers, that can be given\nwith meaning. We may regard it as it exists _in space_, and state the\nelements that co-exist in it, or rather that constitute it; or we may\nregard it, as it exists _in time_, and state, in all the series of\nchanges, of which it forms an invariable part, the objects to which it\nis related as antecedent or consequent.\n\nTo combine these two views of nature, as it exists in space and time,\nand to know, with perfect accuracy, every element of every aggregate,\nand every series of changes, of which each forms, or can form, a\npart, would be to know every thing which can be physically known of\nthe universe. To extend our mere physical inquiry still farther into\nthe phenomena of nature, after this perfect knowledge, would be to\nsuppose erroneously, that, in the compounds before us, of which we\nknow every element, there is some element, not yet discovered, or, in\nthe well-known successions of events, some antecedent or consequent\nas yet unobserved; or it would be to inquire without any real object\nof inquiry,--a sort of investigation, which, for two thousand years,\nwas almost the sole employment of the subtile and the studious, and\nwhich is far from having perished, with those venerable follies of\nthe schools, at which we know so well how to smile, even while we are\nimitating them, perhaps, with similar errors of our own. I cannot\nbut think, for example, that, on this very subject of the connexion\nof events, the prevalent notions and doctrines, even of very eminent\nphilosophers, are not far advanced beyond the verbal complexity of the\nfour causes of which Aristotle treats, the _material_, the _formal_,\nthe _efficient_, and the _final_; or Plato's five causes, which Seneca,\nin one of his Epistles, briefly defines the _id ex quo_, the _id a\nquo_, the _id quo_, the _id ad quod_, and the _id propter quod_,[26]\nand though there were no other evidence than this one subject affords,\nit would still, I fear, prove sufficiently, that, with all our\nmanifest improvements in our plans of philosophical investigation, and\nall the splendid discoveries to which these improvements have led,\nwe have not wholly lost that great art, which, for so long a time,\nsupplied the place of the whole art of philosophizing--the art of\ninquiring assiduously, without knowing what we are inquiring about.\n\nIt is an art, indeed, which, there is too much reason to suppose,\nwill accompany philosophy, though always, it is to be hoped, in less\nand less proportion, during the whole course of its progress. There\nwill forever be points, on which those will reason ill, who may yet\nreason, with perfect accuracy, on other matters. With all those sublime\ndiscoveries of modern times, which do us so much honour, and with\nthat improved art of discovery, which is still more valuable to us\nthan the discoveries produced by it, we must not flatter ourselves\nwith exemption from the errors of darker ages--of ages truly worthy\nof the name of dark, but to which we perhaps give the name, with more\nreadiness, because it seems to imply, that our own is an age of light.\nOur real comfort, in comparing ourselves with the irrefragable and\nsubtile doctors of other times, is not that we do not sometimes reason\nas indefatigably ill as they, and without knowing what we are truly\nreasoning about, but that we do this much _less_ frequently, and are\ncontinually lessening the number of cases, in which we reason as ill,\nand increasing, in proportion, the number of cases, in which we reason\nbetter, and do truly know, what objects we are seeking.\n\nOf all the cases, however, in which it is of importance, that the\nmind should have precise notions of its objects of inquiry, the most\nimportant are those which relate to the subject at present considered\nby us; because the nature of power, in the relation which it is\nimpossible for us not to feel of events, as reciprocally effects and\ncauses, must enter, in a great measure, into every inquiry which we are\ncapable of making, as to the successive phenomena, either of matter\nor of mind. It is of so much importance, therefore, to our future\ninquiries, that you should know what this universal and paramount\nrelation is, that I have dwelt on it at a length, which I fear must\nhave already exhausted your patience; since it is a discussion, I\nmust confess, which requires considerable effort of attention; and\nwhich has nothing, I must also confess, to recommend it, but its dry\nutility. I trust, however, that you are too well acquainted with the\nnature of science, not to know, that it is its utility which is its\nprimary recommendation; and that you are too desirous of advancing in\nit, not to disregard the occasional ruggedness of a road, which is far\nfrom being always rugged. It may be allowed to him, who walks only for\nthe pleasure of the moment, to turn away from every path, in which he\nhas not flowers and verdure beneath his feet, and beauty wherever he\nlooks around. But what should we have thought of the competitor of\nthe Olympic course, whose object was the glory of a prize, contested\nby the proudest of his contemporary heroes, if, with that illustrious\nreward before him,--with strength and agility that might ensure him\nthe possession of it,--and with all the assembled multitudes of Greece\nto witness his triumph, he had turned away, from the contest, and the\nvictory, because he was not to tread on softness, and to be refreshed\nwith fragrance, as he moved along! In that knowledge which awaits your\nstudies, in the various sciences to which your attention may be turned,\nyou have a much nobler prize before you; and, therefore, I shall not\nhesitate to call forth occasionally all the vigour of your attention,\nat the risk of a little temporary fatigue, as often as it shall appear\nto me, that, by exciting you to more than ordinary intellectual\nactivity, I can facilitate your acquisition of a reward, which the\nlistless exertions of the indolent never can obtain, and which is as\ntruly the prize of strenuous effort, as the Palms of the Circus or the\nCourse.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[25] Essay concerning Human Understanding, book iv. c. 3. sec. 25, 26.\n\n[26] Epist. 65.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE VII.\n\nON POWER, CAUSE, AND EFFECT.\n\n\nMy last Lecture, Gentlemen, was chiefly employed in examining _what\nit is_, which is the real object of inquiry, when we consider the\nphenomena of nature as successive; and we found, that, by an original\nprinciple of our constitution, we are led, from the mere observation\nof change, to believe, that, when similar circumstances recur, the\nchanges, which we observed, will also recur in the same order,--that\nthere is hence conceived by us to be a permanent relation of one\nevent, as invariably antecedent, to another event, as invariably\nconsequent,--and that this _permanent relation_ is all which\nconstitutes _power_. It is a word, indeed, of much seeming mystery; but\nall which is supposed to be mysterious and perplexing in it vanishes,\nwhen it is regarded in its true light as only a short general term,\nexpressive of invariable antecedence, or, in other words, of that,\nwhich cannot exist in certain circumstances, without being immediately\nfollowed by a certain definite event, which we denominate an effect, in\nreference to the antecedent, which we denominate a cause. To express,\nshortly, what appears to me to be the only intelligible meaning of\nthe three most important words in physics, immediate invariable\n_antecedence_, is _power_,--the immediate invariable _antecedent_, in\nany sequence, is a _cause_,--the immediate invariable _consequent_ is\nthe correlative _effect_.\n\nThe object of philosophic inquiry, then, in that second department\nof it, which we considered with respect to the phenomena of nature\nas successive, we have found not to be any thing different from the\nphenomena themselves, but to be those very phenomena, as preceding\nor following, in certain regular series. Power is not any thing that\ncan exist separately from a substance, but is merely the substance\nitself, considered in relation to another substance,--in the same\nmanner, as what we denominate _form_, is not any thing separate from\nthe elementary atoms of a mass, but is merely the relation of a number\nof atoms, as co-existing in apparent contact. The sculptor at every\nstroke of his chisel, alters the form of the block of marble on which\nhe works, not by communicating to it any new qualities, but merely by\nseparating from it a number of the corpuscles, which were formerly\nincluded by us, in our conception of the continuous whole; and when\nhe has given the last delicate touches that finish the Jupiter, or\nthe Venus, or Apollo, the divine form which we admire, as if it had\nassumed a new existence beneath the artist's hand, is still in itself\n_unaltered_,--the same quiescent mass, that slumbered for ages in the\nquarry of which it was a part.\n\n Quale fusc\u00e6 marmor in Afric\u00e6\n Solo recisum, sumere idoneum\n Quoscunque vultus, seu Diana\n Seu Cyther\u00e6a magis placebit;\n Informis, ater, sub pedibus jacet,\n Donec politus Phidiaca manu\n Formosa tandem destinat\u00e6\n Induitur lapis ora div\u00e6.\n Jam, jamque poni duritiem placens,\n Et nunc ocelli, et gratia mollium\n Spirat genarum, nunc labella et\n Per nivium coma sparsa collum.\n\nThe _form_ of bodies is the relation of their elements to each other\n_in space_,--the _power_ of bodies is their relation to each other\n_in time_; and both form and power, if considered separately from\nthe number of elementary corpuscles, and from the changes that arise\nsuccessively, are equally abstractions of the mind, and nothing\nmore. In a former Lecture, I alluded to the influence of errors with\nrespect to the nature of abstraction, as one of the principal causes\nthat retard the progress of philosophy. We give a name to some common\nquality of many substances; and we then suppose, that there is in\nit something real, because we have given it a name, and strive to\ndiscover, what that is in itself, which, in itself, has no existence.\nThe example, which I used at that time, was the very striking one, of\nthe _genera_, and _species_, and the whole classes of ascending and\ndescending universals of the schools. I might have found an example,\nas striking, in those abstractions of form and power, which we are\nnow considering,--abstractions, that have exercised an influence\non philosophy, as injurious as the whole series of universals in\nPorphyry's memorable tree, and one of which, at least, still continues\nto exercise the same injurious influence, when the tree of Porphyry has\nbeen long disregarded, and almost forgotten.\n\nIn the philosophy of Aristotle, _form_, which all now readily allow\nto be a mere abstraction of the mind, when considered separately from\nthe figured substance, was regarded as something equally real with\nmatter itself; and indeed, _matter_, which was supposed to derive from\n_form_ all its qualities, was rather the less important of the two. Of\nsubstantial forms, however, long so omnipotent, we now hear, only in\nthose works which record the errors of other ages, as a part of the\nhistory of the fallible being, man, or in those higher works of playful\nridicule, which convert our very follies into a source of amusement,\nand find abundant materials, therefore, in what was once the wisdom of\nthe past. Cramb\u00e9, the young companion of Martinus Scribblerus, we are\ntold, \u201cregretted extremely, that substantial forms, a race of harmless\nbeings, which had lasted for many years, and afforded a comfortable\nsubsistence to many poor philosophers, should be now hunted down like\nso many wolves, without the possibility of a retreat. He considered\nthat it had gone much harder with them, than with _essences_, which\nhad retired from the schools, into the apothecaries' shops, where\nsome of them had been advanced into the degree of quintessences. He\nthought there should be a retreat for poor substantial forms among\nthe Gentlemen Ushers at Court, and that there were indeed substantial\nforms, such as _forms of Prayer_ and _forms of Government_, without\nwhich the things themselves could never long subsist.\u201d[27]\n\nThe subject of this pleasantry is, indeed, it must be owned, so\nabsurd in itself, as scarcely to require the aid of wit, to render it\nridiculous; and yet this more than poetic personification of the mere\nfigure of a body, as itself a separate unity, which appears to us too\nabsurd almost to be feigned as an object of philosophic belief, even\nto such a mind as that of Cramb\u00e9, was what, for age after age, seemed\nto the most intelligent philosophers a complete explanation of all the\nwonders of the universe; and _substantial forms_, far from needing a\nretreat among Gentlemen Ushers at Court, had their place of highest\nhonours amid Doctors and Disputants, in every School and College,\nwhere, though they certainly could not give science, they at least\nserved the temporary purpose of rendering the want of it unfelt, and of\ngiving all the dignity which science itself could have bestowed.\n\nThe vague and obscure notions, at present attached to the words\npower, cause, effect, appear to me very analogous to the notions of\nthe Peripatetics, and, indeed, of the greater number of the ancient\nphilosophers, with respect to form; and, I trust that as we have now\nuniversally learned to consider _form_, as nothing in itself, but only\nas the relation of bodies co-existing immediately in space, so _power_\nwill at length be as universally considered as only the relation which\nsubstances bear to each other _in time_, according as their phenomena\nare immediately successive; the invariable antecedent being the\ncause, the invariable consequent the effect; and the antecedent and\nconsequent being all that are present in any phenomenon. There are, in\nnature, only substances; and all the substances in nature, are every\nthing that truly exists in nature. There is, therefore, no additional\n_power_, separate, or different from the antecedent itself, more than\nthere is _form_, separate or different from the figured mass, or any\nother quality, without a substance. In the beautiful experiment of the\nprismatic decomposition of light, for example, the refracting power\nof the prism is not any thing separate or separable from it, more\nthan its weight or transparency of colour. There are not a prism and\ntransparency, but there is a prism giving passage to light. In like\nmanner, there are not a prism, and refracting power, and coloured\nrays, but there are a prism and rays of various colours, which we\nhave perceived to be deflected variously from their original line of\ndirection, when they approach and quit the lens, and which we believe,\nwill, in the same circumstances, continually exhibit the same tendency.\n\nIt is the mere regularity of the successions of events, not any\nadditional and more mysterious circumstance, which power may be\nsupposed to denote, that gives the whole value to our physical\nknowledge. It is of importance for us to know, _what_ antecedents\ntruly precede _what_ consequents; since we can thus provide for that\nfuture, which we are hence enabled to foresee, and can, in a great\nmeasure, modify, and almost create, the future to ourselves, by\narranging the objects over which we have command, in such a manner,\nas to form with them the antecedents, which we know to be invariably\nfollowed by the consequents desired by us. It is thus we are able to\nexercise that command over nature, which _He_, who is its only real\nSovereign, has designed, in the magnificence of His bounty, to confer\non us, together with the still greater privilege of knowing that\nOmnipotence to which all our delegated empire is so humbly subordinate.\nIt is a command which can be exercised by us, only as beings, who,\naccording to one of the definitions that have been given of man, look\nboth _before_ and _behind_; or, in the words of Cicero, who join and\nconnect the future with the present, seeing things, not in their\nprogress merely, but in the circumstances that precede them, and the\ncircumstances that follow them, and being thus enabled to provide and\narrange whatever is necessary for that life, of which the whole course\nlies open before us. \u201cHomo autem (quod rationis est particeps, per quam\nconsequentia cernit, causas rerum videt, earumque progressus et quasi\nantecessiones non ignorat, similitudines comparat, et rebus pr\u00e6sentibus\nadjungit atque annectit futuras) facile totius vit\u00e6 cursum videt, ad\neamque degendam pr\u00e6parat res necessarias.\u201d[28]\n\nThat power is nothing more than the relation of one object or event\nas antecedent to another object or event, though its immediate and\ninvariable consequent, may, perhaps, from the influence of former\nhabits of thought, or rather, of former abuse of language, at\nfirst appear to you an unwarrantable simplification; for, though\nyou may never have clearly conceived, in power, any thing more\nthan the immediate sequence of a certain change or event, as its\nuniform attendant, the mere habit of attaching to it many phrases of\nmystery, may, very naturally, lead you to conceive, that, in itself,\nindependently of these phrases, there must be something peculiarly\nmysterious. But the longer you attend to the notion, the more clearly\nwill you perceive, that all which you have ever understood in it,\nis the immediate sequence of some change with the certainty of the\nfuture recurrence of this effect, as often as the antecedent itself\nmay recur in similar circumstances. To take an example, which I have\nalready repeatedly employed, when a spark falls upon gunpowder, and\nkindles it into explosion, every one ascribes to the spark the _power_\nof kindling the inflammable mass. But let any one ask himself, what\nit is which he means by the term, and, without contenting himself\nwith a few phrases that signify nothing, _reflect_, before he give\nhis answer, and he will find, that he means nothing more than that,\nin all similar circumstances, the explosion of gunpowder will be the\nimmediate and uniform consequence of the application of a spark. To\ntake an example more immediately connected with our own science, we all\nknow, that as soon as any one, in the usual circumstances of health\nand freedom, wills to move his arm, the motion of his arm follows; and\nwe all believe, that, in the same circumstance of health, and in the\nsame freedom from external restraint, the same _will_ to move the arm,\nwill be constantly followed by the same motion. If we knew and believed\nnothing more, than that this motion of the arm would uniformly follow\nthe will to move it, would our knowledge of this particular phenomenon\nbe less perfect, than at present, and should we learn any thing new, by\nbeing told, that the will would not merely be invariably followed by\nthe motion of the arm, but that the will would also have the power of\nmoving the arm; or would not the power of moving the arm be precisely\nthe same thing, as the invariable sequence of the motion of the arm,\nwhen the will was immediately antecedent?\n\nThis test of identity, as I have said in my Essay on the subject,\nappears to me to be a most accurate one. When a proposition is true,\nand yet communicates no additional information, it must be of exactly\nthe same import, as some other proposition, formerly understood and\nadmitted. Let us suppose ourselves, then, to know all the antecedents\nand consequents in nature, and to believe, not merely that they have\nonce or repeatedly existed in succession, but that they have uniformly\ndone so, and will continue forever to recur in similar series, so that,\nbut for the intervention of the Divine will, which would be itself,\nin that case, a new antecedent, it will be absolutely impossible for\nany one of the antecedents to exist again, in similar circumstances,\nwithout being instantly followed by its original consequent. If an\neffect be something more than what invariably follows a particular\nantecedent, we might, on the present supposition, know every invariable\nconsequent of every antecedent, so as to be able to predict, in their\nminutest circumstance, what events would forever follow every other\nevent, and yet have no conception of power or causation. We might know,\nthat the flame of a candle, if we hold our hand over it, would be\ninstantly followed by pain and burning of the hand,--that, if we ate\nor drank a certain quantity, our hunger and thirst would cease:--we\nmight even build houses for shelter, sow and plant for sustenance, form\nlegislative enactments for the prevention or punishment of vice, and\nbestow rewards for the encouragement of virtue;--in short, we might\ndo, as individuals and citizens, whatever we do at this moment, and\nwith exactly the same views, and yet, (on the supposition that power\nis something different from that invariable antecedence which alone we\nare supposed to know,) we might with all this unerring knowledge of\nthe future, and undoubting confidence in the results which it was to\npresent, have no knowledge of a single power in nature, or of a single\ncause or effect. To him who had previously kindled a fire, and placed\non it a vessel full of water, with the certainty that the water, in\nthat situation, would speedily become hot, what additional information\nwould be given, by telling him that the fire had the _power_ of boiling\nwater, that it was the _cause_ of the boiling, and the boiling its\n_effect_? And, if no additional information would in this case be\ngiven, then, according to the test of this identity of propositions,\nbefore stated, to know events as invariably antecedent and consequent,\nis to know them as causes and effects; and to know all the powers of\nevery substance therefore, would be only to know what changes or events\nwould, in all possible circumstances, ensue, when preceded by certain\nother changes or events. It is only by confounding _casual_ with\nuniform and invariable antecedence, that power can be conceived, to be\nsomething different from antecedence. It certainly is something very\ndifferent from the priority of a single moment; but it is impossible\nto form any conception of it whatever, except merely as that which is\nconstantly followed by a certain effect.\n\nSuch is the _simple_, and, as it appears to me, the _only_ intelligible\nview of _power_, as discoverable in the successive phenomena of\nnature. And yet, how different from this simple view is the common,\nor, I may almost say, the universal notion of the agencies, which are\nsupposed to be concerned in the phenomena that are the objects of\nphilosophic inquiry. It is the detection of the powers of nature, to\nwhich such inquiry is supposed to lead,--but not of powers, in the\nsense in which alone that phrase is intelligible, as signifying the\nobjects themselves which uniformly precede certain changes. The powers\nwhich our investigation is to detect, or which, at least, in all the\nphenomena that come under our observation, we are to consider as the\nsole efficient, though invisible producers of them, are conceived\nby us to be something far more mysterious,--something that is no\npart of the antecedent, and yet is a part of it,--or that intervenes\nbetween each antecedent and consequent, without being itself any thing\nintermediate,--as if it were possible that any thing could intervene in\na series, without instantly becoming itself a part of the series,--a\nnew link in the lengthened chain,--the consequent of the former\nantecedent, and the antecedent of the former consequent.\n\nTo me, indeed, it appears so very obvious a truth, that the substances\nwhich exist in nature--the world, its living inhabitants, and the\nadorable Being who created them,--are all the real existences in\nnature, and that, in the various changes which occur, therefore, there\ncan as little be any powers or susceptibilities different from the\nantecedents and consequents themselves, as there can be forms different\nfrom the co-existing particles which constitute them,--that to labour\nthus to impress this truth upon your minds, seems to me almost like\nan attempt to demonstrate a self-evident proposition. An illusion,\nhowever, so universal, as that which supposes the powers of nature,\nto be something more, than the mere series of antecedents themselves,\nis not rashly, or without very full inquiry, to be considered as an\nillusion; and, at any rate, in the case of a mistake, so prevalent\nand so important in its consequences, it cannot be uninteresting, to\ninquire into the circumstances, that appear most probably to have led\nto it. Indeed the more false, and the more obviously false the illusion\nis, the more must it deserve our inquiry, _what_ those circumstances\nhave been which have so long obtained for it the assent, not of common\nunderstanding merely, but of the quick-sighted and the subtile. For a\nfull view of my opinions on this subject, I must refer you to the work\nwhich I have published on the Relation of Cause and Effect; and the\nshort abstract of them which I now offer, as it would be superfluous\nfor those who have read and understood that work, is chiefly for the\nsake of those who may not have had an opportunity of perusing the\nvolume itself.\n\nOne source of the general fallacy unquestionably is that influence\nof _abstraction_, to which I before alluded, as aided, and in a\ngreat measure perpetuated, by the use of language, and the common\nunavoidable modes of grammatical construction. We speak of the powers\nof a substance, of substances that have certain power--of the figure\nof a body, or of bodies that have a certain figure, in the same manner\nas we speak of the students of a university, or of a house that has\na great number of lodgers; and we thus learn to consider the power,\nwhich a substance possesses, as something different from the substance\nitself, inherent in it indeed, but inherent, as something that may yet\nsubsist separately. In the ancient philosophy, this error extended to\nthe notions both of form and power. In the case of _form_, however, we\nhave seen, that the illusion, though it lasted for many ages, did at\nlength cease, and that no one now regards the _figure_ of a body, as\nany thing but the body itself. It is probable that the illusion, with\nrespect to power, as something different from the substance that is\nsaid to possess it, would, in like manner, have ceased, and given place\nto juster views, if it had not been for the cause, which I am next to\nconsider.\n\nThis cause is the _imperfection of our senses_, the same cause which,\nin the other department of physics before examined by us,--the\ndepartment, that relates to matter considered merely as existing\nin space,--we find to give occasion to all our inquiries into the\ncompositions of bodies. In this department of physics, however, which\nrelates to the successions of phenomena in time, the imperfection of\nour senses operates in a different way. It is not that which gives\noccasion to the necessity of inquiry; for we have seen, that senses,\nof the utmost accuracy and delicacy, could not, of themselves, and\nwithout experience, have enabled us to predict any one event, in the\ninnumerable series of phenomena that are constantly taking place\naround us. But, though senses of the nicest discrimination could not\nhave rendered inquiry into the successions of events superfluous, they\nwould have saved us from much idle inquiry, and have given far greater\nprecision, if not to our _rules_, at least to our uniform _practice_,\nof philosophizing.\n\nAs our senses are at present constituted, they are too imperfect, to\nenable us to distinguish all the elements, that co-exist in bodies,\nand of elements, which are themselves unknown to us, the minute\nchanges which take place in them, must of course be unknown. We are\nhence, from our incapacity of discovering these elements by our\nimperfect senses, and imperfect analysis, incapable of distinguishing\nthe whole series of external changes that occur in them,--the whole\nprogressive series of antecedents and consequents in a phenomenon\nthat appears to our senses simple; and, since it is only between\nimmediate antecedents and consequents, that we suppose any permanent\nand invariable relation, we are therefore constantly on the watch, to\ndetect, in the more obvious changes that appear to us in nature, some\nof those minuter elementary changes, which we suspect to intervene.\nThese minute invisible changes, when actually intervening, are truly\nwhat connect the obvious antecedents with the obvious consequents; and\nthe innumerable discoveries, which we are constantly making of these,\nlead us habitually to suppose, that, amid all the visible changes\nperceived by us, there is something latent which links them together.\nHe who for the first time listens to the delightful sounds of a violin,\nif he be ignorant of the theory of sound, will very naturally suppose\nthat the touch of the strings by the bow is the cause of the melody\nwhich he hears. He learns, however, that this primary impulse would be\nof little effect, were it not for the vibrations excited by it in the\nviolin itself; and another discovery, still more important, shews him\nthat the vibration of the instrument would be of no effect, if it were\nnot for the elastic medium, interposed, between his ear and it. It is\nno longer to the violin, therefore, that he looks, as the direct cause\nof the sensation of sound, but to the vibrating air; nor will even this\nbe long considered by him as the _cause_, if he turns his attention\nto the structure of the organ of hearing. He will then trace effect\nafter effect, through a long series of complex and very wonderful\nparts, till he arrive at the auditory nerve, and the whole mass of the\nbrain,--in some unknown state of which he is at length forced to rest,\nas the cause or immediate antecedent, of that affection of the mind,\nwhich constitutes the particular sensation. To inquire into the latent\ncauses of events is thus to endeavour to observe changes which we\nsuppose to be actually taking place before us unobserved, very nearly\nin the same manner, as to inquire into the composition of a substance\nis to strive to discover the bodies that are constantly before us,\nwithout our being able to distinguish them.\n\nIt is quite impossible, that this constant search, and frequent\ndetection of causes, before unknown, thus found to intervene between\nall the phenomena observed by us, should not, by the influence of the\ncommon principles of our mental constitution, at length associate,\nalmost indissolubly, with the very notion of changes as perceived by\nus, the notion of something intermediate, that as yet lies hid from\nour search, and connects the parts of the series which we at present\nperceive. This latent something, supposed to intervene between the\nobserved antecedent and the observed consequent, being the more\nimmediate antecedent of the change which we observe, is of course\nregarded by us as the _true cause_ of the change, while the antecedent\nactually observed by us, and known, ceases, for the same reason, to\nbe regarded as the cause, and a cause is hence supposed by us, to be\nsomething very mysterious; since we give the name, in our imagination,\nto something of the nature of which we must be absolutely ignorant, as\nwe are, by supposition, ignorant of its very existence. The parts of a\nseries of changes, which we truly observe, are regarded by us as little\nmore than signs of other intervening changes as yet undetected; and our\nthought is thus constantly turned from the known to the unknown, as\noften as we think of discovering a cause.\n\nThe expectation of discovering something intermediate and unknown\nbetween all known events, it thus appears, is very readily convertible\ninto the common notion of power, as a secret and invisible tie. Why\ndoes it do this? or, How does it produce this effect? is the question\nwhich we are constantly disposed to put, when we are told of any change\nwhich one substance occasions in another; and the common answer, in\nall such cases, is nothing more than the statement of some intervening\nobject, or event, supposed to be unknown to the asker, but as truly a\nmere antecedent in the sequence, as the more obvious antecedent which\nhe is supposed to know. How is it that we see objects at a distance--a\ntower, for example, on the summit of a hill, on the opposite side of\na river? Because rays of light are reflected from the tower to the\neye. The new antecedent appears to us a very intelligible reason. And\nwhy do rays of light, that fall in confusion from every body, within\nour sphere of vision, on every point of the surface of the eye,--from\nthe wood, the rock, the bridge, the river, as well as the tower,--give\ndistinct impressions of all these different objects? Because the eye\nis formed of such refracting power, that the rays of light, which\nfall confusedly on its surface, converge within it, and form distinct\nimages of the objects from which they come, on that part of the eye\nwhich is an expansion of the nerve of sight. Again we are told only\nof intervening events before unknown to us; and again we consider\nthe mere knowledge of these new antecedents as a very intelligible\nexplanation of the event which we knew before. This constant statement\nof _something intermediate_, that is supposed to be unknown to us, as\nthe cause of the phenomena which we perceive, whenever we ask, how or\nwhy they take place? continually strengthens the illusion, which leads\nus to regard the powers of objects as something different from the\nperceived objects themselves;--and yet it is evident, that to state\n_intervening_ changes, is only to state _other_ antecedents,--not any\nthing different from mere antecedence,--and that whatever number of\nthese intervening changes we may discover between the antecedent and\nthe consequent, which we at present know, we must at length come to\nsome ultimate change, which is truly and immediately antecedent to the\nknown effect. We may say, that an orator, when he declaims, excites\nthe sensation of sound, because the motion of his vocal organs excites\nvibrations in the intervening air,--that these vibrations of air are\nthe cause of the sound, by communicating vibration to parts of the ear,\nand that the vibrations of these parts of the ear are the cause of the\nsound, by affecting in a particular manner the nerve of hearing, and\nthe brain in general;--but, when we come to the _ultimate_ affection of\nthe sensorial organ, which immediately precedes the sensation of the\nmind, it is evident, that we cannot say of it, that it is the cause of\nthe sound, by exciting any thing intermediate, since it then could not\nitself be that by which the sound was immediately preceded. It is the\ncause, however; exactly in the same manner as all the other parts of\nthe sequence were causes, merely by being the immediate and invariable\nantecedent of the particular effect. If, in our inability of assigning\nany thing intermediate, we were to say, that this last affection of\nthe sensorial organ occasioned the sound, because it had the power of\noccasioning sound, we should say nothing more than if we had said at\nonce, that it occasioned the sound, or, in other words, was that which\ncould not exist in the same circumstances without the sound as its\ninstant attendant.\n\n\u201cWhat is there,\u201d says Malebranche, \u201cwhich Aristotle cannot at once\npropose and resolve, by his fine words of genus, species, act, power,\nnature, form, faculties, qualities, causa per se, causa per accidens?\nHis followers find it very difficult to comprehend that these words\nsignify nothing; and that we are not more learned than we were before,\nwhen we have heard them tell us, in their best manner, that fire melts\nmetals, because it has a solvent faculty; and that some unfortunate\nepicure, or glutton digests ill, because he has a weak digestion, or\nbecause the _vis concoctrix_ does not perform well its functions.\u201d[29]\n\nWe see only parts of the great sequences that are taking place in\nnature; and it is on this account we seek for the causes of what we\n_know_ in the parts of the sequences that are _unknown_. If our senses\nhad originally enabled us to discriminate every element of bodies,\nand consequently, all the minute changes which take place in these,\nas clearly as the more obvious changes at present perceived by us;\nin short, if, between two known events, we had never _discovered_\nany thing intermediate and unknown, forming a new antecedent of the\nconsequent observed before, our notion of a cause would have been very\ndifferent from that mysterious unintelligible something which we now\nconceive it to be; and we should then, perhaps, have found as little\ndifficulty in admitting it to be what it simply and truly is,--only\nanother name for the immediate invariable antecedent of any event,--as\nwe now find in admitting the _form_ of a body, to be only another name\nfor the _relative position_ of the parts that constitute it.\n\nBut,--I have said in my Essay,--though the powers of created things\nbe nothing more than their relation to certain events that invariably\nattend them, is this definition consistent with the notion which\nwe form of the power of the Creator? or, Is not _his_ efficiency\naltogether different in nature, as well as in degree? The omnipotence\nof God, it must, indeed, be allowed, bears to every created power the\nsame relation of awful superiority, which his infinite wisdom and\ngoodness bear to the humble knowledge and virtue of his creatures. But\nas we know his wisdom and goodness, only by knowing what that human\nwisdom and goodness are, which, with all their imperfection, he has yet\npermitted to know and adore him,--so, it is only by knowing created\npower, weak and limited as it is, that we can rise to the contemplation\nof his omnipotence. In contemplating it, we consider only his _will_,\nas the direct _antecedent_ of those glorious effects which the universe\ndisplays. The power of God is not any thing different from God; but\nis the Almighty himself, willing whatever seems to him good, and\ncreating or altering all things by his very will to create or alter.\nIt is enough for our devotion to trace every where the characters of\nthe Divinity,--of provident arrangement _prior_ to this system of\nthings,--and to know, therefore, that, without that divine will as\n_antecedent_, nothing could have been. Wherever we turn our eyes,--to\nthe earth--to the heavens--to the myriads of beings that live and\nmove around us--or to those more than myriads of worlds, which seem\nthemselves almost like animated inhabitants of the infinity through\nwhich they range,--above us, beneath us, on every side, we discover,\nwith a certainty that admits not of doubt, intelligence and design,\nthat must have preceded the existence of every thing which exists. Yet,\nwhen we analyse those great, but obscure, ideas which rise in our mind,\nwhile we attempt to think of the creation of things, we feel, that it\nis still only a sequence of events which we are considering,--though\nof events, the magnitude of which allows us no comparison, because it\nhas nothing in common with those earthly changes which fall beneath our\nview. We do not see any third circumstance existing intermediately,\nand binding, as it were, the will of the Omnipotent Creator to the\nthings which are to be; we conceive only the _divine will itself_, as\nif made visible to our imagination, and all nature at the very moment\nrising around. It is evident, that in the case of the divine agency,\nas well as in every other instance of causation, the introduction of\nany circumstance, as a bond of closer connexion, would only furnish a\nnew phenomenon to be itself connected; but even though it were possible\nto conceive the closer connexion of such a third circumstance, as is\nsupposed to constitute the inexplicable efficiency between the _will_\nof the Creator and _the rise of the universe_, it would _diminish_,\nindeed, but it certainly cannot be supposed to elevate, the majesty of\nthe person, and of the scene. Our feeling of his omnipotence is not\nrendered stronger by the elevation of the complicated process; it is,\non the contrary, the immediate succession of the object to the desire,\nwhich impresses the force of the omnipotence on our mind; and it is\nto the divine agency, therefore, that the representation of _instant_\nsequence seems peculiarly suited, as if it were more emphatically\npowerful. Such is the great charm of the celebrated passage of Genesis,\ndescriptive of the creation of light. It is from stating nothing more\nthan the antecedent and consequent, that the majestic simplicity of\nthe description is derived. God _speaks_, and _it is done_. We imagine\nnothing intermediate. In our highest contemplation of His power, we\nbelieve only, that, when He _willed_ creation, a world arose; and that,\nin all future time, His will to create cannot exist, without being\nfollowed by the instant rise into being of whatever He may have willed;\nthat His will to destroy any thing, will be, in like manner, followed\nby its non-existence; and His will to vary the course of things, by\nmiraculous appearances. The will is the only necessary previous change;\nand that Being has almighty power, whose every will is immediately and\ninvariably _followed_ by the existence of its object.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[27] Mart. Scrib. c. 7.--Pope's Works, _Ed._ 1757, v. vii. p. 58, 59.\n\n[28] Cicero de Officiis, lib. i. c. 4.\n\n[29] Recherche de la verit\u00e8, liv iv. c. ii.--Vol. II. p. 322.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE VIII.\n\nON HYPOTHESIS AND THEORY.\n\n\nThe observations which I have already made on _power_, Gentlemen, have,\nI hope, shown you, both what it truly is, and the sources of that\nillusion, which leads us to regard it as something more mysterious.\n\nThe principal source of this illusion, we found to be our incapacity\nof distinguishing the minute elements of bodies,--that leads us, in\na manner, which it is unnecessary now to recapitulate, to suspect\nconstantly some intermediate and unobserved objects and events, between\nthe parts of sequences, which we truly observe, and, by the influence\nof this habit, to transfer, at least, the notion of power, from the\nantecedent which we observe, to the supposed more direct antecedent,\nwhich we only imagine, and to consider the causes of events as some\nunknown circumstances, that exist between all the antecedents which we\nknow, and the consequents which we know, and connect these together in\nmysterious union.\n\nThe same imperfection of our senses, which, from our incapacity of\ndiscovering all the minute elements, and consequently all the minute\nelementary changes, in bodies, leads us to form erroneous notions of\npower and causation, has tended, in like manner, to produce a fondness\nfor _hypotheses_, which, without rendering the observed phenomena, in\nany respect, more intelligible, only render them more complicated, and\nincrease the very difficulty, which they are supposed to diminish.\n\nOf this tendency of the mind, which is a very injurious one to the\nprogress of sound philosophy, I must request your attention to a\nlittle fuller elucidation. To know well, what _hypotheses_ truly are\nin themselves, and what it is which they contribute to the explanation\nof phenomena, is, I am convinced, the surest of all preservatives\nagainst that too ready assent, which you might otherwise be disposed\nto give to them; and to guard you from the ready adoption of such loose\nconclusions, in the reasonings of others, and from the tendency to\nsimilar rashness of arrangement and inference, in your own speculative\ninquiries, is to perform for you the most important office that can be\nperformed, for the regulation, both of your present studies, and of\nthose maturer investigations, to which, I trust, your present studies\nare to lead.\n\nI have also endeavoured to point out to you, in what manner we are led\nto believe, that we explain the sequence of two events, by stating some\nintermediate event. If asked, _How_ it is that we hear a voice at a\ndistance, or see a distant object? we immediately answer, Because the\nprimary vibration of the organs of speech is propagated in successive\nvibrations through the intervening air, and because light is reflected\nor emitted from the distant object to the eye; and he who hears this\nanswer, which is obviously nothing more than the statement of another\neffect, or series of effects, that takes place before that particular\neffect, concerning which the question is put, is perfectly satisfied,\nfor the time, with the acquisition which he has made, and thinks,\nthat he now knows, how it is, that we hear and see. To know _why_ a\nsuccession of events takes place, is thus at length conceived by us,\nto be the same thing, as to know some other changes, or series of\nchanges, which take place between them; and, with this opinion, as to\nthe necessary presence of some intervening and connecting link, it is\nvery natural, that, when we can no longer state or imagine any thing\nwhich intervenes, we should feel as if the sequence itself were less\nintelligible, though unquestionably, when we can state some intervening\ncircumstance, we have merely found a new antecedent in the train of\nphysical events, so as to have now _two_ antecedents and consequents,\ninstead of _one_ simple antecedent and consequent, and have thus only\ndoubled our supposed mystery, instead of removing it.\n\nSince it does _appear_ to us, however, to remove the very mystery\nwhich it doubles, it is the same thing, with respect to our general\npractice of philosophizing, as if it _did_ remove it. If we suppose\nthe intervention of some unknown cause, in every phenomenon which we\nperceive, we must be equally desirous of discovering that unknown\ncause, which we suppose to be intermediate,--and, when this is not\neasily discoverable, we must feel a strong tendency to divine what it\nis, and to acquiesce, more readily than we should otherwise have done,\nin the certainty of what we have only imagined,--always, of course,\nimagining the cause, which seems to have most analogy to the observed\neffect.\n\nSuch is the nature of that illusion, from which the love of hypotheses\nflows,--as seeming, by the intervention of a new antecedent, to\nrender more intelligible the sequences of events that are obviously\nbefore us,--though all which is truly done, is to double the number\nof antecedents; and, therefore, to double, instead of removing the\ndifficulty, that is supposed to be involved in the consideration of a\nsimple sequence of events. A stone tends to the ground--that it should\nhave this _tendency_, in consequence of the mere presence of the earth,\nappears to us most wonderful; and we think, that it would be much less\nwonderful, if we could discover the presence, though it were the _mere\npresence_, of something else. We therefore, in our mind, run over every\ncircumstance analogous, to discover something which we may consider\nas present, that may represent to our imagination the cause which we\nseek. The effect of _impulse_, in producing motion, we know by constant\nexperience; and, as the motion, which it produces, in a particular\ndirection, seems analogous to the motion of the stone in its particular\ndirection, we conceive, that the motion of a stone, in its fall to the\nearth, is rendered more intelligible, by the imagined intervention of\nsome impelling body. The circumstances, which we observe, however,\nare manifestly inconsistent with the supposition of the impulse of\nany very gross matter. The analogies of gross matter are accordingly\nexcluded from our thoughts, and we suppose the impulse to proceed from\nsome very subtle fluid, to which we give the name of _ether_, or any\nother name, which we may choose to invent for it. The hypothesis is\nfounded, you will observe, on the mere analogy of another species of\nmotion, and which would account for gravitation by the impulse of some\nfine fluid. It is evident, that there may be, in this way, as many\nhypotheses to explain a single fact, as there have been circumstances\nanalogous observed in all the various phenomena of nature. Accordingly,\nanother set of philosophers, instead of explaining gravitation by the\nanalogy of _impulse_, have had recourse to another analogy, still more\nintimately familiar to us--that of the phenomena of life: We are able\nto move our limbs by our mere volition. The mind, therefore, it is\nevident, can produce motion in matter; and it is hence some interposed\nspiritual agent, which produces all the phenomena of gravitation. Every\norb, in its revolution on its axis, or in its great journey through\nthe heavens, has, according to this system of philosophical mythology,\nsome peculiar _genius_, or directing spirit, that regulates its course,\nin the same manner as, of old, the universe itself was considered as\none enormous animal, performing its various movements by its own vital\nenergies. It is the influence of this analogy of our own muscular\nmotions, as obedient to our volition,--together with the mistaken\nbelief of adding greater honour to the divine Omnipotent,--which has\nled a very large class of philosophers to ascribe every change in the\nuniverse, material or intellectual, not to the original _foresight_\nand arrangement merely,--the irresistible evidence of which even the\nimpiety, that professes to question it, _must_ secretly admit,--but to\nthe direct operation of the Creator and Sovereign of the world,--\n\n \u201cThe mighty Hand,\n That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres,\n Works in the secret deep; shoots streaming thence\n The fair profusion that o'erspreads the spring;\n Flings from the sun direct the flaming day;\n Feeds every creature; hurls the tempest forth;\n And, as on earth this grateful change revolves,\n With transport touches all the springs of life.\u201d\n\nSo prone is the mind to complicate every phenomenon, by the insertion\nof imagined causes, in the simple sequences of physical events,\nthat one hypothesis may often be said to involve in it many other\nhypotheses, invented for the explanation of that very phenomenon, which\nis adduced in explanation of another phenomenon, as simple as itself.\nThe production of muscular motion by the will, which is the source\nof the hypothesis of direct spiritual agency, in every production\nof motion, or change, in the universe, has itself given occasion to\ninnumerable speculations of this kind. Indeed, on no subject has the\nimagination been more fruitful of fancies, that have been strangely\ngiven to the world under the name of philosophy. Though you cannot be\nsupposed to be acquainted with the minute nomenclature of anatomy, you\nyet all know, that there are parts termed _muscles_, and other parts\ntermed _nerves_, and that it is by the contraction of our muscles\nthat our limbs are moved. The nerves, distributing to the different\nmuscles, are evidently instrumental to their contraction; since the\ndestruction of the nerve puts an end to the voluntary contraction\nof the muscle, and consequently to the apparent motion of the limb.\nBut what is the influence that is propagated along the nerve, and in\nwhat manner is it propagated? For explaining this most familiar of\nall phenomena, there is scarcely any class of phenomena in nature, to\nthe _analogy_ of which recourse has not been had,--the vibration of\nmusical chords,--the coiling or uncoiling of springs,--the motion of\nelastic fluids, electricity, magnetism, galvanism;--and the result of\nso many hypotheses,--after all the labour of striving to adapt them to\nthe phenomena, and the still greater labour of striving to prove them\nexactly adapted, when they were far from being so--has been the return\nto the _simple fact_, that muscular motion follows a certain state\nof the nerve;--in the same manner, as the result of all the similar\nlabour, that has been employed to account, as it has been termed, for\ngravitation, has been a return to the simple fact, that, at all visible\ndistances observed, the bodies in nature tend toward each other.\n\nThe mere sequence of one event after another event, is, however, too\neasily conceived, and has too little in it of that complication,\nwhich at once busies and delights us, to allow the mind to rest in it\nlong. It must forever have something to disentangle, and, therefore,\nsomething which is perplexed; for, such is the strange nature of man,\nthat the simplicity of truth, which might seem to be its essential\ncharm,--and which renders it doubly valuable, in relation to the\nweakness of his faculties,--is the very circumstance that renders it\nleast attractive to him; and though, in his analysis of every thing\nthat is compound in matter, or involved in thought, he constantly\nflatters himself, that it is this very simplicity, which he loves\nand seeks, he yet, when he arrives at _absolute simplicity_, feels\nan equal tendency to turn away from it, and gladly prefers to it any\nthing that is _more_ mysterious, merely because it is mysterious.\n\u201cI am persuaded,\u201d said one, who knew our nature well, \u201cthat, if the\nmajority of mankind could be made to see the order of the universe,\nsuch as it is, as they would not remark in it any virtues attached to\ncertain numbers, nor any properties inherent in certain planets, nor\nfatalities, in certain times and revolutions of these, they would\nnot be able to restrain themselves, on the sight of this admirable\nregularity and beauty, from crying out with astonishment, What, is this\nall?\u201d\n\nFor the fidelity of this picture, in which Fontenelle has so justly\nrepresented one of the common weaknesses of our intellectual nature,\nwe unfortunately need not refer to the majority of mankind alone,\nto whom, it may be said, almost with equal truth, that every thing\nis wonderful, and that nothing is wonderful. The feeling which it\ndescribes exists even in the most philosophic mind, and had certainly\nno increased influence even on that mind which described it so truly,\nwhen it employed all its great powers, in still striving to support\nthe cumbrous system of the _Vortices_, against the simple theory of\n_attraction_. Even Newton himself, whose transcendent intellect was so\nwell fitted to perceive the sublimity, which simplification adds to\nevery thing that is truly great in itself, yet, showed, by his query\nwith respect to the agency of ether, that he was not absolutely exempt\nfrom that human infirmity of which I speak; and though philosophers may\nnow be considered as almost unanimous with respect to gravitation,--in\nconsidering it as the mere tendency of bodies towards each other, we\nyet, in admiring this tendency which we perceive, feel some reluctance\nto admit a mere fact, that presents itself so simply to our conception,\nand would be better pleased, if any other mode could be pointed out,\nby which, with some decent appearance of reason on its side, the same\neffect could seem to be brought about, by a natural apparatus, better\nsuited to gratify our passion for the _complicated_ and the wonderful.\nThough the theory of _Vortices_ can scarcely be said now to have any\nlingering defender left, there is a constant tendency, and a tendency\nwhich requires all our philosophy to repress it,--to relapse into\nthe supposition of a great etherial fluid, by the immense ocean, or\nimmense streams, of which the phenomenon now asserted to gravitate, may\nbe explained, and we have no objection, to fill the whole boundless\nvoid of the universe, with an infinite profusion of this invisible\nmatter, merely that we may think, with more comfort, that we know how\na _feather_ falls to the ground;--though the fall of the feather,\nafter this magnificent cast of contrivance, would still be as truly\ninexplicable as at present; and though many other difficulties must,\nin that case, be admitted in addition. It is only in _geometry_, that\nwe readily allow a straight line, to be the shortest that can be drawn\nbetween any two points. In the physics of mind, or of matter, we are\nfar from allowing this. We prefer to it almost any _curve_ that is\npresented to us by others,--and, without all doubt, any curve which we\nhave described ourselves; and we boldly maintain, and, which is yet\nmore fairly believe, that we have found out a _shorter road_, merely\nbecause, in our philosophical peregrination, we have chosen to journey\nmany miles about, and in our delight of gazing on new objects, have\nnever thought of measuring the ground which we have trod.\n\nI am aware, indeed, that, in the consideration of the simple\nantecedents, and consequents which nature exhibits, it is not the\nmere complication of these, by the introduction of new intervening\nsubstances or events, which obtains from the mind so ready an adoption\nof hypotheses. On the contrary, there is a sort of false simplification\nin the introduction of hypotheses, which itself aids the illusion of\nthe mystery. I term the simplification _false_, because it is not\nin the phenomena themselves, but in our mode of conceiving them. It\nis certainly far more simple, _in nature_, that bodies should have\na tendency toward each other, than that there should be oceans of a\nsubtle fluid, circulating around them, in vortices,--or streams of\nsuch a fluid, projected continually on them from some unknown source,\nmerely to produce the same exact motions, which would be the result of\nthe reciprocal tendency in the bodies themselves. But the interposition\nof all this immensity of matter, to account for the fall of a feather\nor rain-drop, cumbrous as the contrivance must be allowed to be, is\nyet in one respect, more simple to our conception, because, instead\nof two classes of phenomena, those of _gravitation_ and of _impulse_,\nwe have, in referring all to _impulse_, only one general class. Man\nloves what is simple _much_, but he loves what is mysterious _more_;\nand a mighty ocean of ether, operating invisibly in all the visible\nphenomena of the universe, has thus a sort of double charm, by uniting\nthe false simplification, of which I have spoken, with abundance of\nreal mystery. This mixture of the simple and the mysterious, is, in\nsome measure, like the mixture of uniformity with diversity, that is\nso delightful in works of art. However pleasing objects may separately\nbe, we are soon wearied with wandering over them, when, from their\nextreme irregularity, we cannot group them in any distinct assemblage,\nor discover some slight relation of parts to the whole; and we are\nstill sooner, and more painfully fatigued, when every object which we\nsee is in exact symmetry with some other object. In like manner, the\nmind would be perplexed and oppressed, if it were to conceive a great\nmultitude of objects or circumstances, concurring in the production\nof one observed event. But it feels a sort of dissatisfaction also,\nwhen the sequences of events which it observes, are reduced to the\nmere antecedents and consequents of which they consist, and must have\na little more _complication_ to flatter it with the belief, that it\nhas learned something which it is important to have learned. To know\nthat a withered leaf falls to the ground, is to know, what the very\nvulgar know, as well as ourselves; but an ocean of _ether_, whirling\nit downward, is something of which the vulgar have no conception, and\ngives a kind of mysterious magnificence to a very simple event, which\nmakes us think, that our knowledge is greater, because we have given,\nin our imagination, a sort of cumbrous magnitude to the phenomenon\nitself.\n\nThat hypotheses, in that wide sense of the word which implies every\nthing conjectural, are without use in philosophy, it would be absurd\nto affirm, since every inquiry may, in that wide sense, be said to\npre-suppose them, and must always pre-suppose them if the inquiry have\nany object. They are of use, however, not as superseding investigation,\nbut as directing investigation to certain objects,--not as telling\nus, what we are to believe, but as pointing out to us what we are to\nendeavour to ascertain. An hypothesis, in this view of it, is nothing\nmore than a reason for making one experiment or observation rather\nthan another; and it is evident, that, without some reason of this\nkind, as experiment and observations are almost infinite, inquiry\nwould be altogether profitless. To make experiments, at random, is not\nto _philosophize_; it becomes philosophy, only when the experiments\nare made with a certain view; and to make them, with any particular\nview, is to suppose the presence of something, the operation of which\nthey will tend either to prove or disprove. When Torricelli, for\nexample,--proceeding on the observation previously made, by Galileo,\nwith respect to the limited height to which water could be made to rise\nin a pump,--that memorable observation, which demonstrated, at last,\nafter so many ages of errors, what ought not for a single moment to\nhave required to be demonstrated; the absurdity of the horror of a void\nascribed to nature--when, proceeding in this memorable observation,\nTorricelli made his equally memorable experiment with respect to the\nheight of the column of mercury supported in an inverted tube, and\nfound, on comparison of their specific gravities, the columns of\nmercury and water to be exactly equiponderant, it is evident that he\nwas led to the experiment with the mercury by the supposition, that\nthe rise of fluids _in vacuo_ was occasioned by some counterpressure,\nexactly equal to the weight supported, and that the column of mercury,\ntherefore should be less in height than the column of water, in\nthe exact inverse ratio of their specific gravities, by which the\ncounterpressure was to be sustained. To conceive the air, which was\nthen universally regarded as essentially light, to be not light but\nheavy, so as to press on the fluid beneath, was, at that time, to make\nas bold a supposition as could be made. It was indeed, a temporary\nhypothesis, even when it led to that experimental demonstration of the\nfact, which proved it forever after not to be hypothetical.\n\nAn hypothesis, then, in the first stage of inquiry, far from being\ninconsistent with sound philosophy, may be said to be essential to it.\nBut it is essential only in this first stage, as suggesting what is\nafterwards to be verified or disproved; and, when the experiments or\nobservations to which it directs us do not verify it, it is no longer\nto be entertained, even as an hypothesis. If we observe a phenomenon,\nwhich we never have observed before, it is absolutely impossible for\nus, not to think of the analogous cases which we may have seen; since\nthey are suggested by a principal of association, which is as truly\na part of our constitution, as the senses with which we perceived\nthe phenomenon itself; and, if any of these analogies strike us as\nremarkably coincident, it is equally impossible for us not to imagine,\nthat the cause, which we knew in that former instance, may also be\npresent in this analogical instance, and that they _may_, therefore,\nboth be reduced to the same class. To stop here, and, from this mere\nanalogy, to infer positive identity of the causes, and to follow out\nthe possible consequences in innumerable applications, would be to do,\nas many great artists in systematizing have done. What a philosopher,\nof sounder views, however, would do in such a case, is very different.\nHe would assume, indeed, as _possible_ or perhaps as _probable_, the\nexistence of the supposed cause. But he would assume it, only to direct\nhis examination of its reality, by investigating, as far as he was\nable, from past experience, what the circumstances would have been, in\nevery respect, if the cause supposed had been actually present; and,\neven if these were all found to be exactly coincident, though he would\nthink the presence of the cause more probable, he would be very far\nfrom considering it as certain, and would still endeavour to lessen the\nchances of fallacy, by watching the circumstances, should they again\nrecur, and varying them, by experiment, in every possible way.\n\nThis patience and caution, however, essential as they are to just\nphilosophizing, require, it must be confessed, no slight efforts of\nself-denial, but of a self-denial which is as necessary to intellectual\nexcellence as the various moral species of self-denial are to\nexcellence and virtue.\n\n\u201cMr Locke, I think,\u201d says Dr Reid, \u201cmentions an eminent musician,\nwho believed that God created the world in six days, and rested the\nseventh, because there are but seven notes in music. I myself,\u201d he\ncontinues, \u201cknew one of that profession, who thought that there could\nbe only three parts in harmony, to wit, bass, tenor, and treble;\nbecause there are but three persons in the Trinity.\u201d[30]\n\nThe minds that could be satisfied with analogies so very slight, must,\nindeed, have been little acquainted with the principles of philosophic\ninquiry; and yet how many systems have been advanced in different ages,\nadmired by multitudes, who knew them only by name, and still more\nrevered by the philosophers, who gloried in adopting them, that have\nbeen founded on analogies almost as slight.\n\n\u201cThe philosophers who form hypothetical systems of the universe, and of\nall its most secret laws,\u201d says Voltaire, in one of his lively similes,\n\u201care like our travellers that go to Constantinople, and think that they\nmust tell us a great deal about the seraglio. They pretend to know\nevery thing which passes within it--the whole secret history of the\nSultan and his favourites, and they have seen nothing but its outside\nwalls.\u201d\n\nIn one respect, however, philosophers, in their hypothetical systems,\nfar outdo the travellers to Constantinople. They not merely tell us\nsecrets of nature, which they have no opportunity of learning, but they\nbelieve the very tales of their own fancy. To see any usual phenomenon,\nis, indeed, to wonder at it, at first; but to explain it, is almost the\nvery next step, reason serving rather to defend the explanation, when\nit is made, than to assist greatly in making it; and, in many cases,\neach philosopher has his separate explanation, on which he is disposed\nto put as much reliance, as on the certainty of the fact itself,\nnot abandoning the hypothesis, even though the fact should prove to\nhave been different, but making it bend, with a happy pliability, to\nall the diversities discovered, so as at last, perhaps, to account\nfor circumstances the very reverse of those which it was originally\ninvented to explain. \u201cI have heard,\u201d says Condillac, \u201cof a philosopher,\nwho had the happiness of thinking that he had discovered a principle,\nwhich was to explain all the wonderful phenomena of chemistry; and who,\nin the ardour of his self-congratulation, hastened to communicate his\ndiscovery to a skilful chemist. The chemist had the kindness to listen\nto him, and then calmly told him, that there was but one unfortunate\ncircumstance for his discovery, which was, that the chemical _facts_\nwere exactly the reverse of what he had supposed. Well then, said the\nphilosopher, have the goodness to tell me _what_ they are, that I may\nexplain them by my system.\u201d[31] To those who know that fondness for\nconjecture, which may almost be said to be a sort of intellectual\nappetite, there is nothing in all the wonders which Swift tells us of\nhis fabled Houynhnhms, that marks them more strongly as a different\nrace from mankind, than the total absence of hypothesis from their\nsystems of knowledge.\n\n\u201cI remember,\u201d says Gulliver, \u201cit was with extreme difficulty that I\ncould bring my master to understand the meaning of the word _opinion_,\nor how a point could be disputable; because reason taught us to\naffirm or deny only when we are certain; and beyond our knowledge we\ncannot do either. So that controversies, wranglings, disputes, and\npositiveness, in false or dubious propositions, are evils unknown among\nthe Houynhnhms. In the like manner, when I used to explain to him our\nseveral systems of Natural Philosophy, he would laugh, that a creature\npretending to reason, should value itself upon the knowledge of other\npeople's conjectures, and in things, where that knowledge, if it were\ncertain, could be of no use. Wherein he agreed entirely with the\nsentiments of Socrates, as Plato delivers them, which I mention as the\nhighest honour I can do that Prince of philosophers. I have often since\nreflected what destruction such a doctrine would make in the libraries\nof Europe, and how many paths to fame would be then shut up in the\nlearned world.\u201d[32]\n\nWhile I wish to caution you against a fondness for hypotheses, by\nshewing you, not merely that they are liable to error,--for inquiry,\nof every kind, must be so in some degree,--but that, in truth, they\nleave the real difficulty of the succession of the observed consequents\nto the observed antecedents as great as before, and only add, to the\nsupposed difficulty of explaining one sequence, the necessity of\nexplaining a sequence additional,--I must remark, at the same time,\nthat what is commonly termed _theory_, in opposition to _hypothesis_,\nis far from being so different from it as is commonly represented,--at\nleast, in the very wide application which is usually made of it. We\nare told, by those who lay down rules of philosophizing, that the\nobject of philosophy is, to observe particulars, and, from these, to\nframe general laws, which may, again, be applied to the explanation of\nparticulars; and the view which is thus given of the real province of\nphilosophy is undoubtedly a just one;--but there is an ambiguity in the\nlanguage which may deceive you, and with respect to which, therefore,\nit is necessary for you to be on your guard. If, by the term _general\nlaw_, be meant the agreement in some common circumstances of a number\nof events observed, there can be no question that we proceed safely in\nframing it, and that what we have already found in a number of events,\nmust be applicable to that number of events; in the same manner, as,\nafter combining in the term _animal_ the circumstances in which a dog,\na horse, a sheep agree, we cannot err in applying the term animal to a\ndog, a horse, a sheep. But the only particular to which, in this case,\nwe can, with perfect confidence, apply a general law, are the very\nparticulars that have been before observed by us. If it be understood\nas more general than the circumstances observed, and, therefore,\ncapable of being applied with perfect certainty to the explanation of\nnew phenomena, we evidently, to the extent in which the general law is\napplied beyond the circumstances observed, proceed on mere supposition,\nas truly, as in any hypothesis which we could have framed; and though\nthe supposition may be more and more certain, in proportion to the\nnumber of cases thus generalized, and the absence of any circumstance\nwhich can be supposed, in the new case, to be inconsistent with it,\nit never can amount to actual certainty. Let us take, for example,\none of the most striking cases of this sort. That bodies tend to each\nother, _in all circumstances_, with a force increasing directly as\ntheir quantities, and inversely as the squares of their distances, may\nseem in the highest degree probable indeed, from the innumerable facts\nobserved on our globe, and in the magnificent extent of the planetary\nmovements; but it cannot be said to be certain at all distances, in\nwhich we have never had an opportunity of making observations,--as\nit seems to be verified in the heights of our atmosphere, and in the\ndistances of the planets, in their orbits, from the sun, and from\neach other. It is not necessary, however, to refer, for possible\nexceptions, to spaces that are beyond our observation; since, on the\nsurface of our own earth, there is abundant evidence, that the law\ndoes _not_ hold _universally_. Every quiescent mass that is capable of\ngreater compression, and of which the particles, therefore, before that\ncompression, are not in absolute contact, shews sufficiently, that the\nprinciple of attraction, which, of itself, would have brought them into\nactual contact, must have ceased to operate, while there was still a\nspace between the particles that would have allowed its free operation;\nand, in the phenomena of _elasticity_, and impulse in general, it has\nnot merely ceased, but is actually reversed,--the bodies which, at all\nvisible distances, exhibited a reciprocal _attraction_, now exhibiting\na reciprocal _repulsion_, in consequence of which they mutually fly\noff, as readily as they before approached,--that is to say, the\ntendency of bodies to each other being converted into a tendency _from_\neach other, by a mere change of distance, so slight as to be almost\ninappreciable. When a ball rebounds from the earth, toward which it\nmoved rapidly before, and the gravitating tendency is thus evidently\nreversed, without the intervention of any foreign force, what eye,\nthough it be aided by all the nicest apparatus of optical art, can\ndiscover the lines which separate those infinitesimal differences\nof proximity, at which the particles of the ball still continue to\ngravitate toward the earth, and are afterwards driven from it in an\nopposite direction;--yet the phenomenon itself is a sufficient proof,\nthat in these spaces, which seem, to our organs of sense, so completely\nthe same, that it is absolutely impossible for us to distinguish them,\nthe reciprocal tendencies of the particles of the ball and of the earth\nare as truly opposite, as if the laws of gravitation had, at the moment\nat which the rebound begins, been reversed through the whole system of\nthe universe.\n\nIt is, indeed, scarcely possible to imagine a more striking proof of\nthe danger of extending, with too great certainty, a general law, than\nthis instant conversion of _attraction_ into _repulsion_, without\nthe addition of any new bodies, without any change in the nature of\nthe bodies themselves, and a change of their circumstances so very\nslight, as to be absolutely indistinguishable, but for the opposite\nmotions that result from it, with a change of their circumstances.\nAfter observing the gravity of bodies, at all heights of our\natmosphere, and extending our survey through the wide spaces of our\nsolar system,--computing the tendency of the planets to the sun, and\ntheir disturbing forces, as they operate on each other,--and finding\nthe resulting motions exactly to correspond with those which we had\npredicted by theory;--in these circumstances, after an examination\nso extensive, if we had affirmed, as an universal law of matter,\nthat, at all distances, bodies tend toward each other, we should\nhave considered the wideness of the induction, as justifying the\naffirmation; and yet, even in this case, we find, on the surface of\nour earth, in the mutual shocks of bodies, and in their very rest,\nsufficient evidence, that, in making the universal affirmation, we\nshould have reasoned falsely. There is no theory, then, which, if\napplied to the explanation of _new_ phenomena, is not, to a certain\ndegree, conjectural; because it must proceed on the supposition, that\nwhat was true in certain circumstances, is true also in circumstances\nthat have not been observed. It admits of certainty, only when it is\napplied to the very substances observed,--in the very circumstances\nobserved,--in which case, it may be strictly said to be nothing more\nthan the application of a general term to the particulars, which we\nhave before agreed to comprehend in it. Whatever is more than this is\ntruly hypothetical,--the difference being, that we commonly give the\nname of _hypothesis_ to cases, in which we suppose the intervention\nof some substance, of the existence of which, as present in the\nphenomenon, we have no direct proof, or of some additional quality of a\nsubstance before unobserved,--and the name of _theory_ to cases, which\ndo not suppose the existence of any substance, that is not actually\nobserved, or of any quality that has not been actually observed, but\nmerely the continuance, in certain _new_ circumstances, of tendencies\nobserved in other circumstances. Thus, if a planet were discovered\nrevolving in the space which separates the orbits of any two planets\nat present known, were we to suppose of matter, in this new situation,\nthat it would be subject to the same exact law of gravitation, to which\nthe other planets were known to be subject, and to predict its place in\nthe heavens, at any time, according to this law, we should be said to\nform a theory of its motions; as we should not take for granted, any\nnew quality of a substance, or the existence of any substance, which\nwas not evidently present, but only of _tendencies_ observed before in\nother circumstances,--analogous indeed, but not absolutely the same.\nWe should be said to form an hypothesis on the subject, if, making\nthe same prediction, as to its motions, and place in the heavens, at\nany given time, we were to ascribe the centripetal tendency, which\nconfines it within its orbit, to the impulse of ether, or to any other\nmechanical cause. The terms, however, I must confess, though the\ndistinction which I have now stated would be, in all cases, a very\nconvenient one, are used very loosely, not in conversation merely, but\nin the writings of philosophers,--an hypothesis often meaning nothing\nmore than a theory, to which we have not given our assent,--and a\ntheory, an hypothesis which we have adopted, or still more, one which\nwe have formed ourselves.\n\nA _theory_, then, even in that best sense, to which I wish it\naccurately confined, as often as it ventures a single hair-breadth\nbeyond the line of former observation, may be wrong, as an hypothesis\nmay be wrong. But, in a theory, in this sense of it, there are both\nless risk of error, and less extensive evil from error, than in an\nhypothesis. There is less risk of error, because we speak only of the\nproperties of bodies, that must be allowed actually to exist; and the\nevil of error is, for the same reason, less extensive, since it must be\nconfined to this single point; whereas, if we were to imagine falsely\nthe presence of some third substance, our supposition might involve as\nmany errors, as that substance has qualities; since we should be led\nto suppose, and expect, some or all of the other consequences, which\nusually attend it, when really present.\n\nThe practical conclusion to be drawn from all this very long\ndiscussion, is, that we should use hypotheses to suggest and direct\ninquiry, not to terminate or supersede it; and that, in theorizing,--as\nthe chance of error, in the application of a general law, diminishes,\nin proportion to the number of analogous cases, in which it is observed\nto hold,--we should not form any general proposition, till after as\nwide an induction, as it is possible for us to make; and, in the\nsubsequent application of it to particulars, should never content\nourselves, in any new circumstances, with the mere probability, however\nhigh, which this application of it affords; while it is possible for us\nto verify, or disprove it, by actual experiment.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[30] On the Powers of the Human Mind, Essay vi. Chap. viii. Vol. II. p.\n334. 8vo. _edit._\n\n[31] Traite des Systemes, chap. xii. Vol. II. p. 372.\n\n[32] Travels, Part iv, chap. 8. Swift's Works, _edit._ Nichols, Vol.\nix. p. 300.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE IX.\n\nRECAPITULATION OF THE FOUR PRECEDING LECTURES; AND APPLICATION OF THE\nLAWS OF PHYSICAL INQUIRY TO THE STUDY OF MIND, COMMENCED.\n\n\nFor several Lectures, Gentlemen, we have been employed in considering\nthe objects that are to be had in view, in Physical Inquiry in general,\na clear conception of which seems to me as essential to the Philosophy\nof Mind, as to the Philosophy of Matter. I should now proceed to apply\nthese general remarks more particularly to our own science; but, before\ndoing this, it may be of advantage to retrace slightly our steps in the\nprogress already made.\n\nAll inquiry, with respect to the various substances in nature, we have\nseen, must regard them as they exist in _space_, or as they exist in\n_time_,--the inquiry, in the one case, being into their composition;\nthe inquiry, in the other case, into the changes which they exhibit.\nThe first of these views we found to be very simple, having, for\nits object, only the discovery of what is actually before us at the\nmoment,--which, therefore, if we had been endowed with senses of\ngreater delicacy and acuteness, we might have known, without any\ninquiry whatever. It is the investigation of the elements, or separate\nbodies, that exist together, in the substances which we considered, or\nrather that constitute the substances which we considered, by occupying\nthe space which we assign to the one imaginary aggregate, and are\nregarded by us as one substance,--not from any absolute unity which\nthey have in nature, since the elementary atoms, however continuous or\nnear, have an existence as truly separate and independent, as if they\nhad been created at the distance of worlds,--but from a unity, that is\nrelative only to our incapacity of distinguishing them as separate. It\nis to the imperfection of our senses, then, that this first division of\nPhysical Inquiry owes its origin; and its most complete results could\nenable us to discover only, what has been before our eyes from the\nmoment of our birth.\n\nThe second division of inquiry,--that which relates to the successions\nof phenomena in time,--we found, however, to have a different origin;\nsince the utmost perfection of our mere senses could show us only what\n_is_, at the moment of perception, not what _has been_, nor what _will\nbe_; and there is nothing in any qualities of bodies perceived by us,\nwhich, without experience, could enable us to predict the changes that\nare to occur in them. The foundation of all inquiry, with respect to\nphenomena as successive, we found to be that most important law, or\noriginal tendency, of our nature, in consequence of which we not merely\nperceive the changes exhibited to us at one particular moment, but\nfrom this perception, are led irresistibly to believe, that similar\nchanges _have_ constantly taken place, in all similar circumstances,\nand _will_ constantly take place, as often as the future circumstances\nshall be exactly similar to the present. We hence consider events, not\nas casually antecedent and consequent, but as invariably antecedent\nand consequent,--or, in other words, as causes and effects; and we\ngive the name of _power_ to this permanent relation of the invariable\nantecedent to its invariable consequent. The powers of substances,\nthen, concerning which so many vague, and confused, and mysterious\nnotions prevail, are only another name for the substances themselves,\nin relation to other substances,--not any thing separate from them\nand intermediate,--as the _form_ of a body, concerning which too,\nfor many ages, notions as vague and mysterious prevailed, is not any\nthing different from the body, but is only the body itself, considered\naccording to the relative position of its elements. Form is the\nrelation of immediate proximity, which bodies bear to each other in\n_space_;--power is the relation of immediate and uniform proximity,\nwhich events bear to each other in _time_; and the relation, far from\nbeing different, as is commonly supposed, when applied to matter and to\nspirit, is precisely the same in kind, whether the events, of which we\nthink, be material or immaterial. It is of invariable antecedence that\nwe speak alike in both cases, and of invariable antecedence only. When\nwe say, that a magnet has the power of attracting iron, we mean only,\nthat a magnet cannot be brought near iron, without the instant motion\nof the iron towards it. When we say, in treating of _mental_ influence,\nthat man, in the ordinary circumstances of health, and when free from\nany foreign restraint, has the power of moving his hand, we mean only,\nthat, in these circumstances, he cannot will to move his hand, without\nits consequent motion. When we speak of the omnipotence of the Supreme\nof Beings,--who is the fountain of all power, as he is the fountain of\nall existence,--we mean only, that the universe arose at his command,\nas its instant consequence, and that whatever he _wills_ to exist or\nperish, exists, or is no more.\n\nThis simple view of power, as the mere antecedent substance itself,\nin its relation to its immediate and invariable consequences, without\nthe intervention of any mysterious tie,--since there surely can be\nnothing in nature, but all the substances which exist in nature,--it\nwas necessary to illustrate, at great length, in consequence of the\nvery false notions, that are generally, or, I may say, universally\nprevalent on the subject. The illustration, I am aware, must, to many\nof you, have appeared very tedious, and a sufficient exemplification of\nthat license of exhausting occasionally your attention, and perhaps,\ntoo, your patience, of which I claimed the right of exercise, whenever\nit should appear to me necessary, to make any important, but abstract\ntruth familiar to your mind. I shall not regret, however, any temporary\nfeeling of weariness which I may have occasioned, by dwelling on this\ngreat fundamental subject, if I have succeeded in making familiar to\nyour minds, the truths which I wished to impress on them, and have\nfreed you from those false notions of occult and unintelligible agency\nin causes,--as something different from the mere causes or antecedents\nthemselves,--which appear to me to have retarded, in a very singular\ndegree, the progress of philosophy,--not merely, by habituating the\nmind to acquiesce in the use of language, to which it truly affixes no\nmeaning, though even this evil is one of very serious injury in its\ngeneral effects,--but by misdirecting its inquiries, and leading it,\nfrom the simplicity of nature,--in which every glance is truth, and\nevery step is progress,--to bewilder itself, with the verbal mysteries\nof the schools, where there is no refreshment of truth to the eye, that\nis wearied with wandering only from shadow to shadow,--and where there\nis all the fatigue of continual progress, without the advance of a\nsingle step.\n\nEven those philosophers, who have had the wisdom to perceive, that\nman can never discover any thing in the phenomena of nature, but a\nsuccession of events, that follow each other in regular series,--and\nwho, accordingly, recommend the observation and arrangement of these\nregular antecedents and consequents, as the only attainable objects\nof philosophy, yet found this very advice, on the distinction of what\nthey have termed efficient causes, as different from the physical\ncauses, or simple antecedents, to which they advise us to devote\nour whole attention. There are certain _secret causes_, they say,\ncontinually operating in the production of every change which we\nobserve, and causes which alone deserve the name of efficient; but\nthey are, at the same time, careful to tell us, that, although these\ncauses are constantly operating before us, and are all which are\ntruly acting before us, we must not hope, that we shall ever be able\nto detect one of them; and indeed, the prohibition of every attempt\nto discover the efficient causes of phenomena,--repeated in endless\nvarieties of precept or reproof,--is the foundation of all their\nrules of philosophizing; as if the very information,--that what we\nare to consider exclusively, in the phenomena of nature, is far less\nimportant, than what we are studiously to omit,--were not, of itself,\nmore powerful, in stimulating our curiosity to attempt the forbidden\nsearch, than any prohibition could be in repressing it. \u201cFelix qui\npotuit rerum cognoscere causas.\u201d This will forever be the feeling of\nthe inquirer, while he thinks that there are any causes, more than\nthose, which he has already investigated. Even Newton himself, that\nsagest of observers and reasoners, who could say, with the simplicity\nof pure philosophy, \u201c_Hypotheses non fingo._\u201d yet showed, as we have\nseen, by one of the most hypothetical of his Queries, that he was not\nexempt from the error which he wished to discourage--that inordinate\nlove of the unknown, which must always lead those, who believe that\nthere is something intermediate and undiscovered truly existing between\nevents, to feel the anxious dissatisfaction of incomplete inquiry, in\nconsidering the mere antecedents and consequents which nature exhibits,\nand to turn, therefore, as if for comfort, to any third circumstance,\nwhich can be introduced, without obvious absurdity, as a sort of\nconnecting link, between the pairs of events. To suppose that the mind\nshould not have this disposition, would, indeed, be to suppose it void\nof that principle of curiosity, without which there can be no inquiry\nof any kind. He who could believe, that, between all the visible\nphenomena, there are certain invisible agencies continually operating,\nwhich have as real an existence as all that he perceives, and could\nyet content himself with numbering the visible phenomena, and giving\nthem names, without any endeavour to discover the intervening powers,\nby which he is constantly surrounded, or at least to form some slight\n_guess_, as to that universal machinery, by which he conceived all the\nwonders of nature to be wrought, must be a being as different from the\ncommon intellectual beings of this earth, as the perfect sage of the\nStoics from the frail creatures, of mingled vice and virtue, that live\nand err around us. That, in considering the phenomena of nature, we\nshould confine our attention to the mere antecedents and consequents,\nwhich succeed each other in regular series, is unquestionably the\nsoundest advice that can be given. But it is sound advice, for this\nreason more than any other, that the regular series is, in truth,\nall that constitutes the phenomena, and that to search for any thing\nmore, is not to have an unattainable object in view, but to have no\nconceivable object whatever. _Then only_ can the inquirer be expected\nto content himself with observing and classing the sequences, which\nnature presents to us spontaneously, or in obedience to our art,\nwhen he is convinced, that all the substances which exist in the\nuniverse--God and the things which he has created--are every thing\nwhich truly exists in the universe, to which nothing can be added,\nwhich is not itself a _new_ substance; that there can be nothing in the\nevents of nature, therefore, but the antecedents and consequents which\nare present in them; and that these, accordingly, or nothing, are the\nvery causes and effects, which he is desirous of investigating.\n\nAfter this examination of the notions connected with the uniform\nsuccessions of events, our attention was next turned to the nature and\norigin of _hypothetical inquiry_, which we found reason to ascribe\nto the imperfection of our senses, that renders it impossible for us\nto know whether we have observed the whole train of sequences in any\nphenomenon, from our inability to distinguish the various elements\nthat may be the subjects of minute changes unobserved.\n\nWe are hence eager to supply, by a little guess-work of fancy, the\nparts unobserved, and suppose deficiencies in our observation where\nthere may truly have been none; till at length, by this habitual\nprocess, every phenomenon becomes, to our imagination, the sign of\nsomething _intermediate_ as its cause, the discovery of which is to\nbe an explanation of the phenomenon. The mere succession of one event\nto another appears, to us, very difficult to be conceived, because it\nwants that intervening something, which we have learned to consider\nas a cause; but there seems to be no longer any _mystery_, if we can\nonly suppose something intervening between them, and can thus succeed\nin doubling the difficulty, which we flatter ourselves with having\nremoved; since, by the insertion of another link, we must now have two\nsequences of events instead of one simple sequence. This tendency of\nthe imagination to form and rest on hypotheses,--or, in other words, to\nsuppose substances present and operating, of the existence of which we\nhave no direct proof,--we found to be one great source of error in our\npractice of philosophizing.\n\nAnother source of error, we found to be the _too great extension_ of\nwhat are termed general laws; which though a less error in itself,\nis yet, in one respect, more dangerous than the former; because it\nis the error of better understandings,--of understandings that would\nnot readily fall into the extravagant follies of hypotheses, but\nacknowledge the essential importance of induction, and think they\nare proceeding on it without the slightest deviation, almost at the\nvery moment when they are abandoning it for conjecture. To observe\nthe regular series of antecedents and consequents, and to class these\nas similar or dissimilar, are all which philosophers can do with\ncomplete certainty. But there is a constant tendency in the mind, to\nconvert a _general_ law into an _universal_ law,--to suppose, after\na wide induction, that what is true of many substances that have\na very striking analogy, is as certainly true of _all_ that have\nthis striking analogy,--and that what is true of them in _certain_\ncircumstances, is true of them in _all_ circumstances,--or, at least,\nin all circumstances which are not remarkably different. The widest\ninduction which we can make, however, is still limited in its nature;\nand, though we may have observed substances in many situations, there\nmay be some new situations, in which the event may be different, or\neven, perhaps, the very reverse of that which we should have predicted,\nby reasoning from the mere analogy of other circumstances. It appeared\nto me necessary, therefore, in consequence of the very ambiguous manner\nin which writers on this higher branch of logic speak of reasoning\nfrom general laws to particulars, to warn you, that the application to\nparticulars can be made with certainty, only to the very particulars\nbefore observed and generalized,--and that, however analogous other\nparticulars may seem, the application of the general law to them\nadmits only of _probability_, which may, indeed, as the induction has\nbeen wider, and the circumstances of observed analogy more numerous,\napproach more or less to certainty, but must always be short of it,\neven in its nearest approximation.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSuch, then, is _physical inquiry_, both as to its objects, and its\nmode of procedure, particularly as it regards the universe without;\nand the laws which regulate our inquiry in the internal world of\nthought are, in every respect, similar. The same great objects are\nto be had in view, and no other,--the analysis of what is complex,\nand the observation and arrangement of the sequences of phenomena, as\nrespectively antecedent and consequent.\n\nIn this respect, also, I may remark, the philosophy of matter and\nthe philosophy of mind completely agree--that, in both equally, our\nknowledge is confined to the phenomena which they exhibit. We give\nthe name of _matter_ to the unknown cause of various feelings, which,\nby the constitution of our nature, it is impossible for us not to\nrefer to something external as their cause. What it is, independent\nof our perception, we know not; but as the subject of our perception,\nwe regard it as that which is extended, and consequently divisible,\nimpenetrable, mobile; and these qualities, or whatever other qualities\nwe may think necessary to include for expressing the particular\nsubstances that affect our senses variously, constitute our whole\ndefinition of matter, because, in truth, they constitute our whole\nknowledge of it. To suppose us to know what it is in itself, in\nabsolute independence of our perception, would be manifestly absurd:\nsince it is only by our perception,--that is to say, by the feelings of\nour mind,--that it can be known to us at all; and these mere feelings\nof the mind must depend, at least, as much on the laws of the mind\naffected, as on the laws of the substance that affects it. Whatever\nknowledge we may acquire of it, therefore, is relative only, and must\nbe relative in all circumstances; though, instead of the few senses\nwhich connect us with it at present, we were endowed with as many\nsenses as there are, perhaps, qualities of matter, the nature of which\nwe are at present incapable of distinguishing;--the only effect of such\nincreased number of senses being, to render more qualities of matter\nknown to us, not to make matter known to us in its very essence, as it\nexists without relation to mind.\n\n\u201cTell me,\u201d says Micromegas, an inhabitant of one of the planets of the\nDog Star, to the secretary of the Academy of Sciences in the planet\nSaturn, at which he had recently arrived in a journey through the\nheavens,--\u201cTell me, how many senses have the men on your globe?\u201d--I\nquote, as perhaps the name has already informed you from an ingenious\nphilosophic romance of Voltaire, who, from various allusions in the\nwork, has evidently had Fontenelle, the illustrious secretary of the\nFrench Academy of Sciences, in view, in the picture which he gives\nof the Saturnian secretary.--\u201cWe have seventy-two senses,\u201d answered\nthe academician, \u201cand we are, every day, complaining of the smallness\nof the number. Our imagination goes far beyond our wants. What are\nseventy-two senses! and how pitiful a boundary, even for beings with\nsuch limited perceptions, to be cooped up within our ring, and our five\nmoons! In spite of our curiosity, and in spite of as many passions\nas can result from six dozen of senses, we find our hours hang very\nheavily on our hands, and can always find time enough for yawning.\u201d--\u201cI\ncan very well believe it,\u201d says Micromegas, \u201cfor, in our globe, we\nhave very near _one thousand_ senses; and yet, with all these, we\nfeel continually a sort of listless inquietude and vague desire,\nwhich are forever telling us that we are nothing, and that there are\nbeings infinitely nearer perfection. I have travelled a good deal in\nthe universe. I have seen many classes of mortals far beneath us, and\nmany as much superior; but I have never had the good fortune to find\nany, who had not always more desires than real necessities to occupy\ntheir life.--And, pray, how long may you Saturnians live with your few\nsenses?\u201d continued the Sirian.--\u201cAh! but a very short time, indeed!\u201d\nsaid the little man of Saturn, with a sigh.--\u201cIt is the same with us,\u201d\nsaid the traveller; \u201cwe are forever complaining of the shortness\nof life. It must be an universal law of nature.\u201d--\u201cAlas!\u201d said the\nSaturnian, \u201cwe live only five hundred great revolutions of the sun\n(which is pretty much about fifteen thousand years of our counting.)\nYou see well, that this is to die almost the moment one is born. Our\nexistence is a point--our duration an instant--our globe an atom.\nScarcely have we begun to pick up a little knowledge, when death rushes\nin upon us, before we can have acquired any thing like experience. As\nfor me, I cannot venture even to think of any project. I feel myself\nbut like a drop of water in the ocean; and, especially now, when I look\nto you and to myself, I really feel quite ashamed of the ridiculous\nappearance which I make in the universe.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I did not know that you were a philosopher,\u201d replied Micromegas,\n\u201cI should be afraid of distressing you, when I tell you, that our life\nis seven hundred times longer than yours.--But what is even that? and,\nwhen we come to the last moment, to have lived a _single day_, and to\nhave lived a _whole eternity_, amount to the very same thing. I have\nbeen in countries where they live a thousand times longer than with us;\nand I have always found them murmuring, just as we do ourselves.--But\nyou have seventy-two senses, and they must have told you something\nabout your globe. How many properties has matter with you?\u201d--\u201cIf you\nmean _essential_ properties,\u201d said the Saturnian, \u201cwithout which\nour globe could not subsist, we count three hundred, extensive,\nimpenetrable, mobile, gravitation, divisibility, and so forth.\u201d--\u201cThat\nsmall number,\u201d replied the gigantic traveller, \u201cmay be sufficient for\nthe views which the Creator must have had with respect to your narrow\nhabitation. Your globe is little; its inhabitants are so too. You have\nfew senses; your matter has few qualities. In all this, Providence has\nsuited you most happily to each other.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe academician was more and more astonished with every thing which\nthe traveller told him. At length, after communicating to each other\na little of what they knew, and a great deal of what they knew _not_,\nand reasoning, as well and as ill, as philosophers usually do, they\nresolved to set out together, on a little tour of the universe.\u201d[33]\n\nThat, with the one thousand senses of the Sirian, or even the\nseventy-two senses of the inhabitant of Saturn, our notions of\nmatter would be very different from what they are at present, cannot\nbe doubted; since we should assign to it qualities, corresponding\nwith all the varieties of our six dozen or one thousand classes of\nsensations. But, even with all these sensations, it is evident, that we\nshould still know as little of _matter_, independent of the phenomena\nwhich it exhibits in relation to us, as we know, at this moment. Our\ndefinition of it would comprehend more phenomena; but it would still\nbe a definition of its phenomena only. We might perhaps be able to\nfill up the Saturnian catalogue of three hundred essential properties,\nbut these would be still only the relations of matter to our own\nperception. A change in the mere susceptibility of our organs of sense,\nor of our sentient mind, would be relatively to us, like a change in\nthe whole system of things, communicating, as it were, new properties\nto every object around us. A single sense additional, in man, might\nthus be to external nature, like the creation of the sun, when he\nfirst burst upon it in splendour, \u201clike the god of the new world,\u201d and\npouring every where his own effulgency, seemed to shed on it the very\nbeauties which he only revealed.\n\nIf our knowledge of matter be relative only, our knowledge of mind\nis equally so. We know it only as susceptible of feelings that have\nalready existed, and its susceptibilities of feelings which have not\narisen, but which may, in other circumstances, arise, we know as\nlittle, as the blind can be supposed to know of colours, or as we,\nwith all our senses, know of the qualities which matter might exhibit\nto us, if our own organization were different. Of the _essence_\nof mind, then, we know nothing, but in relation to the states or\nfeelings that form, or have formed, our momentary consciousness. Our\nknowledge is not absolute but relative; though, I must confess, that\nthe term _relative_ is applied, in an unusual manner, when, as in\nthe present instance, the relative and correlative are the same. It\nis unquestionably the same individual mind, which, in intellectual\ninvestigation, is at once the object and the observer. But the noble\nendowment of memory, with which our Creator has blessed us, solves\nall the mystery of this singular paradox. In consequence of this one\nfaculty, our mind, simple and indivisible as it truly is, is, as it\nwere multiplied and extended, expanding itself over that long series\nof sensations and emotions, in which it seems to live again, and to\nlive with many lives. But for memory, there can be no question that\nthe relation of thought to thought could not have been perceived; and\nthat hence there could have been no philosophy whatever, intellectual\nor moral, physical or metaphysical. To this wonderful endowment, then,\nwhich gives us the past to compare with the present, we owe that\nmost wonderful of relations, of which the same being is at once the\n_object_ and the _subject_, contemplating itself, in the same manner,\nas it casts its view on objects that are distant from it, comparing\nthought with thought, emotion with emotion, approving its own moral\nactions, with the complacency with which it looks on the virtues of\nthose whom it admires and loves, in the most remote nation or age, or\npassing sentence on itself, as if on a wretch whom it loathed, that was\ntrembling with conscious delinquency, under the inquisition of a severe\nand all-knowing judge.\n\nThe past feelings of the mind, then, are, as it were, objects present\nto the mind itself, and acquire, thus truly, a sort of relative\nexistence, which enables us to class the phenomena of our own spiritual\nbeing as we class the phenomena of the world without. The mind is that\nwhich we know to have been susceptible of all the variety of feelings\nwhich we remember; and it is only as it is susceptible of all these\nvarieties of feeling, that we can have any knowledge of it. We define\nit therefore, by stating its various susceptibilities, including more\nor fewer of these, in our definition, as we may either have observed\nor remembered more or less, or generalized more or less what we have\nobserved and remembered; precisely as in our definition of matter,\nwe include more or fewer qualities, according to the extent of our\nprevious observation and arrangement.\n\nThat we know _matter_, only as relative to our own susceptibility of\nbeing affected by it, does not lessen the value of the knowledge of\nit, which we are able to acquire; and, indeed, it is only as it is\ncapable of affecting us, that the knowledge of it can be of any direct\nand immediate utility. It would, indeed, be the very absurdity of\ncontradiction, to suppose ourselves acquainted with qualities which\ncannot affect us. But, even though this were possible, how profitless\nwould the knowledge be, compared with the knowledge of the qualities\nwhich are capable of affecting us; like the knowledge of the seasons of\nthe planet Saturn, or of the planets that have the Dog Star for their\nsun, compared with the more important knowledge of the seasons of our\nown globe, by which we have the comfort of anticipating, in the labours\nof spring, the abundance of autumn, and gather in autumn the fruits,\nwhich, as products of vernal labour, are truly fruits of the spring.\n\nTo know _matter_, even _relatively_, as our limited senses allow us to\nknow it, is to have knowledge which can scarcely be called limited.\nNothing, indeed, can seem more narrow in extent, if we think only of\nthe small number of our senses, by which alone the communication can\nbe carried on. But what infinity of objects has nature presented to\neach! In the mere forms and colours that strike our eyes, what splendid\nvariety! the proportion of all things that bloom or live, the earth,\nthe ocean, the universe, and almost God himself appearing to our very\nsenses, in the excellence and beauty of the works which He has made!\n\nIt is the same, with respect to the _mind_, though we know it only\nby its susceptibilities of affection, in the various feelings of\nour momentary consciousness, and cannot hope to know it, but as the\npermanent subject of all these separate consciousnesses; to know thus\nrelatively only, the affections even of one single substance, is to\nhave a field of the most boundless and inexhaustible wonders ever\npresent and open to our inquiry! It may be said to comprehend every\nthing which we perceive, and remember, and imagine, and compare, and\nadmire, all those mysterious processes of thought, which, in the\nhappy efforts of the philosopher and the poet, are concerned in the\nproduction of their noblest results, and which are not less deserving\nof our regard, as they are every moment exercised by all, in the humble\nintellectual functions of common life. In analyzing and arranging the\nmental phenomena, then, we consider phenomena, that are diversified,\nindeed, in individuals, but, as species, are still common to all; for\nthere is no power possessed by the most comprehensive intellect, which\nit does not share, in some proportion, with the dullest and rudest of\nmankind. All men perceive, remember, reason,--all, to a certain degree\nat least, from their little theories, both physical and metaphysical,\nof the conduct of their fellow men, and of the passing events of\nnature; and all, occasionally, enliven their social intercourse, or\ntheir solitary hours, with inventions of fancy, that last but for\na moment indeed, and are not worthy of lasting longer, but which\nare products of the same species of intellectual energy, that gave\nexistence to those glorious works, to which ages have listened with\nincreasing reverence, and which, immortal as the spirits that produced\nthem, are yet to command the veneration of every future age. When we\nsee before us, in its finished magnificence, a temple, appropriated to\nthe worship of the Supreme Being, and almost worthy of being filled\nwith his presence, we scarcely think that it is erected according to\nthe same simple principles, and formed of the same stone and mortar,\nas the plain dwellings around us, adapted to the hourly and humble\nuses of domestic life; and by a similar illusion, when we consider the\nsplendid works of intellectual art, we can scarcely bring ourselves to\nthink, that genius is but a form of general tendencies of association,\nof which all partake; and that its magnificent conceptions, therefore,\nrise, according to the same simple laws which regulate the course of\nthought of the vulgar. In this universality of diffusion as general\ntendencies, that may be variously excited by varying circumstances,\nour intellectual powers are similar to those other principles of\nour nature,--our emotions, and whatever feelings more immediately\nconnected with moral action have been usually distinguished by the\nname of our active powers. In the philosophy of both we consider,\nnot a few distinguished individuals, as possessed of principles\nessentially distinct in kind, but the species _man_. They are to be\nfound, wherever there is a human being; and we do not infer with more\ncertainty, when we perceive the impression of a foot upon the sand,\nthat man has been there, than we expect to find in him, whatever may\nbe his state of barbarism or civilization, some form of the common\npowers, and passions, which, though directed perhaps to different\nobjects, we have felt and witnessed in the society around us. \u201cThe\ntwo-legged animal,\u201d says Dr Reid, \u201cthat eats of nature's dainties what\nhis taste or appetite craves, and satisfies his thirst at the crystal\nfountain; who propagates his kind as occasion and lust prompt; repels\ninjuries, and takes alternate labour and repose; is like a tree in the\nforest, purely of nature's growth. But this same savage has within\nhim the seeds of the logician, the man of taste and breeding, the\norator, the statesman, the man of virtue, and the saint; which seeds,\nthough planted in his mind by nature, yet, through want of culture\nand exercise, must lie forever buried, and be hardly perceivable, by\nhimself, or by others.\u201d[34] Even of those passions of a prouder kind,\nwhich attract our attention only when they are on a theatre that allows\ntheir full display, some vestiges are to be traced universally; though\nin different individuals, they may exist with very different degrees\nof influence, and though their influence, according to the degree of\npower possessed by the individual, may be attended with very different\nconsequences, to the few, or the many, comprehended within the wide or\nnarrow circle, to which his power extends.\n\n ----\u201cNot kings alone,\n Each villager has his ambition to;\n No sultan prouder than his fetter'd slave.\n Slaves build their little Babylons of straw,\n Echo the proud Assyrian in their hearts,\n And cry, Behold the wonders of my might.\u201d[35]\n\nIt is this universal diffusion of sympathies and emotions, indeed,\nwhich gives its whole force to morality, as a universal obligation; and\nrenders _ethics_ truly a _science_.\n\nNature, in requiring the fruits of virtue from all, has not fixed the\nseeds of it, only in a few breasts. \u201cNulli pr\u00e6clusa virtus est, omnibus\npatet, omnes admittit, omnes invitat, ingenuos, libertinos, servos,\nreges et exsules; non eligit domum, nec censum; nudo homine contenta\nest.\u201d[36] Virtue has no partial favours or exclusions. She is open to\nall, she admits all, she invites all. She asks no wealth nor ancestry;\nbut she asks the man,--the master or the slave, the cottager and his\nlord, the sovereign and the exile.\n\nThough we know _mind_, then only _relatively_, in the series of\nfeelings, of which we are conscious, as we know matter relatively in\nthe series of phenomena, which it exhibits to our observation, we have,\nin this relative knowledge, subjects worthy of the contemplation of\nbeings permitted, in these shadowings of a higher power, to trace some\nfaint image of the very majesty which formed them. Even of the humblest\nmind, as we have seen, the various affections, sensitive, intellectual,\nand moral, that arise in it as affections of our common nature, are\ntruly admirable; and what an increase of sublimity do they acquire,\nin minds of higher powers! But still, it must be remembered, that even\nin minds the most sublime, as much as in the most humble, all which\ncan be truly known is the successive phenomena which they exhibit, not\nthe essence of the spiritual substance itself; and that, even of these\nsuccessive phenomena, though we become gradually acquainted with more\nand more, we probably never can arrive at any bound which is to limit\ntheir number. The susceptibilities of the mind, by which, in different\ncircumstances, it may exist in different states, are certainly as truly\ninfinite as the space which surrounds us, or as that eternity which,\nin its progress, measures the successions of our feelings, and all\nthe other changes in the universe. Every new thought, or combination\nof thoughts, is in truth a new state or affection, or phenomenon of\nthe mind, and, therefore, a proof of the susceptibility of that new\naffection, as an original quality of the mind; and every rise in\nknowledge, from age to age, and from inquirer to inquirer, is thus\nonly the developement of susceptibilities, which the mind possessed\nbefore, though the circumstances which at last called them forth, never\nexisted till the moment of the developement. What should we think of\nthe half-naked savage of some barbarous island, if, in the pride of his\nignorance, he were to conceive his own thoughts and feelings, to be the\nnoblest of which the human intellect is capable? and, perhaps, even the\nmind of a Newton, is but the mind of such a savage, compared with what\nman is hereafter to become.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[33] Voltaire \u0152uvres, tom. xiv. p. 99-101. 4_to_ _Edit._ of 1771.\n\n[34] Inquiry into the Human Mind, Introd. p. 7. 8vo. _Edit._\n\n[35] Young's Night Thoughts, vii. v. 392-397.\n\n[36] Seneca de Beneficiis, lib. iii. c. 18.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE X.\n\nTHE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.\n\n\nGentlemen, after laying down the general laws of physical inquiry, I\nhad begun, in the conclusion of my last Lecture, to consider them, more\nparticularly in their relation to the study of mind.\n\nOne very important circumstance of agreement in the physical\ninvestigations of mind and matter, we found to be, that, of both\nmatter and mind, the successive phenomena are all which we truly\nknow, though by the very constitution of our nature, it is impossible\nfor us not to ascribe these to some _permanent subject_. _Matter_\nis the permanent subject of certain qualities, extension, and its\nconsequent divisibility, attraction, repulsion; that is to say, it is\nthe permanent exhibiter to us of certain varying phenomena which we\nobserve. _Mind_ is the permanent subject of certain qualities or states\nor affections of a different class--perception, memory, reason, joy,\ngrief, love, hate; that is to say, of certain varying phenomena of\nwhich we are conscious. What _matter_ is independent of our perception;\nwhat _mind_ is independent of its temporary variety of feeling, it\nis impossible for us to discover; since whatever new knowledge of\nmatter we can suppose ourselves to acquire, must be acquired by our\nperception, and must, therefore, be relative to it; and whatever new\nknowledge we can suppose ourselves to acquire of mind, must be itself\na state or affection of the mind, and, therefore, only a new mental\nphenomenon to be added to those with which we were before acquainted,\nas one of the many states in which the permanent substance _mind_ is\ncapable of existing.\n\nSince it is only by their relation to our own feelings, then, that\nsubstances can be known to us, beyond these relations it would be vain\nfor us to think of penetrating; as vain, at least, as would be the\nattempts of the deaf to discover, by a process of reasoning, the nature\nof the sensations of sound, or of the blind to determine, not the\nlines of direction merely, in which the various coloured rays of light\npass after refraction, for these they may optically determine, but the\nvarious sensations, corresponding with all the varieties of tint into\nwhich the sun-beams are broken by the drops of a falling shower. The\nsubstance matter, the substance mind, are, in this respect, to the\nwhole race of metaphysical inquirers, what the rainbow, as a series of\ncolours, is to opticians, who have never seen.\n\nThe absurdity of such inquiries, into any thing more than the mere\nphenomena, if it be not sufficiently evident of itself, may, perhaps,\nbe rendered more apparent, by a very easy supposition. Let us imagine\nthe permanent unknown substance _matter_, and the permanent unknown\nsubstance _mind_, to be rendered, by the same divine power which made\nthem, altogether different in their own absolute essence, as they exist\nindependently, but to exhibit relatively, precisely the same phenomena\nas at present,--that spring, and summer, and autumn, and winter, in\nevery appearance that can affect our organs of perception, succeed\neach other as now, pouring out the same profusion of foliage, and\nflowers, and fruits, and, after the last gladness of the vintage and\nthe harvest, sweeping the few lingering blossoms, with those desolating\nblasts, which seem like the very destroyers of nature, while they are\nonly leading in, with great freshness, under the same benevolent eye\nof Heaven, the same delightful circle of beauty and abundance,--that,\nin mind, the same sensations are excited by the same objects, and\nare followed by the same remembrances, and comparisons, and hopes,\nand fears;--in these circumstances, while all the phenomena which we\nobserve, and all the phenomena of which we are conscious, continue\nexactly the same, can we believe, that we should be able to discover\nthe essential change, which, according to this supposition, had taken\nplace, in the permanent subjects of these unvaried phenomena! And,\nif, as long as the external and internal phenomena continued exactly\nthe same, we should be incapable of discovering, or even suspecting,\nthe slightest change, where, by supposition, there had been a change\nso great, how absurd is it to conceive that the changed or unchanged\nnature of the substance itself, as it exists independently of the\nphenomenon, ever can become known to us.\n\nHe, indeed, it may always safely be presumed, knows least of the mind,\nwho thinks that he knows its substance best. \u201cWhat is the soul?\u201d was\na question once put to Marivaux. \u201cI know nothing of it,\u201d he answered,\n\u201cbut that it is spiritual and immortal.\u201d \u201cWell,\u201d said his friend, \u201clet\nus ask Fontenelle, and _he_ will tell us what it is.\u201d \u201cNo,\u201d cried\nMarivaux, \u201cask any body but Fontenelle, for he has too much _good sense\nto know any more about it than we do_.\u201d\n\nIt is to the phenomena only, then, that our attention is to be\ngiven, not to any vain inquiries into the absolute nature of the\nsubstances which exhibit the phenomena. This alone is legitimate\nphilosophy,--philosophy which must forever retain its claim to our\nassent, amid the rise and fall of all those spurious speculations,\nto which our vanity is so fond of giving the names of _theory_ and\n_system_. Whatever that may be, in itself, which feels, and thinks, and\nwills,--if our feelings, and thoughts, and volitions be the same--all\nwhich we can know, and compare, and arrange, must be the same; and,\nwhile we confine our attention to these, the general laws of their\nsuccession which we infer, and the various relations which they seem to\nbear to each other, may be admitted equally by those whose opinions,\nas to the absolute nature of the feeling and thinking principle,\ndiffer fundamentally. It requires no peculiar supposition, or belief,\nas to the nature of the mind, to know, that its trains of thought\nare influenced, by former habits, or casual association; and every\nfact, which the immaterialist has accurately observed and arranged,\nwith respect to the influence of habit or association, may thus, with\nequal reason, form a part of the intellectual and moral creed of the\nmaterialist also.\n\nOn these two systems it is not at present my intention to make any\nremarks; all which I wish, now, is to explain to you, how independent\nthe real philosophy of the mind is, of any fanciful conjectures, which\nmay be formed, with respect to its essence. It differs from these, as\nMr. Stewart has well observed, in the same manner \u201cas the inquiries of\nGalileo, concerning the laws of moving bodies, differ from the disputes\nof the ancient Sophists, concerning the existence and the nature of\nmotion,\u201d or as the conclusions of Newton, with respect to the law of\ngravitation, differ from his query concerning the mode in which he\nsupposed that gravity might possibly be produced. The hypothesis,\ninvolved in the query, you may admit or reject; the conclusions, with\nrespect to the law of gravitation itself, as far as relates to our\nplanetary system, are, I may say, almost beyond your power of rejecting.\n\nThe philosophy of mind then, and the philosophy of matter, agree, in\nthis respect, that our knowledge is, in both, confined to the mere\nphenomena. They agree also, in the two species of inquiry which they\nadmit. The phenomena of _mind_, in the same manner as we have seen in\nthe case of _matter_, may be considered as complex and susceptible of\nanalysis, or they may be considered as successive in a certain _order_,\nand bearing, therefore, to each other the reciprocal relation of causes\nand effects.\n\nThat we can know the phenomena, only as far as we have attended to\ntheir sequences, and that, without experiment, therefore, it would have\nbeen impossible for us to predict any of their successions, is equally\ntrue, in mind as in matter. Many of the successions, indeed, are so\nfamiliar to us, that it may appear to you, at first, very difficult\nto conceive, that we should not have been able, at least with respect\nto them, to predict, originally, _what_ antecedents would have been\nfollowed by _what_ consequents. We may allow certainly, that we should\nnot have been able to foresee the pleasure which we receive from the\nfiner works of imitative art--from the successions, or co-existences,\nin music, of sounds, that, considered separately, would scarcely be\ncounted among the sources of delight--from the charm of versification,\nthat depends on circumstances, so very slight, as to be altogether\ndestroyed, and even converted into pain, by the change of quantity\nof a single syllable. But, that the remembrance of pleasure should\nnot be attended with desire of enjoying it again, seems to us almost\ninconsistent with the very nature of the pleasing emotion. In like\nmanner, we may allow, that we could not have predicted the sympathy\nwhich we feel with the distresses of others, when they arise from\ncauses that cannot affect us, and yet make, for the time, the agony,\nwhich we merely behold, a part of our own existence. But we can\nscarcely think, that we require _any_ experience, to know, that the\ncontemplation of pain, which we may ourselves have to endure, should be\nthe cause of that painful feeling, to which we give the name of _fear_,\nor that the actual suffering should be accompanied with the desire of\nrelief. The truth is, however, that, in all these cases, and in all\nof them equally,--it would have been impossible, but for experience,\nto predict the consequent of any of the antecedents. The pleasure,\nwhich we feel, in the contemplation of a work of art, the pain, which\nwe feel, at the sight of the misery of others, are as much the natural\neffects of states of mind preceding them, as the fear of pain is the\neffect of the consideration of pain as hanging over us. Our various\nfeelings, similar or dissimilar, kindred or discordant, are all mere\nstates of the mind; and there is nothing, in any one state of the mind,\nconsidered in itself, which, necessarily, involves the succession of\nany other state of mind. That particular state, for example, which\nconstitutes the mere feeling of pain, instead of being attended by that\ndifferent state which constitutes the desire of being freed from pain,\nmight have continued, as one uniform feeling, or might have ceased, and\nbeen succeeded by some other state, though in the original adaptation\nof our mental frames, by that Creator's wisdom which planned the\nsequences of its phenomena, the particular affection, which constitutes\n_desire_, had not been one of the innumerable varieties of affection,\nof which the mind was forever to be susceptible.\n\nWhat susceptibilities the mind has exhibited in the ordinary\ncircumstances in which it has been placed, we know, and they have been\nlimited to a certain number, corresponding with the feelings which\nhave arisen in these circumstances. But the Almighty Power, who fixed\nthis particular number, might have increased or lessened the number at\nHis pleasure, in the same manner, as He might, at His pleasure, have\nmultiplied or diminished the whole number of his animated creatures;\nand, where there has been no limit, but the will of the _Limiter_,\nit is experience only which can give us any knowledge of the actual\nlimitation. We are always too much inclined to believe, that we\nknow what must have been, because we know what is,--and to suppose\nourselves acquainted, not merely with the gracious ends which Supreme\nGoodness had in view, in creating us, but with the very object, which\neach separate modification of our intellectual and moral constitution\nwas intended to answer. I would not, indeed, go so far as Pope, in\nthat passage of the Essay on Man, in which he seems to imply, that\nour ignorance of the wise and harmonious intentions of Providence,\nin the constitution of our mind, is like the ignorance of the\ninferior animals, as to the motives which influence the follies and\ninconsistencies of their capricious master.\n\n \u201cWhen the proud steed shall know, why man restrains\n His fiery course, or drives him o'er the plains,\n When the dull ox, why now he breaks the clod,\n Is now a victim, and now Egypt's God,--\n Then shall man's pride and dulness comprehend\n His action's, passion's, being's, use and end;\n Why doing, suffering, check'd, impell'd; and why\n This hour a slave, the next a deity.\u201d[37]\n\nOur Divine Author has not left us, even now, to darkness like this.\nWe know, in a great measure, the use and end of our actions and\npassions, because we know _who_ it is who has formed us to do and\nto bear,--and who, from His own moral excellence, cannot have given\nus any susceptibility, even that of suffering, which does not tend,\nupon the whole, to strengthen virtue, and to consecrate, as in some\npurifying sacrifice, the sufferer of a moment to affections more holy,\nand happiness more divine. Yet, though we know, in this general sense,\nour action's, passion's, being's, use and end, as subservient to the\nuniversal plan of Infinite Goodness, we are not so well acquainted\nwith the particular uses of each state of the mind, as to have been\nable to predict it, merely as a part or consequence of the plan. The\nknowledge of every successive modification of our thought, is still as\nmuch the result of experience, as if the gracious plan, to which all\nthese successive modifications are instrumental, were wholly unknown\nto us:--Yet, such is the influence of habit, in familiarizing us to\nphenomena, that we think, that experience is nothing, only in those\ncases, in which the power of experience has been most frequently and\nfamiliarly felt; and while in the rarer successions of feelings, we\nallow, that there are phenomena of the mind, which we could not have\nforeknown, we find it difficult to imagine, in the recurrences of the\ncommon mental phenomena, that, even originally, it could have required\nany peculiar foresight to predict, what we are now conscious of\npredicting with a readiness, that seems to us almost like the instant\nglance of intuition.\n\nIn the philosophy of external matter, the greater or less familiarity\nof events produces an illusion exactly similar. There are certain\nphenomena, which, we readily admit, could not, of themselves,\nand without experience, have indicated to us, either the changes\nwhich preceded them, or the changes which were to follow; while\nthere are other phenomena, more familiar, which seem to us to\nrequire no experience, for informing us, both of their antecedents\nand consequents,--merely because they have been of such frequent\noccurrence, that we do not remember the time, when we were ignorant\nof them, or of the circumstances, by which they are usually preceded\nand followed. That a magnetic needle should tend to the north,\nrather than to any other point,--and that glass, or amber, rubbed\nin a certain manner, should exhibit the very striking phenomena of\nelectricity, transmitting this power through certain substances, and\nnot transmitting it through others, which have nothing peculiar in\ntheir sensible qualities, to mark them as less or better fitted for\nthis communication, appear to us to be facts, which we could not have\nknown, till we had actually witnessed them. But that a stone, rolled\nfrom the hand, should continue to move in the same direction, after\nquitting the hand, seems a fact, which it must have been easy for us to\nforesee. We are not aware, that it is only the more familiar occurrence\nof the one event, than of the others, which makes its sequence appear\nmore obvious; and that, but for this greater familiarity, we might as\nreadily have supposed, that a stone, after quitting the hand which\nflung it, should have remained in the air, or fallen to the ground,\nas that the needle, without any tendency to the north, would remain\nstationary, to whatever point of the compass we might turn it.\n\nSuch is the influence of early acquaintance with the more frequent\nand obvious events, whether in mind or in matter. We have become\nfamiliar with them, and with their causes and consequences, long before\nreflection; and it is not very wonderful, that we should conceive\nourselves to have _known always_, what we do not remember to have ever\nlearned.\n\nThat to know, in the series of mental phenomena, _what_ are the\nantecedents, and _what_ their consequents, is one great branch of the\nPhilosophy of Mind, I surely need not attempt to demonstrate; and it\nwould be equally superfluous to demonstrate its importance, especially\nafter the remarks--if even these were necessary,--which I made in a\nformer Lecture; since it is not merely, as a very interesting branch\nof speculative knowledge, that it is valuable, but, as I then showed,\nstill more valuable, as the foundation of every intellectual art,\nespecially of those noble and almost divine arts, which have, for their\nimmediate object, the illumination and amendment of mankind--the art\nof training ignorance to wisdom, and even wisdom itself to knowledge\nstill more sublime,--of fixing youthful innocence in the voluntary\npractice of virtue, that is as yet little more than an _instinct_ of\nwhich it is scarcely conscious,--of breathing that moral inspiration,\nwhich strengthens feeble goodness, when it is about to fall, tames even\nthe wildest excesses of the wildest passions, and leads back, as if by\nthe invisible power of some guardian spirit, even Guilt itself, to the\nhappiness which it had lost, and the holier wishes, which it rejoices\nto feel once more.\n\nSince the phenomena of the mind, however, are obviously _successive_,\nlike those of matter, the consideration of the sequences of the mental\nphenomena, and the arrangement of them in certain classes, may appear\nto you sufficiently analogous to the consideration and arrangement of\nthe sequences of the phenomena of the material world. But that there\nshould be any inquiries, in the philosophy of mind, corresponding\nwith the inquiries into the composition of bodies, may appear to you\nimprobable, or almost absurd; since the mind, and consequently its\naffections--which I use as a short general term for expressing all the\nvariety of the modes in which it can be affected, and which, therefore,\nare only the mind itself as it exists in different states,--must be\nalways _simple_ and _indivisible_. Yet, wonderful, or even absurd,\nas it may seem, notwithstanding the absolute simplicity of the mind\nitself, and consequently of all its feelings or momentary states,--the\nScience of Mind is, in its most important respects, a source of\nanalysis, or of a process which I have said to be virtually the same as\nanalysis; and it is only, as it is in this virtual sense analytical,\nthat any discovery, at least that any important discovery, can be\nexpected to be made in it.\n\nIt is, indeed, scarcely possible to advance, even a step in\nintellectual physics, without the necessity of performing some sort\nof analysis, by which we reduce to simpler elements, some complex\nfeeling that seems to us virtually to involve them. In the mind of\nman, all is in a state of constant and ever-varying complexity, and\na single sentiment may be the slow result of innumerable feelings.\nThere is not a single pleasure, or pain, or thought, or emotion, that\nmay not,--by the influence of that associating principle, which is\nafterwards to come under our consideration,--be so connected with\n_other_ pleasures, or pains, or thoughts, or emotions, as to form\nwith them, forever after, an union the most intimate. The complex,\nor seemingly complex, phenomena of thought, which result from the\nconstant operation of this principle of the mind, it is the labour of\nthe _intellectual inquirer_ to _analyze_, as it is the labour of the\n_chemist_ to reduce the compound bodies, on which he operates, however\nclose and intimate their combination may be, to their constituent\nelements. The process, and the instruments by which the analyses are\ncarried on, are, indeed, as different as matter is from mind,--cumbrous\nas matter, in the one case,--in the other, simple and spiritual as\nmind itself. The aggregates of matter we analyze by the use of other\nmatter, adding substance after substance, and varying manipulation\nafter manipulation;--the complex mental phenomena we analyze virtually\nby mere reflection; the same individual mind being the subject of\nanalysis, the instrument of analysis, and the analysing inquirer.\n\nWhen I speak, however, of the union of separate thoughts and feelings\nin one complex sentiment or emotion, and of the analytic power of\nreflection or reason, it must not be conceived, that I use these\nwords in a sense precisely the same as when they are applied to\nmatter. A mass of matter, as we have seen, is, in truth, not _one_\nbody merely, but a _multitude_ of contiguous bodies; all of which, at\nthe time, may be considered as having a separate existence, and as\nplaced together more by accidental apposition, than by any essential\nunion;--and _analysis_ is nothing more than what its etymology denotes,\na _loosening_ of these from each other. In strictness of language,\nthis composition and analysis cannot take place in _mind_. Even the\nmost complex feeling is still only _one_ feeling; for we cannot divide\nthe states or affections of our mind into separate self-existing\nfractions, as we can divide a compound mass of matter into masses,\nwhich are separate and self-existing,--nor distinguish _half_ a joy or\nsorrow from a _whole_ joy or sorrow. The conception of gold, and the\nconception of a mountain, may separately arise, and may be followed\nby the conception of a golden mountain; which may be said to be a\ncompound of the two, in the sense in which I use that word, to express\nmerely, that what is thus termed compound or complex is the result\nof certain previous feelings, to which, as if existing together, it\nis felt to have the virtual relation of equality, or the relation\nwhich a whole bears to the parts that are comprehended in it. But\nthe conception of a _golden mountain_ is still as much _one_ state\nor feeling of one simple mind, as either of the separate conceptions\nof gold and of a mountain which preceded it. In cases of this kind,\nindeed, it is the very nature of the resulting feeling to seem to us\nthus complex; and we are led, by the very constitution of our mind\nitself, to consider what we term a complex idea, as equivalent to the\nseparate ideas from which it results, or as comprehensive of them,--as\nbeing truly to our conception--though to our conception only--and,\ntherefore, only virtually or relatively to us the inquirers--the same,\nas if it were composed of the separate feelings _co-existing_, as the\nelements of a body co-exist in space.\n\nIt is this feeling of the relation of certain states of mind to\ncertain other states of mind, which solves the whole mystery of\nmental analysis, that seemed at first so inexplicable,--the virtual\n_decomposition_, in our thought, of what is by its very nature,\n_indivisible_. The mind, indeed, it must be allowed, is absolutely\nsimple in all its states; every separate state or affection of it must\ntherefore, be absolutely simple; but in certain cases, in which a\nfeeling is the result of other feelings preceding it, it is its very\nnature to appear to involve the union of those preceding feelings;\nand to distinguish the separate sensations, or thoughts, or emotions,\nof which, on reflection, it thus seems to be comprehensive, is to\nperform an intellectual process, which, though not a real analysis,\nis an analysis at least relatively to our conception. It may still,\nindeed, be said with truth, that the different feelings,--the states or\naffections of mind which we term _complex_,--are absolutely _simple_\nand _indivisible_, as much as the feelings or affections of mind which\nwe term simple. Of this there can be no doubt. But the complexity with\nwhich alone we are concerned is not _absolute_ but _relative_,--a\nseeming complexity, which is involved in the very feeling of relation\nof every sort. That we are thus impressed with certain feelings\nof relation of conceptions to conceptions, no one can doubt who\nknows, that all science has its origin in these very feelings; and\nequivalence, or equality, is one of those relations, which, from its\nvery constitution, it would be as impossible for the mind in certain\ncircumstances, not to feel, as it would be impossible for it, in\ncertain other circumstances, not to have those simple feelings which\nit compares. With perfect organs of vision, and in the full light of\nday, it is not possible for us to look on a tree, or a rock, without\nperceiving it; but it is not more possible for us to form a conception\nof two trees, without regarding this state of mind, simple though\nit truly is, when absolutely considered as virtually involving, or\nas equal to, two of those separate feelings, which constituted the\nconception of a single tree.\n\nOn this mere feeling of virtual equivalence, is founded all the\ndemonstration of those sciences, which claim the glory of being\npeculiarly demonstrative; our equations and proportions of abstract\nnumber and quantity involving continually this analytic valuation of\nnotions, as reciprocally proportional. Our conception of an angle of\nforty-five degrees is _one_ state or affection of mind,--one state\nof one simple indivisible substance;--such, too, is our conception\nof a right angle. Our notion of _four_ or _eight_ is as much _one_\naffection of mind, as our notion of a simple unit. But, in reflecting\non the separate states of mind which constitute these notions, we are\nimpressed with certain relations which they seem, to us, reciprocally\nto bear, and we consider the angle of forty-five degrees as equal to\nhalf the angle of ninety degrees, and our notion of eight as involving\nor equal to two of four. If one state of mind, which constitutes\nthe notion of a certain abstract number or quantity, had not been\nconsidered in this sort of virtual comprehensiveness, as bearing the\nrelation of equality, or proportion, to other states of mind, which\nconstitute other abstract notions of the same species, mathematics\nwould not merely have lost their certainty, but there could not, in\ntruth, have been any such science as mathematics.\n\nThe _intellectual analysis_, which appears to me to constitute\nso important a part of the science of mind, is nothing more than\nthe successive developement, in application to the various mental\nphenomena, of this feeling of equivalence, or comprehensiveness, which\nis not confined to the mathematical notions of number and quantity,\n(though, from the greater simplicity of these, _their_ equality or\nproportion may be more accurately distinguished,) but extends to every\nthought and feeling which we regard as complex, that is to say, to\nalmost every thought and feeling of which the mind is susceptible. We\ncompare virtue with virtue, talent with talent, not, indeed, with the\nsame precision, but certainly in the same manner, and with the same\nfeeling of proportion, as we compare intellectually one angle with\nanother; and we ask what ideas are involved in our complex notions of\nreligion and government, with as strong a feeling that a number of\nideas are virtually involved or comprehended in them, as when we ask,\nhow often the square of two is repeated in the cube of six.\n\nAnalysis, then, in the Science of Mind, you will perceive, is founded\nwholly on the feeling of relation which one state of mind seems to\nus to bear to other states of mind, as comprehensive of them; but,\nwhile this seeming complexity is felt, it is the same thing to our\nanalysis, as if the complexity, instead of being virtual and relative\nonly, were absolute and real. It may be objected to the application of\nthe term _analysis_ to the Science of Mind, that it is a term which,\nits etymology shews, as I have already admitted, to be borrowed from\nmatter, and to convey, as applied to the mind, a notion in some degree\ndifferent from its etymological sense. But this is an objection which\nmay be urged, with at least equal force, against every term, or almost\nevery term, of our science. In our want of a peculiar metaphysical\nlanguage, we are obliged in this, as in every other case, to borrow\na metaphysical language from the material world; and we are very\nnaturally led to speak of mental composition and analysis, since to the\nmind which feels the relation of equivalence or comprehensiveness, it\nis precisely the same thing as if our ideas and emotions, that result\nfrom former ideas and emotions, and are felt by us as if involving\nthese in one complex whole, could be actually divided into the separate\nelements which appear to us thus virtually or relatively to be\ncomprehended in them.\n\nIt is from having neglected this branch of the physical investigation\nof the mind,--by far the more important of the two,--and having fixed\ntheir attention solely on the successions of its phenomena, that some\nphilosophers have been led to disparage the science as fruitless of\ndiscovery, and even to deride the pretensions or the hopes of those who\ndo not consider it as absolutely exhausted;--I will not say now merely,\nin the present improved state of the science, but as not exhausted\nalmost before philosophy began, in the rude consciousness of the\nrudest savage, who saw, and remembered, and compared, and hoped, and\nfeared; and must, therefore, it is said, have known what it is to see,\nand remember, and compare, and hope, and fear.\n\nIf the phenomena of the mind were to be regarded merely as\nsuccessive,--which is one only of the two lights in which they may\nbe physically viewed,--it might, indeed, be said, with a little\nmore appearance of truth, that this mere succession must be as\nfamiliar to the unreflecting mind as to the mind of the philosopher;\nthough, even in this limited sense, the remark is far from being\naccurate. But the phenomena have other relations, as well as those of\nsuccession,--relations which are not involved in the mere consciousness\nof the moment, but are discoverable by reflection only,--and to the\nknowledge of which, therefore, addition after addition may be made by\nevery new generation of reflecting inquirers. From the very instant\nof its first existence, the mind is constantly exhibiting phenomena\nmore and more complex,--sensations, thoughts, emotions, all mingling\ntogether, and almost every feeling modifying, in some greater or less\ndegree, the feelings that succeed it;--and as, in chemistry, it often\nhappens, that the qualities of the separate ingredients of a compound\nbody are not recognizable by us, in the apparently different qualities\nof the compound itself,--so, in this spontaneous _chemistry_ of the\n_mind_, the compound sentiment, that results from the association of\nformer feelings, has, in many cases, on first consideration, so little\nresemblance to these constituents of it, as formerly existing in their\nelementary state, that it requires the most attentive reflection to\nseparate, and evolve distinctly to others, the assemblages which even\na few years may have produced. Indeed, so complex are the mental\nphenomena, and so difficult of analysis,--even in those most common\ncases, which may be said to be familiar to all,--that it is truly\nwonderful that the difficulty of this analysis, and the field of\ninquiry which this very difficulty opens, should not have occurred to\nthe disparagers of intellectual discovery, and made them feel, that\nwhat _they_ were not able to explain could not be so well known to\nall mankind as to be absolutely incapable of additional illustration.\nThe _savage_, they will tell us, is conscious of what he feels in\nloving his country, as well as the sage; but, does he know as well, or\ncan even the sage himself inform us with precision, what the various\n_elementary_ feelings have been, that have successively modified,\nor rather, that have constituted this local attachment? The peasant,\nindeed, may have the feeling of beauty, like the artist who produces\nit, or the speculative inquirer, who analyses this very complex\nemotion--\n\n \u201cAsk the swain,\n Who journeys homeward, from a summer day's\n Long labour, why, forgetful of his toils\n And due repose, he loiters to behold\n The sunshine gleaming, as through amber clouds,\n O'er all the western sky? Full soon, I ween,\n His rude expression, and untutor'd airs,\n Beyond the power of language, will unfold\n The form of Beauty smiling at his heart,\n How lovely, how commanding!\u201d[38]\n\nBut the mere emotion which beauty produces, is not the knowledge of\nthe simpler feelings that have composed or modified it; and though the\npleasure and admiration were to continue exactly the same, the peasant\nwould surely have learned something, if he could be made to understand,\nthat beauty was more than the form and colour which his eye perceived.\nWhat is thus true of beauty as differently understood by the peasant\nand the philosopher, is true, in like manner, of all the other complex\nmental phenomena. It would, indeed, be as reasonable to affirm, that,\nbecause we all move our limbs, we are all equally acquainted with the\nphysiology of muscular motion; or, to take a case still more exactly\nappropriate, that we know all the sublimest truths of arithmetic\nand geometry, because we know all the numbers and figures of the\nmere relations of which these are the science,--as that we are all\nacquainted with the physiology of the mind, and the number of elements\nwhich enter into our various feelings, because we all perceive, and\nremember, and love, and hate. It is, it will be allowed, chiefly, or\nperhaps, wholly, as it is _analytical_, that the science of mind admits\nof _discovery_; but, as a science of analysis, in which new relations\nare continually felt on reflection, it presents us with a field of\ndiscovery as rich, and, I may say, almost as inexhaustible in wonders,\nas that of the universe without.\n\n\u201cIt is thus,\u201d I have elsewhere remarked, \u201ceven in phenomena, which\nseem so simple as scarcely to have admitted combination, what wonders\nhave been developed by scientific inquiry! Perception itself, that\nprimary function of the mind, which was surely the same before Berkeley\nexamined the laws of vision as at present, is now regarded by us very\ndifferently, in relation to the most important of its organs; and it\nwould not be easy to find, amid all the brilliant discoveries of modern\nchemistry, and even in the whole range of the physics of matter, a\nproposition more completely revolting to popular belief, than that,\nwhich it is now the general faith of philosophers, that the sense of\nsight, which seems to bring the farthest hills of the most extended\nlandscape, and the very boundlessness of space before our view, is,\nof itself, incapable of shewing us a single line of longitudinal\ndistance.\u201d[39]\n\nIf, as has been strongly affirmed, the science of mind be a science\nthat is, by its very nature, insusceptible of improvement by discovery,\nit must have been so, before the time of Berkeley as now, and it might\nhave been a sufficient answer to all the arguments which he adduced in\nsupport of his theory of vision, that the phenomena which he boasted to\nhave analysed, were only the common and familiar phenomena of a sense\nthat had been exercised by all mankind.\n\n\u201cThe vulgar,\u201d I have said, \u201cwould gaze with astonishment, were they\nto perceive an electrician inflame gunpowder with an icicle; but they\nwould not be less confounded by those dazzling subtleties with which\nmetaphysicians would persuade them, that the very actions which they\nfeel to be benevolent and disinterested, had their source in the same\nprinciple of selfishness, which makes man a knave or a tyrant. That\nthis particular doctrine is false, is of no consequence; the whole\ntheory of our moral sentiment presents results which are nearly as\nwonderful; and, indeed, the falseness of any metaphysical doctrine,\nif rightly considered, is itself one of the strongest proofs that the\nscience of mind is a science which admits of discovery; for, if all men\nhad equal knowledge of all the relations of all the phenomena of their\nmind, no one could advance an opinion on the subject, with real belief\nof it, which another could discover to be erroneous. In the different\nstages of the growth of a passion, what a variety of appearances does\nit assume; and how difficult is it often to trace, in the confusion\nand complication of the paroxysm, those calm and simple emotions, in\nwhich, in many cases, it originated!--The love of domestic praise, and\nof the parental smile of approbation, which gave excellence to the\nfirst efforts of the child, may expand, with little variation, into the\nlove of honest and honourable fame; or, in more unhappy circumstances,\nmay shoot out from its natural direction, into all the guilt and\nmadness of atrocious ambition;--and can it truly be maintained, or even\nsupposed, for a moment, that all this fine shadowing of feelings into\nfeelings, is known as much to the rudest and most ignorant of mankind,\nas it is to the profoundest intellectual inquirer? How different is\nthe passion of the miser, as viewed by himself, by the vulgar, and\nby philosophers! He is conscious, however, only of the accuracy of\nhis reasonings on the probabilities of future poverty, of a love\nof economy, and of temperance, and certain too of strict and rigid\njustice. To common observers, he is only a lover of money. They content\nthemselves with the passion, in its mature state; and it would not be\neasy to convince them, that the most self-denying avarice involves as\nits essence, or at least originally involved, the love of those very\npleasures and accommodations, which are now sacrificed to it without\nthe least apparent reluctance.\u201d[40]\n\n \u201cThis light and darkness, in our chaos join'd,\n What shall divide? The God within the mind.\u201d\n\nThere is, indeed, a chaos, in the mind. But there is a spirit of\ninquiry, which is forever moving over it, slowly separating all its\nmingled elements. It is only when these are separated, that the\nphilosophy of mind can be complete, and incapable of further discovery.\nTo say that it is now complete, because it has in it every thing\nwhich can be the subject of analysis, is as absurd, as it would be to\nsuppose that the ancient chaos, when it contained merely the elements\nof things, before the spirit of God moved upon the waters of the abyss,\nwas already that world of life, and order, and beauty, which it was\nafter to become.\n\nThe difficulty which arises in the physical investigation of the mind,\nfrom the apparent simplification of those thoughts and feelings which,\non more attentive reflection, are felt to be as if compounded of many\nother thoughts and feelings, that have previously existed together,\nor in immediate succession, is similar to the difficulty which we\nexperience in the physics of matter, from the imperfection of our\nsenses, that allows us to perceive masses only, not their elemental\nparts, and thus leads us to consider as _simple_ bodies, what a single\nnew experiment may prove to be composed of _various_ elements.\n\nIn the _intellectual_ world, the slow progress of discovery arises,\nin like manner, from the obstacles which our feeble power of\ndiscrimination presents to our mental analysis. But, in mind, as well\nas in matter, it must be remembered, that it is to this very feebleness\nof our discriminating powers, the whole analytic science owes its\norigin. If we could distinguish instantly and clearly in our complex\nphenomena of thought, their constituent elements--if, for example, in\nthat single and apparently simple emotion, which we feel, on the sight\nof _beauty_, as it lives before us, or in the contemplation of that\nideal beauty, which is reflected from works of art, we could discover,\nas it were, in a single glance, all the innumerable feelings, which,\nperhaps, from the first moment of life, have been conspiring together,\nand blending in the production of it--we should then feel as little\ninterest in our _theories of taste_, as in a case formerly supposed,\nwe should have done in our theories of combustion, if the most minute\nchanges that take place in combustion had been at all times distinctly\nvisible. The mysteries of our intellect, the \u201calt\u00e6 penetralia mentis,\u201d\nwould then lie for ever open to us; and what was said poetically of\nHobbes, in the beautiful verses addressed to him on his work _De Natura\nHominis_, would be applicable to all mankind, not poetically, but in\nthe strictness of philosophic truth.\n\n \u201cQu\u00e6 magna c\u0153li m\u0153nia, et tractus maris,\n Terr\u00e6que fines, siquid aut ultra est, capit,\n Mens ipsa tandem capitur; Omnia hactenus\n Qu\u00e6 nosse potuit, nota jam primum est sibi.\n\n \u201cConsultor audax, et Promethei potens\n Facinoris animi! quis tibi dedit deus\n H\u00e6c intueri s\u00e6culis longe abdita,\n Oculosque luce tinxit ambrosia tuos?\n Tu mentis omnis, at tu\u00e6 nulla est capax.\n Hoc laude solus fruere: divinum est opus\n Animam creare; proximum huic, ostendere.\n\n \u201cHic cerno levia affectuum vestigia,\n Gracilesque Sensus lineas; video quibus\n Vehantur alis blanduli Cupidines,\n Quibusque stimulis urgeant Ir\u00e6 graves,\n Hic et Dolores et Voluptates suos\n Produnt recessus; ipsi nec Timor latet.\u201d\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[37] Ep. i. v. 61-68. Works, vol. III. p. 5, 6.\n\n[38] Pleasures of Imagination, Book III. v. 526-535.\n\n[39] Inquiry into the Relation of Cause and Effect, 2d edition, p. 32,\n33.\n\n[40] Inquiry into the Relation of Cause and Effect, 2d edition, p.\n26-30. with some alterations and exclusions.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XI.\n\nAPPLICATION OF THE LAWS OF PHYSICAL INQUIRY, TO THE PHILOSOPHY OF MIND,\nCONCLUDED.--ON CONSCIOUSNESS, AND ON MENTAL IDENTITY.\n\n\nIn my last Lecture, Gentlemen, I considered, very fully, the\ntwo species of inquiry which the philosophy of _mind_ admits in\nexact analogy to the two species of inquiry in the philosophy of\n_matter_,--the consideration of the mental phenomena, as _successive_,\nand therefore susceptible of arrangement in the order of their\nsuccession, as causes and effects,--and the consideration of them as\n_complex_, and therefore susceptible of analysis. I stated to you, that\nit was chiefly, if not wholly, in this latter view, as analytical,\nthat I conceived the philosophy of mind to be a science of progressive\ndiscovery; though, as a science of analogy, it has not merely produced\nresults, as astonishing, perhaps, in some cases, as any of those which\nthe analysis of matter has exhibited, but presents still a field of\ninquiry, that may be considered as inexhaustible; since the mind cannot\nexist, without forming continually new combinations, that modify its\nsubsequent affections, and vary, therefore, the products, which it is\nthe labour of our intellectual analysis to reduce to their original\nelements.\n\nWhat the _chemist_ does, in matter, the _intellectual_ analysis does in\nmind; the one distinguishing by a purely mental process of reflection,\nthe elements of his complex feelings, as the other operates on his\nmaterial compounds, by processes that are themselves material. Though\nthe term analysis, however, may be used in reference to both processes,\nthe mental, as well as the material, since the result of the process\nis virtually the same in both, it has been universally employed by\nphilosophers, in the laws of the mind, without any accurate definition\nof the process; and I was careful, therefore, to explain to you the\npeculiar meaning, in which it is strictly to be understood in our\nscience; that you might not extend to the mind and its affections, that\nessential divisibility, which is inconsistent with its very nature;\nand suppose that, when we speak of complex notions, and of thoughts\nand feelings that are united by association with other thoughts and\nfeelings, we speak of a plurality of separable things. The complex\nmental phenomena, as I explained to you, are complex only in relation\nto our mode of conceiving them. They are, strictly and truly, as\nsimple and indivisible states of a substance, which is necessarily in\nall its states simple and indivisible--the _results_, rather than the\ncompounds, of former feelings,--to which, however, they seem to us,\nand from the very nature of the feelings themselves, cannot but seem\nto us, to bear the same species of relation, which a _whole_ bears\nto the parts that compose it. The office of intellectual analysis,\naccordingly, in the mode in which I have explained it to you, has\nregard to this relation only. It is to trace the various affections\nor states of mind that have successively contributed, to form or to\nmodify any peculiar sentiment or emotion, and to develope the elements,\nto which, after tracing this succession, the resulting sentiment or\nemotion is felt by us to bear virtually that relation of seeming\ncomprehensiveness of which I spoke.\n\nIf, indeed, our perspicacity were so acute that we could distinguish\nimmediately _all_ the relations of our thoughts and passions, there\ncould evidently be no _discovery_ in the science of mind; but, in like\nmanner, what discovery could there be, in the analysis of matter, if\nour senses were so quick and delicate, as to distinguish immediately\nall the elements of every compound? It is only slowly that we discover\nthe composition of the masses without; and we have therefore a science\nof chemistry:--It is only slowly that we discover the relations of\ncomplex thought to thought; and we have therefore a science of mental\nanalysis.\n\nIt is to the imperfection of our faculties, then, as forcing us\nto guess and explore what is half concealed from us, that we owe\nour laborious experiments and reasonings, and consequently all the\nscience which is the result of these; and the proudest discoveries\nwhich we make may thus, in one point of view, whatever dignity they\nmay give to a few moments of our life, be considered as proofs and\nmemorials of our general weakness. If, in its relation to matter,\nphilosophy be founded, in a very great degree, on the mere badness of\nour eyes, which prevents us from distinguishing accurately the minute\nchanges that are constantly taking place in the bodies around us; we\nhave seen, in like manner, that, in its relation to the mind, it is\nfounded chiefly, or perhaps wholly, on the imperfection of our power\nof discriminating the _elementary_ feelings, which compose our great\ncomplexities of thought and passion; the various relations of which\nare felt by us only on attentive reflection, and are, therefore, in\nprogressive discovery, slowly added to relations that have before been\ntraced. In both cases, the analysis, necessary for this purpose, is an\noperation of unquestionable difficulty. But it is surely not less so,\nin mind, than in matter; nor, when nature exhibits all her wonders to\nus, in one case, in objects that are separate from us, and foreign;\nand, in the other, in the intimate phenomena of our own consciousness,\ncan we justly think, that it is of _ourselves_ we know the most.\nOn the contrary, strange as it may seem, it is of her _distant_\noperations, that our knowledge is least imperfect; and we have far less\nacquaintance with the sway which she exercises in our own mind, than\nwith that by which she guides the course of the most remote planet,\nin spaces beyond us, which we rather _calculate_ than _conceive_. The\nonly science, which, by its simplicity and comprehensiveness, seems to\nhave attained a maturity that leaves little for future inquiry, is not\nthat which relates immediately to man himself, or to the properties of\nthe bodies on his own planet, that are ever acting on his perceptive\norgans, and essential to his life and enjoyment; but that which relates\nto the immense system of the universe, to which the very orb, that\nsupports all the multitudes of his race, is but an atom of dust, and to\nwhich himself, as an individual, is as nothing.\n\n \u201cCould he, whose rules the rapid comet bind,\n Describe or fix one movement of his mind?\n Who saw its fires here rise, and there descend,\n Explain his own beginning or his end?\n Go, wondrous creature! mount where Science guides,\n Go, measure earth, weigh air, and state the tides;\n Instruct the planets in what orbs to run,\n Correct old Time, and regulate the Sun;\n Go, soar with Plato to th' empyreal sphere,\n To the first good, first perfect, and first fair;\n Go, teach Eternal Wisdom how to rule--\n Then drop into thyself, and be a fool!\u201d[41]\n\nThat man should know so much of the _universe_, and so very little of\n_himself_, is, indeed, one of the circumstances, which, in the language\nof the same poet, most strongly characterize him, as the \u201cjest and\nriddle\u201d of that world, of which he is also no less truly \u201cthe glory.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat the intelligence of any being,\u201d to use the words of D'Alembert,\n\u201cshould not pass beyond certain limits--that, in one species of beings,\nit should be more or less circumscribed, than in another--all this is\nnot surprising, more than that a blade of grass should be less tall\nthan a shrub; or a shrub than an oak. But that the _same_ being should\nbe at once arrested by the narrow circle which nature has traced around\nhim, and yet constantly reminded, that, beyond these limits, there\nare objects which he is never to attain--that he should be able to\nreason, till he loses himself, on the existence and nature of these\nobjects, though condemned to be eternally ignorant of them--that he\nshould have too little sagacity to _resolve_ an infinity of questions,\nwhich he has yet sagacity enough to _make_--that the principle\nwithin us, which thinks, should ask itself in vain, what it is which\nconstitutes its thought, and that this thought, which sees so many\nthings, so _distant_, should yet not be able to see itself, which is\nso _near_,--_that self_, which it is notwithstanding always striving\nto see and to know--these are contradictions, which, even in the very\npride of our reasoning, cannot fail to surprise and confound us.\u201d\n\nAll that remains for us, in that impossibility which nature has imposed\non us of attaining a more intimate knowledge of the essence and\nconstitution either of mind or of matter, is to attend to the phenomena\nwhich they present, analysing whatever is complex, and tracing the\norder of every sequence. By attentive reflection on the phenomena\nthemselves, and on all the circumstances which precede or follow them,\nwe shall be able to discover the relations which they mutually bear,\nand to distinguish their casual coincidence, or succession, from those\ninvariable relations which nature has established among them as causes\nand effects. This, humble as it may seem, is, as I have said, the\ntrue philosophy of man; because it is all of which man is capable. To\ninquire, as may be thought, more deeply into the _essences_ of things,\nor the nature of certain supposed bonds by which they are connected, is\nto show, not that we have advanced far in the progress of science, but\nthat we have gone far astray; not that we know _more_ than philosophers\nof humbler views and pretensions, but that we know _less_; since it\nproves that we are unacquainted with the limits within which nature has\nbounded our prospect, and have not attained that prime knowledge, which\nconsists in knowing how little can be known.\n\nIf the philosophy, not of mind only, but of the universe, is to be\nfound, as Hobbes has boldly said, _within ourselves_,--in the same\nmanner as the perfect statue is to be found in the rude block of the\nquarry, when all the superfluous mass, that adheres to it, has been\nremoved,--in no respect can it more justly be said to be in our own\nminds than in this, that it is only by knowing the true extent, and\nconsequently the limits, of our intellectual powers, that we can\nform any rational system of philosophic investigation. Then, indeed,\nPhilosophy may be truly said, in his strong figurative language, to be\nHuman Reason herself, hovering over all created things, and proclaiming\ntheir order, their causes, and effects. \u201cPhilosophiam noli credere eam\nesse, per quam fiunt lapides philosophici, neque illam quam ostentant\ncodices metaphysici; sed Rationem Humanum naturalem per omnes res\ncreatas sedulo volitantem, et de earum ordine, causis, et effectibus,\nea qu\u00e6 vera sunt renuntiantem. Mentis ergo tu\u00e6, et totius mundi filia\nphilosophia in te ipso est; nondum fortasse figurata, sed genitori\nmundo qualis erat in principio informi similes. Faciendum ergo tibi\nest quod faciunt statuarii, qui materiam exculpentes supervacraeum,\nimaginem non faciunt sed inveniunt.\u201d[42]\n\nAfter these remarks on physical inquiry in general, and its particular\napplication to our own science, I trust that we shall now proceed to\nobserve, and analyse, and arrange the mental phenomena, with clearer\nviews, both of the materials on which we have to operate, and of the\nnature of the operations which we have to perform. We may consider the\nmind as now lying open before us, presenting to us all its phenomena,\nbut presenting them in _assemblages_, which it is to be our labour to\nseparate and arrange. In this separation and arrangement, there are\ndifficulties, I confess, of no slight kind. But, I trust, that you\nhave the spirit, which delights in overcoming difficulties, and which,\neven if its most strenuous exertions should fail, delights in the very\nstrenuousness of the endeavour. In what admits our analysis, and in\nwhat transcends it, we shall always find much that is truly wonderful\nin itself, and deserving of our profoundest admiration; and, even in\nthe obscurest parts of the great field of mind, though we may see only\ndimly, and must, therefore, be cautious in inquiring, and fearful of\npronouncing, we may yet, perhaps, be opening paths that are to lead to\ndiscovery, and, in the very darkness of our search, may perceive some\ngleams of that light, which, though now only dawning upon _us_, is to\nbrighten on the inquirers of other ages.\n\nIn proceeding to examine and compare the mental phenomena, the first\ncircumstance that strikes us, prior to any attempt to arrange them\nin classes, is, that the mind which exhibits these is susceptible\nof a _variety of feelings_, every new feeling being a change of its\nstate; and, indeed, it is by such changes alone that it manifests\nitself, either in our own consciousness, or in the actions of our\nfellow men. If it could exist only in _one everlasting_ state,--such\nas now constitutes the feeling of any particular moment,--it is quite\nsuperfluous to say, that it could not _reason_ upon this state,--for\nthis very reasoning would itself imply the change, which is supposed to\nbe impossible; and as little could this one unchanged and unchangeable\nfeeling be an object of reasoning to others, even if there were any\nmode of its becoming manifest to them, which there evidently could not\nbe. It is, perhaps, even not too extravagant an assertion of Hobbes,\nwho supposes a mind so constituted as to perceive only one colour, and\nto perceive this constantly, and affirms, that, in that case, it would\nbe absurd to say that it had any perception at all, being rather, as\nhe expresses it, stupified than seeing. \u201cAttonitum esse et fortasse\naspectare eum, sed stupentem dicerem, videre non dicerem; adeo sentire\nsemper idem, et non sentire ad idem recidunt.\u201d\n\nMind, then, is capable of existing in _various states_; an enumeration\nof the leading classes of which, as I before remarked, is all that\nconstitutes our definition of it. It is that, we say, which perceives,\nremembers, compares, grieves, rejoices, loves, hates; and though\nthe terms, whatever they may be, that are used by us, in any such\nenumeration, may be few, we must not forget that the terms are mere\ninventions of our own for the purpose of classification, and, that each\nof them comprehends a variety of feelings, that are as truly different\nfrom each other, as the classes themselves are different. _Perception_\nis but a single word; yet, when we consider the number of objects that\nmay act upon our organs of sense, and the number of ways in which\ntheir action, may be combined, so as to produce one compound effect,\ndifferent from that which the same objects would produce separately,\nor in other forms of combination, how many are the feelings which this\nsingle word denotes!--so many, indeed, that no arithmetical computation\nis sufficient to measure their infinity.\n\nAmid all this variety of feelings, with whatever rapidity the changes\nmay succeed each other, and however opposite they may seem, we have\nstill the most undoubting belief, that it is the same individual mind,\nwhich is thus affected in various ways. The pleasure, which is felt\nat one moment, has indeed little apparent relation to the pain that\nwas perhaps felt a few moments before; and the knowledge of a subject,\nwhich we possess, after having reflected on it fully, has equally\nlittle resemblance to our state of doubt when we began to inquire, or\nthe total ignorance and indifference which preceded the first doubt\nthat we felt. It is the same individual mind, however, which, in all\nthese instances, is pleased and pained, is ignorant, doubts, reflects,\nknows. There is something \u201cchanged in all, and yet in all the same,\u201d\nwhich at once constitutes the thoughts and emotions of the hour, and\nyet _outlives_ them,--something, which, from the temporary agitations\nof passion, rises, unaltered and everlasting, like the pyramid, that\nlifts still the same point to heaven, amid the sands and whirlwinds of\nthe desert.\n\nThe consideration of the mind, as one substance, capable of existing\nin a variety of states, according as it is variously affected, and\nconstituting, in these different states, all the complex phenomena\nof thought and feeling, necessarily involves the consideration of\n_consciousness_, and of _personal identity_. To the examination of\nthese, accordingly, I now proceed, as essential to all the inquiries\nand speculations, in which we are afterwards to be engaged; since,\nwhatever powers or susceptibilities we may consider as attributes of\nthe mind, this consideration must always suppose the existence of\ncertain phenomena, of which we are conscious, and the identity of the\nsentient or thinking principle, in which that consciousness resides,\nand to which all the varieties of those ever-changing feelings, which\nform the subjects of our inquiry, are collectively to be referred.\n\nOur first inquiry, then, is into the nature of\n\n\nCONSCIOUSNESS.\n\nIn the systems of philosophy, which have been most generally prevalent,\nespecially in this part of the Island, consciousness has always been\nclassed as one of the intellectual powers of the mind, differing\nfrom its other powers, as these mutually differ from each other. It\nis accordingly ranked by Dr Reid, as separate and distinct, in his\nCatalogue of the Intellectual Powers; and he says of it, that \u201cit\nis an operation of the understanding of its own kind, and cannot\nbe logically defined. The objects of it are our present pains, our\npleasures, our hopes, our fears, our desires, our doubts, our thoughts\nof every kind,--in a word, all the passions, and all the actions and\noperations of our own minds, while they are present.\u201d And in various\nparts of his works, which it would be needless to quote, he alludes\nto its radical difference from the other powers of the mind, as if it\nwere a point on which there could be no question. To me, however, I\nmust confess, it appears that this attempt to double, as it were, our\nvarious feelings, by making them not to constitute our consciousness,\nbut to be the objects of it, as of a distinct intellectual power, is\nnot a faithful statement of the phenomena of the mind, but is founded,\npartly on a confusion of thought, and still more on a confusion of\nlanguage. Sensation is not the object of consciousness different from\nitself, but a particular sensation is the consciousness of the moment;\nas a particular hope, or fear, or grief, or resentment, or simple\nremembrance, may be the actual consciousness of the next moment. In\nshort, if the mind of man, and all the changes which take place in\nit, from the first feeling with which life commenced, to the last\nwith which it closes, could be made visible to any other thinking\nbeing, a certain series of feelings alone, that is to say, a certain\nnumber of successive states of the mind, would be distinguishable\nin it, forming, indeed, a variety of sensations, and thoughts, and\npassions, as momentary states of the mind, but all of them existing\nindividually, and successively to each other. To suppose the mind\nto exist in two different states, in the same moment, is a manifest\nabsurdity. To the whole series of states of the mind, then, whatever\nthe individual momentary successive states may be, I give the name of\nour _consciousness_,--using that term, not to express any new state\nadditional to the whole series, (for to that, which is already _the\nwhole_ nothing can be added, and the mind, as I have already said,\ncannot be conceived to exist at once in two different states,) but\nmerely as a short mode of expressing the wide variety of our feelings;\nin the same manner, as I use any other generic word, for expressing\nbriefly the individual varieties comprehended under it. There are not\nsensations, thoughts, passions, and also consciousness, any more than\nthere is quadruped or animal, as a separate being, to be added to the\nwolves, tigers, elephants, and other living creatures, which I include\nunder those terms.\n\nThe fallacy of conceiving consciousness to be something different\nfrom the feeling, which is said to be its object, has arisen, in\na great measure, from the use of the personal pronoun _I_, which\nthe conviction of our _identity_, during the various feelings, or\ntemporary consciousnesses of different moments, has led us to employ,\nas significant of our permanent _self_, of that being, which is\nconscious, and variously conscious, and which continues, after these\nfeelings have ceased, to be the subject of other consciousness, as\ntransient as the former. I am conscious of a certain feeling, really\nmeans, however, no more than this--I feel in a certain manner, or, in\nother words, my mind exists in that state which constitutes a certain\nfeeling; the mere existence of that feeling, and not any additional and\ndistinguishable feeling that is to be termed _consciousness_, being all\nwhich is essential to the state of my mind, at the particular moment\nof sensation; for a pleasure, or pain, of which we are not conscious,\nis a pleasure or pain, that, in reference to us at least, has no\nexistence. But when we say, I am conscious of a particular feeling, in\nthe usual paraphrastic phraseology of our language, which has no mode\nof expressing, in a single word, the mere existence of a feeling, we\nare apt, from a prejudice of grammar, to separate the sentient I and\nthe feeling as different,--not different, as they really are, merely\nin this respect, that the _feeling_ is one momentary and changeable\nstate of the permanent substance _I_, that is, capable of existing\nalso, at other moments, in other states,--but so _radically_ different,\nas to justify our classing the feeling, in the relation of an object,\nto that sentient principle which we call _I_,--and an object to it,\nnot in retrospect only, as when the feeling is remembered, or when it\nis viewed in relation to other remembered feelings,--but in the very\nmoment of the primary sensation itself; as if there could truly be two\ndistinct states of the same mind, at that same moment, one of which\nstates is to be termed _sensation_, and the other different state of\nthe same mind to be termed _consciousness_.\n\nTo estimate more accurately the effect, which this reference to self\nproduces, let us imagine a human being to be born with his faculties\nperfect as in mature life, and let us suppose a sensation to arise\nfor the first time in his mind. For the sake of greater simplicity,\nlet us suppose the sensation to be of a kind as little complex as\npossible; such for example, as that which the fragrance of a rose\nexcites. If, immediately after this first sensation, we imagine the\nsentient principle to be extinguished, what are we to call that\nfeeling, which filled and constituted the brief moment of life? It\nwas a simple sensation, and nothing more; and if only we say, that\nthe sensation has existed,--whether we say, or do not say, that the\nmind was conscious of the sensation,--we shall convey precisely the\nsame meaning; the consciousness of the sensation being, in that case,\nonly a tautological expression of the sensation itself. There will\nbe, in this first momentary state, no separation of _self_ and the\n_sensation_,--no little proposition formed in the mind, I feel, or\nI am conscious of a feeling; but the _feeling_ and the _sentient I_\nwill, for the moment, be the same. It is this simple feeling, and\nthis alone, which is the whole consciousness of the first moment; and\nno reference can be made of this to a _self_, which is independent\nof the temporary _consciousness_; because the knowledge of self, as\ndistinct from the particular feeling, implies the remembrance of\nformer feelings,--of feelings, which, together with the present, we\nascribe to _one_ thinking principle,--recognizing the _principle_, the\n_self_, the _one_, as the _same_, amid all its transient diversities of\nconsciousness.\n\nLet us now, then, instead of supposing life, as in the former case, to\nbe extinguished immediately after the first sensation, suppose another\nsensation to be excited, as for instance that which is produced by the\nsound of a flute. The mind either will be completely absorbed in this\nnew sensation, without any subsequent remembrance,--in which case the\nconsciousness of the sensation, as in the case of the fragrance that\npreceded it, will be only another more paraphrastic expression of the\nsimple sensation--or the remembrance of the former feeling will arise.\nIf the remembrance of the former feeling arise, and the two different\nfeelings be considered by the mind at once, it will now, by that\nirresistible law of our nature, which impresses us with the conviction\nof our identity, conceive the two sensations, which it recognizes as\ndifferent in themselves, to have yet belonged to the same being,--that\nbeing, to which, when it has the use of language, it gives the name\nof _self_, and in relation to which it speaks, as often as it uses\nthe pronoun _I_.--The notion of _self_, as the lasting subject of\nsuccessive transient feelings, being now, and not till now, acquired,\nthrough the remembrance of former sensations or temporary diversities\nof consciousness, the mind will often again, when other new sensations\nmay have arisen, go through a similar process, being not merely\naffected with the particular momentary sensation, but remembering\nother prior feelings, and identifying it with them, in the general\ndesignation of self. In these circumstances the memory of the past will\noften mingle with and modify the present; and now indeed, to form the\nverbal proposition, I am conscious of a particular sensation,--since\nthe very word _I_ implies that this remembrance and identification has\ntaken place,--may be allowed to express something more than the mere\nexistence of the momentary sensation: for it expresses also that the\nmind, which now exists in the state of this particular sensation, has\nformerly existed in a different state. There is a remembrance of former\nfeelings, and a belief that the present and the past have been states\nof one substance. But this belief, or in other words, this remembrance\nof former feelings, is so far from being essential to every thought or\nsensation, that innumerable feelings every moment arise, without any\nsuch identification with the past. They are _felt_, however, for this\nis necessarily implied in their existence; but they exist, as transient\nthoughts or sensations only, and the consciousness, which we have of\nthem, in these circumstances, is nothing more, than the thoughts or\nsensations themselves, which could not be thoughts or sensations if\nthey were not felt.\n\nIn the greater number of our successions of momentary feelings,\nthen, when no reference is made to former states of the mind, the\nconsciousness is obviously nothing more than the simple momentary\nfeeling itself as it begins and ceases; and when there is a reference\nto former states of the mind, we discover on analysis only a\nremembrance, like all our other remembrances, and a feeling of common\nrelation of the past and the present affection of the mind to one\npermanent subject. It is the belief of our continued identity which\ninvolves this particular feeling of relation of past and present\nfeelings; and consciousness, in this sense of the term, is only a word\nexpressive of that belief.\n\nThat the fragrance of a rose, the sound of a flute, and in general\nall the other objects of sense, might have excited precisely the\nsame immediate sensations as at present, Doctor Reid admits, though\nthe belief of our personal identity had not been impressed upon us;\nfor he ascribes this belief to an instinctive principle only, and\nacknowledges, that there is nothing in our sensations themselves, from\nwhich any such inference could be drawn by reason. If, then, this\ninstinctive belief of identity had not been, as at present, a natural\nlaw of human thought,--operating irresistibly on the remembrance of\nour different feelings, we should have had no notion of _self_, of\n_me_, the sentient and thinking being, who exists at the present\nmoment, and who existed before the present moment:--and what, then,\nwould have been the consciousness, accompanying, and different from,\nour sensations, when they merely flashed along the mind and vanished?\nThe most zealous defender of consciousness, as a separate intellectual\npower, must surely admit, that, in such circumstances, it would have\nbeen nothing more than _sensation_ itself. It is the belief of our\n_identity_ only, which gives us the notion of _self_, as the subject\nof various feelings, and it is the notion of self, as the subject of\nvarious former feelings, which leads us to regard the consciousness of\nthe moment, as different from the sensation of the moment; because it\nsuggests to us those former feelings, which truly were different from\nit, or at least that _subject mind_, which unquestionably existed\nbefore the present sensation.\n\nIf it be said, that the faculty of consciousness is nothing more\nthan this reference to the past, and consequent belief of identity,\nwe may, in that case, very safely admit its existence; though the\nclassification of it, as a peculiar intellectual power, would in that\ncase be a most singular anomaly in arrangement, and would involve\na very absurd, or at least a very awkward use of a term. To assert\nthis signification of it, however, would be to admit everything for\nwhich I have contended. But it certainly is not the sense, which has\nbeen attached to it by philosophers; and indeed, in _this_ sense,\n_consciousness_, instead of having for its objects, as Doctor Reid\nsays, _all_ \u201cour present pains, our pleasures, our hopes, our fears,\nour desires, our doubts, our thoughts of every kind; in a word, all the\npassions, and all the actions and operations of our own mind, while\nthey are present,\u201d would be limited to the comparatively few, of which\nthe consideration of our personal identity forms a part. In far the\ngreater number of our feelings, as I have already said, the sensation\ndies away, almost in the moment,--not indeed, without being enjoyed or\nsuffered, but without any reference to self, as the subject of various\nfeelings, or remembrance of any prior state of mind, as distinct\nfrom the present. The belief of our identity, is surely not the only\nbelief that arises from an instinctive principle; and if its existence\nentitle us, in our systematic arrangements, to the possession of a new\nintellectual power, every other belief that arises instinctively from a\nprinciple of our constitution, must give us a similar title to enlarge\nthe catalogue of our faculties. The never-failing and instant faith,\nby which we expect, without the slightest doubt of the similarity\nof the future, that events will continue to follow each other, in\nthe same order as at present,--that bodies will fall to the ground,\nfire burn, food satisfy the craving of our appetite--that immediate\nintuitive principle of belief, on which all our foresight depends,\nand according to which we regulate our whole conduct in providing\nfor the future,--should certainly, in that case, be ascribed by us\nto some peculiar intellectual power, for which it would be easy to\ninvent a name. It is not, by any inference of our reason, we believe,\nthat the sound of a flute which preceded the fragrance of a rose, and\nthe fragrance of a rose which followed the sound of a flute, excited\nsensations that were states of the same identical mind; for there is\nnothing, in either of the separate sensations, or in both together,\nfrom which such an inference can be drawn; and yet, notwithstanding the\nimpossibility of inferring it, we believe this, at least as strongly,\nas we believe any of the conclusions of our reasoning. In like manner,\nit is not by any inference of reason we believe, that fire will warm\nus to-morrow, as it has warmed us to-day; for there is nothing, in the\nfire of to-day, or in the sensation of warmth, considered as a mere\nsequence of it, from which the succession of a similar sensation to\nthe fire of to-morrow can be inferred; yet we also rely on this future\nsequence, at least as strongly, as we believe any of the conclusions\nof our reasoning. In both cases the parallel is complete; and in both,\nthe evidence of a particular intellectual faculty, must consequently be\nalike,--or in neither is there sufficient evidence of such a power.\n\nThere is, indeed, one other sense, in which we often talk of our\nconsciousness of a feeling, and a sense, in which, it must be allowed,\nthat the consciousness is not precisely the same as the feeling\nitself. This is, when we speak of a feeling, not actually existing at\npresent, but _past_--as when we say, that we are conscious of having\nseen, or heard, or done something. Such a use of the term, however,\nis pardonable only in the privileged looseness and inaccuracy of\nfamiliar conversation: the consciousness, in this case, being precisely\nsynonymous with remembrance or memory, and not a power, different\nfrom the remembrance. The _remembrance_ of the feeling, and the vivid\n_feeling_ itself, indeed, are different. But the remembrance, and the\nconsciousness of the remembrance, are the same--as the consciousness of\na sensation, and the sensation, are the same; and to be conscious that\nwe have seen or spoken to any one, is only to remember that we have\nseen or spoken to him.\n\nMuch of this very confusion with respect to memory, however, I have no\ndoubt, has been always involved in the assertion of consciousness as\na peculiar and distinct power of the mind. When we think of feelings\nlong past, it is impossible for us not to be aware that our mind is\nthen truly retrospective; and memory seems to us sufficient to account\nfor the whole. But when the retrospect is of very recent feelings--of\nfeelings, perhaps, that existed as distinct states of the mind, the\nvery moment before our retrospect began, the short interval is\nforgotten, and we think that the primary feeling, and our consideration\nof the feeling, are strictly simultaneous. We have a sensation;--we\nlook instantly back on that sensation,--such is consciousness, as\ndistinguished from the feeling that is said to be its object. When it\nis any thing more than the sensation, thought, or emotion, of which\nwe are said to be conscious, it is a brief and rapid retrospect. Its\nobject is not a present feeling, but a past feeling, as truly as when\nwe look back, not on the moment immediately preceding, but on some\ndistant event or emotion of our boyhood.\n\nAfter thus distinguishing all that is truly _present_ in consciousness,\nfrom common remembrance, I surely need not undertake, at any length, to\ndistinguish it from that peculiar species of remembrance, which goes\nunder the name of _conscience_; though their similar etymology may have\na slight tendency to mislead. _Conscience_ is our _moral memory_;--it\nis the _memory of the heart_, if I may apply to it a phrase, which, in\nits original application, was much more happily employed, by one of the\ndeaf and dumb pupils of the Abbe Sicard, who, on being asked what he\nunderstood by the word _gratitude_, wrote down immediately, \u201c_Gratitude\nis the memory of the heart_.\u201d\n\nThe power of conscience does, indeed, what consciousness does not. It\ntruly doubles all our feelings, when they have been such as virtue\ninspired; \u201cHoc est vivere _bis_, vita posse priore frui;\u201d and it\nmultiplies them in a much more fearful proportion, when they have\nbeen of an opposite kind--arresting, as it were every moment of\nguilt, which, of itself, would have passed away, as fugitive as our\nother moments, and suspending them forever before our eyes, in fixed\nand terrifying reality. \u201cPrima et maxima peccantium est p\u00e6na,\u201d says\nSeneca, \u201c_peccasse_; nec ullum scelus, illud fortuna exornet muneribus\nsuis, licet tueatur ac vindicet, impunitum est quoniam sceleris in\nscelere supplicium est.\u201d[43] \u201cThe first and the greatest punishment\nof guilt, is to have been guilty; nor can any crime, though fortune\nshould adorn it with all her most lavish bounty, as if protecting and\nvindicating it, pass truly unpunished; because the punishment of the\nbase or atrocious deed, is in the very baseness or atrocity of the deed\nitself.\u201d But this species of memory, which we denominate _conscience_,\nand, indeed, every species of memory, which must necessarily have for\nits object the past, is essentially different from the consciousness\nwhich we have been considering, that, in its very definition, is\nlimited to _present_ feelings, and of which, if we really had such an\nintellectual power, our moral conscience would, in Dr Reid's sense of\nthe term, be an _object_ rather than a part.\n\nConsciousness, then, I conclude, in its simplest acceptation, when\nit is understood as regarding the present only, is no distinct power\nof the mind, or name of a distinct class of feelings, but is only\na general term for all our feelings, of whatever species these may\nbe, sensations, thoughts, desires;--in short, all those states or\naffections of mind, in which the phenomena of mind consist; and when\nit expresses more than this, it is only the remembrance of some\nformer state of the mind, and a feeling of the relation of the past\nand the present as states of one sentient substance. The term is very\nconveniently used for the purpose of abbreviation, when we speak of the\nwhole variety of our feelings, in the same manner as any other general\nterm is used, to express briefly the multitude of individuals that\nagree in possessing some common property of which we speak; when the\nenumeration of these, by description and name, would be as wearisome to\nthe patience, as it would be oppressive to the memory. But still, when\nwe speak of the evidence of consciousness, we mean nothing more, than\nthe evidence implied in the mere existence of our sensations, thoughts,\ndesires,--which is utterly impossible for us to believe to be and not\nto be; or, in other words, impossible for us to feel and not to feel at\nthe same moment. This precise limitation of the term, I trust, you will\nkeep constantly in mind in the course of our future speculations.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[41] Pope's Essay on Man, Ep. ii. v. 35-39; 19-24; and 29, 30.\n\n[42] Ad Lectorem.--A Note prefixed to the Elementa Philosophi\u00e6. 4to.\nAmstelod. 1668.\n\n[43] Epist. 97.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XII.\n\nON CONSCIOUSNESS, CONTINUED,--ON MENTAL IDENTITY,--IDENTITY\nIRRECONCILABLE WITH THE DOCTRINE OF MATERIALISM,--DIFFERENCE BETWEEN\nPERSONAL IDENTITY AND MENTAL IDENTITY,--OBJECTIONS TO THE DOCTRINE OF\nMENTAL IDENTITY STATED.\n\n\nIn my last Lecture, Gentlemen, I brought to a conclusion my remarks\non the _nature_ and _objects_ of _Physical Inquiry_,--the clear\nunderstanding of which seemed to me, essentially necessary before\nwe could enter with any prospect of success, on the physiological\ninvestigation of the Mind.\n\nWe then opened our eyes, as it were on the great field of thought\nand passion, and on all the infinite variety of feelings, which, in\nassemblages more or less complex, and in colours more or less brilliant\nor obscure, it is every moment presenting to our internal glance. The\nvery attempt to arrange these transient feelings as phenomena of the\nmind, however, implies evidently some consideration of the nature of\nthat varied consciousness in which they consist, and of the identity\nof the permanent substance, as _states_ of _which_ we arrange them. My\nlast Lecture, therefore, was devoted to this primary consideration of\n_consciousness_,--which we found reason to regard, not as any separate\nand peculiar faculty of the mind, of which our various feelings are,\nto use Dr Reid's expression, _objects_, and which is, therefore,\nto be added, in every instance, to the separate pleasures, pains,\nperceptions, remembrances, passions, that constitute the momentary\nstates of the mind,--but merely as a short general term, expressive\nof all these momentary states in reference to the permanent subject\n_mind_. The sensation of fragrance, for example, is the consciousness\nof one moment, as the remembrance of that sensation, or some\nother sensation, is, perhaps, the consciousness of the succeeding\nmoment;--the mind, at every moment, existing in one precise state,\nwhich, as one state can be accurately denoted only by one precise name,\nor by names that are synonymous, not by names that are significant of\ntotal diversity.\n\nAll which we know, or can be supposed to know, of the mind, indeed, is\na certain _series_ of these states or feelings that have succeeded each\nother, more or less rapidly, since life began; the sensation, thought,\nemotion, of the moment being one of those states, and the supposed\nconsciousness of the state being only the state itself, whatever it may\nbe, in which the mind exists at that particular moment; since it would\nbe manifestly absurd to suppose the same indivisible mind to exist at\nthe very same moment in two separate states, one of sensation, and one\nof consciousness. It is not simply because we _feel_, but because we\nremember some _prior_ feeling, and have formed a notion of the mind\nas the permanent subject of different feeling, that we conceive the\nproposition, \u201cI am _conscious_ of a sensation,\u201d to express more than\nthe simple existence of the sensation itself; since it expresses,\ntoo, a reference of this to the same mind which had formerly been\nrecognised as the subject of other feelings. There is a remembrance\nof some former feeling, and a reference of the present feeling to the\nsame subject; and this mere remembrance, and the intuitive belief of\nidentity which accompanies remembrance, are all that philosophers, by\ndefective analyses, and a little confusion of language and thought,\nhave asserted to be the result of a peculiar mental faculty, under the\nname of consciousness;--though consciousness, in this sense, far from\nembracing all the varieties of feeling,--that, in the greater number of\ninstances, begin and cease, without any accompanying thought of that\npermanent substance to which the transient feeling is referable,--must\nbe limited to the comparatively few, in which such a reference to self\nis made.\n\nConsciousness, in short, whenever it is conceived to express more than\nthe present feeling, or present momentary state of the mind, whatever\nthat may be, which is said to be the _object_ of consciousness,--as if\nit were at once something different at every moment from the present\nstate or feeling of the mind, and yet the very state in which the mind\nis at every moment supposed to exist,--is a retrospect of some _past_\nfeeling, with that belief of a common relation of the past and present\nfeeling to one subject mind, which is involved in the very notion,\nor rather constitutes the very notion, of personal identity,--and\nall which distinguishes this rapid retrospect from any of the other\nretrospects, which we class as remembrances, and ascribe to memory\nas their source, is the mere briefness of the interval between the\nfeeling that is remembered, and the reflective glance which seems to\nbe immediately retrospective. A feeling of some kind has arisen, and\nwe look instantly back upon that feeling; but a remembrance is surely\nstill the same in nature, and arises from the same principle of the\nmental constitution, whether the interval which precedes it be that of\na moment, or of many hours, or years.\n\nI now then proceed, after these remarks on our consciousness as\nmomentary, to a most important inquiry, which arises necessarily from\nthe consideration of the successions of our momentary consciousness,\nand must be considered as involved in all our attempts to arrange\nthem,--the inquiry into the _Identity_ of the Mind, as truly _one_ and\n_permanent_, amid all the variety of its fugitive affections.\n\nIn our examination of this very wonderful coincidence of sameness and\ndiversity, I shall confine my remarks to the phenomena which are purely\nmental, omitting the objections drawn from the daily waste and daily\naliment of our corporeal part, the whole force of which objection may\nbe admitted, without any scruple by those who contend for the identity\nonly of the thinking principle; since the individuality of _this_\nwould be as little destroyed, though every particle of the body were\ncompletely changed, as the individuality of the body itself would be\ndestroyed, by a change of the mere garments that invest it. The manner\nin which the mind is united to a system of particles, which are in a\nperpetual state of flux, is, indeed, more than we can ever hope to\nbe able to explain; though it is really not more inexplicable, than\nits union to such a system of particles would be, though they were to\ncontinue forever unchanged.\n\nI may remark, however, by the way, that though the constant state of\nflux of the corporeal particles furnishes no argument against the\nidentity of the principle which feels and thinks, if feeling and\nthought be states of a substance, that is essentially distinct from\nthese changing particles, the unity and identity of this principle,\namid all the corpuscular changes,--if it can truly be proved to be\nidentical,--furnish a very strong argument, in disproof of those\nsystems which consider thought and feeling as the result of material\norganization. Indeed the attempts which have been seriously made by\nmaterialists to obviate this difficulty, involve, in every respect,\nas much absurdity, though certainly not so much pleasantry, at least\nso much _intentional_ pleasantry, as the demonstrations, which the\nSociety of Freethinkers communicated to Martinus Scriblerus, in their\nletter of greeting and invitation. The arguments, which they are\nrepresented as urging in this admirable letter, ludicrous as they may\nseem, are truly as strong, at least, as those of which they are a\nparody; and indeed, in this case, where both are so like, a very little\noccasional change of expression is all which is necessary, to convert\nthe grave ratiocination into the parody, and the parody into the grave\nratiocination.\n\n\u201cThe parts (say they) of an animal body,\u201d stating the objection which\nthey profess to answer, \u201care perpetually changed, and the fluids\nwhich seem to be the subject of consciousness, are in a perpetual\ncirculation; so that the same individual particles do not remain in\nthe brain; from whence it will follow, that the idea of individual\nconsciousness must be constantly translated from one particle of matter\nto another, whereby the particle A, for example must not only be\nconscious, but conscious that it is the same being with the particle B\nthat went before.\n\n\u201cWe answer, this is only a fallacy of the imagination, and is to be\nunderstood in no other sense than that maxim of the English law,\nthat the _king never dies_. This power of thinking, self-moving, and\ngoverning the whole machine, is communicated from every particle to its\nimmediate successor, who, as soon as he is gone, immediately takes upon\nhim the government, which still preserves the unity of the whole system.\n\n\u201cThey make a great noise about this individuality, how a man is\nconscious to himself that he is the same individual he was twenty years\nago, notwithstanding the flux state of the particles of matter that\ncompose his body. We think this is capable of a very plain answer, and\nmay be easily illustrated by a familiar example.\n\n\u201cSir John Cutler had a pair of black worsted stockings, which his maid\ndarned so often with silk, that they became at last a pair of silk\nstockings. Now supposing those stockings of Sir John's endued with some\ndegree of consciousness at every particular darning, they would have\nbeen sensible, that they were the same individual pair of stockings\nboth before and after the darning; and this sensation would have\ncontinued in them through all the succession of darnings; and yet after\nthe last of all, there was not perhaps one thread left of the first\npair of stockings; but they were grown to be silk stockings, as was\nsaid before.\n\n\u201cAnd whereas it is affirmed, that every animal is conscious of some\nindividual self-moving, self-determining principle; it is answered,\nthat, as in a House of Commons all things are determined by a\n_majority_, so it is in every animal system. As that which determines\nthe house is said to be the reason of the whole assembly; it is no\notherwise with thinking beings, who are determined by the greater force\nof several particles, which, like so many unthinking members, compose\none thinking system.\u201d[44]\n\nThe _identity_, which we are to consider, is, as I have already said,\nthe identity only of the principle which feels and thinks, without\nregard to the changeable state of the particles of the brain, or of\nthe body in general. This unity and permanence of the principle,\nwhich thinks, if we had still to invent a phrase, I would rather\ncall _mental_ identity, than _personal_ identity, though the latter\nphrase may now be considered as almost fixed by the general use of\nphilosophers. On no system can there be this absolute identity, unless\nas strictly mental; for, if we adopt the system of materialism, we\nmust reject the absolute lasting identity of the thinking principle\naltogether; and if we do not adopt that system, it is in the _mind_\nalone that we must conceive the identity to subsist. The _person_, in\nthe common and familiar meaning of the term, though involving the mind,\nis yet more than the mere mind; and, by those, at least, who are not\nconversant with the writings of philosophers on the subject, sameness\nof person would be understood as not _mental_ only, but as combining\nwith the absolute identity of the mind, some sort of identity of the\nbody also; though, it must be confessed, that, in its application to\nthe body, the term _identity_ is not used with the same strictness,\nas in its application to the mind; the bodily identity being not\nabsolute, but admitting of considerable, and ultimately, perhaps,\neven of total, change, provided only the change be so gradual, as\nnot to be inconsistent with apparent continuity of existence. Still,\nhowever, identity of _person_, at least in the popular notion of it, is\nsomething more than identity of mind.\n\n\u201cAll mankind,\u201d says Dr Reid, \u201cplace their personality in something,\nthat cannot be divided or consist of parts. A part of a person is a\nmanifest absurdity.\n\n\u201cWhen a man loses his estate, his health, his strength, he is still the\nsame person, and has lost nothing of his personality. If he has a leg\nor an arm cut off, he is the same person he was before. The amputated\nmember is no part of his person, otherwise it would have a right to\na part of his estate, and be liable for a part of his engagements;\nit would be entitled to a share of his merit and demerit, which is\nmanifestly absurd. A person is something indivisible, and is what\nLeibnitz calls a monad.\u201d[45]\n\nThat all mankind place their personality in something, which cannot\nbe divided into two persons, or into halves or quarters of a person,\nis true; because the mind itself is indivisible, and the presence of\nthis one indivisible mind is essential to personality. But, though\nessential to personality in man, mind is not all, in the popular sense\nof the word at least, which this comprehends. Thus, if, according\nto the system of metempsychosis, we were to suppose the mind, which\nanimates any of our friends, to be the same mind, which animated Homer\nor Plato,--though we should have no scruple, in asserting the identity\nof the mind itself, in this corporeal transmigration,--there is no one,\nI conceive, who would think himself justifiable, in point of accuracy,\nin saying of Plato and his friend, that they were as exactly, in every\nrespect, _the same person_, as if no _metempsychosis_ whatever had\nintervened. It does not follow from this, as Dr Reid very strangely\nsupposes, that a leg or arm, if it had any relation to our personality,\nwould, after amputation, be liable to a part of our engagements, or\nbe entitled to a share of our merit or demerit; for the engagement,\nand the moral merit or demerit, belong not to the _body_, but to the\n_mind_, which we believe to continue precisely the same, after the\namputation, as before it. This, however, is a question merely as to\nthe comparative propriety of a term, and as such, therefore, it is\nunnecessary to dwell upon it. It is of much more importance, to proceed\nto the consideration of the actual identity of the mind, whether we\nterm it simply _mental_ or _personal_ identity.\n\n\u201cThat there is something undoubtedly which _thinks_,\u201d says Lord\nShaftesbury, \u201cour very doubt itself and scrupulous thought evinces.\nBut in what subject that thought resides, and how _that_ subject\nis continued _one and the same_, so as to answer constantly to the\nsupposed train of thoughts or reflections, which seem to run so\nharmoniously through a long course of life, with the same relation\nstill to one single and self-same person, this is not a matter so\neasily or hastily decided, by those who are nice self-examiners, or\nsearchers after truth and certainty.\n\n\u201c'Twill not, in this respect, be sufficient for us to use the seeming\nlogic of a famous[46] modern, and say, \u2018_We think_; therefore _we\nare_.\u2019 Which is a notably invented saying, after the model of that like\nphilosophical proposition, that \u2018_What is, is_.\u2019 Miraculously argued!\nIf \u2018_I am, I am_.\u2019 Nothing more certain! For the _ego_ or I being\nestablished in the first part of the proposition, the _ergo_, no doubt,\nmust hold it good in the latter. But the question is, \u2018What constitutes\nthe _we_ or _I_?\u2019 And, \u2018Whether the I of this instant be the same with\nthat of any instant preceding, or to come.\u2019 For we have nothing but\nmemory to warrant us, and memory may be false. We may believe we have\nthought and reflected thus or thus; but we may be mistaken. We may be\nconscious of that, as truth, which perhaps was no more than dream; and\nwe may be conscious of that as a past dream, which perhaps was never\nbefore so much as dreamt of.\n\n\u201cThis is what metaphysicians mean, when they say, \u2018That _identity_ can\nbe proved only by _consciousness_; but that consciousness withal may be\nas well false as real, in respect of what is past.\u2019 So that the same\nsuccessional _we_ or _I_ must remain still, on this account, undecided.\n\n\u201cTo the force of this reasoning I confess I must so far submit, as to\ndeclare that for my own part, I take my being _upon trust_. Let others\nphilosophize as they are able; I shall admire their strength, when,\nupon this topic, they have refuted what able metaphysicians object, and\nPyrrhonists plead in their own behalf.\n\n\u201cMeanwhile, there is no impediment, hinderance, or suspension of\naction, on account of these wonderfully refined speculations. Argument\nand debate go on still. Conduct is settled. Rules and measures are\ngiven out, and received. Nor do we scruple to act as resolutely upon\nthe mere supposition that _we are_, as if we had effectually proved\nit a thousand times, to the full satisfaction of our metaphysical or\nPyrrhonean antagonist.\u201d[47]\n\nIn stating the objections, that may be urged against our mental\nidentity, by such metaphysical or Pyrrhonean antagonists, as those of\nwhom Lord Shaftesbury speaks, I shall endeavour to exhibit the argument\nin as strong a light as possible, and in a manner that appears to me\nin some measure, new. It is surely unnecessary for me to warn you,\nthat the argument, however specious, is a sophistical one; and the\nnature of the peculiar sophistry which it involves shall be afterwards\npointed out to you. But I conceive it to be most important, in teaching\nyou to reflect for yourselves,--by far the most important lesson\nwhich you can be taught,--that you should be accustomed to consider\nthe force of objections that may be urged, as clearly by the force\nof that surer evidence which they oppose,--and that even sophistry\nitself, when it is to be exhibited and confuted, should, therefore,\nalways be exhibited fairly. We pay truth a very easy homage, when we\ncontent ourselves with despising her adversaries. The duty which we\nowe to her is of a more manly kind. It is to gird ourselves for the\nbattle,--to fit us for overcoming those adversaries, whenever they\nshall dare to present themselves in array; and this we cannot do, with\nabsolute confidence, unless we know well the sort of arms, which they\nmay use, strong or feeble as those arms may be. I can have no fear,\nthat any argument of this kind, in whatever manner it may be stated,\ncan have the slightest influence on your conviction; because it is\ndirectly opposed by a principle of our nature, which is paramount to\nall reasoning. We believe our identity, as one mind, in our feelings of\nto-day and our feelings of yesterday, as indubitably as we believe that\nthe fire, which burned us yesterday, would, in the same circumstances,\nburn us to-day,--not from reasoning, but from a principle of instant\nand irresistible belief, such as gives to reasoning itself all its\nvalidity. As Lord Shaftesbury justly says, \u201cWe act as resolutely, upon\nthe mere supposition that _we are_, as if we had effectually proved it\na thousand times.\u201d\n\nTo identity, it may be said, it is necessary that the _qualities_ be\nthe same. That of which the qualities are different, cannot be the\nsame; and the only mode of discovering whether a substance have the\nsame or different qualities, is to observe, how it affects and is\naffected by other substances. It is recognized by us as the same, or,\nat least, as perfectly similar, when, in two corresponding series of\nchanges, the same substances affect _it_ in the same manner, and _it_\naffects, in the same manner, the same substances; and when either the\nsame substances do not affect it in the same manner, or it does not\naffect, in the same manner, the same substances, we have no hesitation\nin considering it as _different_. Thus, if a white substance,\nresembling exactly, in every external appearance, a lump of sugar,\ndo not _melt_ when exposed to the action of boiling water, we do not\nregard it as _sugar_, because the water does not act on it as we have\nuniformly known it to act on that substance; or if the same white lump,\nin every other respect resembling sugar, affect our taste as _bitter_\nor acrid rather than sweet, we immediately, in like manner, cease to\nconsider it as sugar, because it does not act upon our nerves of taste\nin the same manner as sugar acts upon them. The complete similarity, in\nother respects, is far from sufficient to make us alter our judgment;\na single circumstance of manifest difference, in its mode either of\nacting upon other substances, or of being acted upon by them, being\nsufficient to destroy the effect of a thousand manifest resemblances.\n\nLet this test of identity, then, it may be said, be applied to the\n_mind_, at different periods, if the test be allowed to be a just one;\nand let it be seen, whether, in the series of changes in which it acts\nor is acted upon, the phenomena precisely correspond in every case.\nIf the same objects do _not_ act upon it in the same manner, it must\nthen be _different_, according to the very definition to which we are\nsupposed to have assented.--You, of course, understand, that I am at\npresent only assuming the character of an objector, and that I state an\nargument, the principle of which you will afterwards find to be false.\n\nWhen we compare the listless inactivity of the infant, slumbering,\nfrom the moment at which he takes his milky food, to the moment at\nwhich he awakes to require it again, with the restless energies of\nthat mighty being which he is to become, in his maturer years,\npouring truth after truth in rapid and dazzling profusion, upon the\nworld, or grasping in his single hand the destiny of empires, how few\nare the circumstances of resemblance which we can trace, of all that\nintelligence which is afterwards to be displayed, how little _more_\nis seen, than what serves to give feeble motion to the mere machinery\nof life. What prophetic eye can venture to look beyond the period of\ndistinct utterance, and discern that variety of character by which\neven boyhood is marked, far less are the intellectual and moral growth\nof the years that follow--the genius, before whose quick glance the\nerrors and prejudices, which all the ages and nations of mankind have\nreceived as truths, are to disappear--the political wisdom, with which,\nin his calm and silent meditations, he is to afford more security\nto his country than could be given to it by a thousand armies, and\nwhich, with a single thought, is to spread protection and happiness\nto the most distant lands--or that ferocious ambition, with which, in\nunfortunate circumstances of power, he is perhaps to burst the whole\nframe of civil society, and to stamp, through every age, the deep and\ndark impression of his existence, in the same manner as he leaves\non the earth which he has desolated, the track of his sanguinary\nfootsteps. The cradle has its equality almost as the grave. Talents,\nimbecilities, virtues, vices, slumber in it together, undistinguished;\nand it is well that it is so, since, to those who are most interested\nin the preservation of a life that would be helpless but for their\naid, it leaves those delightful illusions which more than repay their\nanxiety and fatigue, and allows them to hope, for a single being, every\nthing which it is possible for the race of man to become. If clearer\npresages of the future mind were then discoverable, how large a portion\nof human happiness would be destroyed by this single circumstance! What\npleasure could the mother feel, in her most delightful of offices, if\nshe knew that she was nursing into strength, powers, which were to be\nexerted for the misery of that great or narrow circle, in which they\nwere destined to move, and which to her were to be a source, not of\nblessing, but of grief, and shame, and despair!\n\n \u201cThese shall the fury passions tear,\n The vultures of the mind,\u201d\n\nsays Gray, on thinking of a group of happy children;\n\n \u201cFor see, how all around them wait,\n The ministers of human fate,\n And black Misfortune's baleful train;\n Oh! shew them, where in ambush stand,\n To seize their prey, the murd'rous band!\n Oh! tell them, they are men!\u201d\n\n ODE III.\n\nTo tell them they are men, though they were capable of understanding\nit, even in this sense of the word, would not communicate information\nso melancholy or so astonishing to themselves, as, by breaking too soon\nthat dream of expectation, which is not to last forever, but which\nfulfils the benevolent purpose of nature while it lasts, it would\ncommunicate to the parent who watches over them, and who sees in them\nonly those pure virtues, and that happiness as pure, which are perhaps\nmore than the nature of man admits, and which, at least in the case\nbefore her, are never to be realized.\n\nIs the mind, then, in infancy, and in mature life, precisely the same,\nwhen in the one case, so many prominent diversities of character force\nthemselves upon the view, and, in the other case, so little appears to\ndistinguish the future ornament of mankind, from him who is afterwards\n\n \u201cTo eat his glutton meal with greedy haste,\n Nor know the hand which feeds him?\u201d\n\nIf we apply the test of identity, do we find that the same objects, in\nthese different periods, act upon the mind in exactly the same manner;\nand are its own feelings, in the successive trains, intellectual and\nmoral, of which they form a part, attended with consequents exactly the\nsame?\n\n_Every age_,--if we may speak of many ages, in the few years of human\nlife,--seems to be marked with a distinct character. Each has its\npeculiar objects that excite lively affections; and in each, exertion\nis excited by affections, which, in other periods, terminate, without\ninducing active desire. The boy finds a world in less space than\nthat which bounds his visible horizon; he wanders over his range of\nfield, and exhausts his strength in pursuit of objects, which, in the\nyears that follow, are seen only to be neglected; while, _to him_,\nthe objects that are afterwards to absorb his whole soul, are as\nindifferent as the objects of his present passions are destined then to\nappear.\n\nIn the progress of life, though we are often gratified with the\nprospect of benevolence increasing as its objects increase, and of\npowers rising over the greatness of their past attainments, this\ngratification is not always ours. Not slight changes of character\nonly appear, which require our attentive investigation to trace them,\nbut, in innumerable cases, complete and striking contrasts press, of\nthemselves, upon view. How many melancholy opportunities must every\none have had in witnessing the progress of intellectual decay, and\nthe coldness that steals upon the once benevolent heart! We quit our\ncountry, perhaps at an early period of life, and, after an absence\nof many years, we return with all the remembrances of past pleasure,\nwhich grow more tender as we approach their objects. We eagerly seek\nhim, to whose paternal voice we have been accustomed to listen, with\nthe same reverence as if its predictions had possessed oracular\ncertainty,--who first led us into knowledge, and whose image has been\nconstantly joined in our mind, with all that veneration which does not\nforbid love. We find him sunk, perhaps, in the imbecility of idiotism,\nunable to recognize us--ignorant alike of the past and of the future,\nand living only in the sensibility of animal gratification. We seek\nthe favourite companion of our childhood, whose gentleness of heart we\nhave often witnessed when we have wept together over the same ballad,\nor in the thousand little incidents that called forth our mutual\ncompassion, in those years when compassion requires so little to call\nit forth. We find him hardened into man, meeting us scarcely with the\ncold hypocrisy of dissembled friendship--in his general relations to\nthe world, careless of the misery which _he_ is not to feel--and, if\nhe ever think of the happiness of others, seeking it as an instrument,\nnot as an end. When we thus observe all that made us _one_, and gave\nan heroic interest even to our childish adventures, absorbed in the\nchillness of selfish enjoyment, do we truly recognize in him the\nsame unaltered friend, from whom we were accustomed to regret our\nseparation, and do we use only a metaphor of little meaning, when we\nsay of him, that he is become a different person, and that his mind\nand character are changed? In what does the identity consist? The same\nobjects no longer act upon him in the same manner; the same views of\nthings are no longer followed by similar approbation or disapprobation,\ngrief, joy, admiration, disgust; and if we affirm _that substance_ to\nbe, in the strictest sense of identity, the _same_ on which, in two\ncorresponding series of phenomena, the same objects act differently,\nwhile itself also acts differently on the same objects; in short, in\nwhich the antecedents being the same, the consequents are different,\nand, the consequents being the same, the antecedents are different,\nwhat definition of absolute diversity can we give, with which this\naffirmation of absolute identity may not be equally consistent?\n\n \u201cBehold the child, by nature's kindly law,\n Pleas'd with a rattle, tickled with a straw;\n Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight,\n A little louder, but as empty quite;\n Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage;\n And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age.\n Pleas'd with this bauble still, as that before;\n Till, tir'd, he sleeps,--and life's poor play is o'er.\u201d[48]\n\nThe supposed test of identity, when applied to the mind in these cases,\ncompletely fails. It neither affects, nor is affected, in the same\nmanner, in the same circumstances. It, therefore, if the test be a just\none, is _not_ the same identical mind.\n\nThis argument against the identity of the mind, drawn from the\noccasional striking contrasts of character in the same individual at\ndifferent periods of life, or when, by great changes of fortune, he may\nhave been placed suddenly in circumstances remarkably different, must,\nin some degree, have forced itself upon every one who has been at all\naccustomed to reflect; and yet, in no one instance, I may safely say,\ncan it have produced conviction even for a moment. I have stated it\nto you, without attempting to lessen its force by any allusion to the\nfallacy on which it is founded; because the nature of this fallacy is\nafterwards to be fully considered by us.\n\nThere is another argument that may be urged against the identity of the\nsentient and thinking principle, which has at least equal semblance of\nforce, though it does not occur so readily, because it does not proceed\non those general and lasting changes of character with which every one\nmust be struck, but on the passing phenomena of the moment, which are\nnot inconsistent with a continuance of the _same general character_,\nand which, as common to all mankind, and forming, indeed, the whole\ncustomary and familiar series of our thoughts and emotions, excite no\nastonishment when we look back on them in the order of their succession.\n\nThe mere diversity of our feelings at different moments, it may be\nsaid, is of itself incompatible with the strict and absolute _unity_\nwhich is supposed to belong to the thinking principle. If joy and\nsorrow, such as every one has felt, be different, that which is joyful,\nand that which is sorrowful, cannot be precisely the same. On the\nsupposition of complete unity and permanence of the thinking principle,\nnothing is added to it, nothing is taken away from it; and, as it\nhas no parts, no internal change of elementary composition can take\nplace in it. But _that_ to which nothing is added, from which nothing\nis taken away, and which has no parts to vary their own relative\npositions and affinities, is so strictly the same, it may be said, that\nit would surely be absurd to predicate of it any diversity whatever.\nJoy and sorrow imply an unquestionable diversity of some kind; and\nif this diversity cannot be predicated of that substance which is\nprecisely the same, without addition, subtraction, or any internal\nchange of composition whatever, that which is joyful, and that which\nis sorrowful, cannot have absolute identity; or if we affirm, that a\ndiversity, so striking as to form an absolute _contrast_, is yet not\ninconsistent with complete and permanent unity and identity, we may,\nin like manner, affirm, that a substance which is hard, heavy, blue,\ntransparent,--which unites with acids, not, with alkalies,--and which\nis volatilizable at a low temperature,--is precisely the same substance\nas that, which is soft, light, green, opaque,--which unites with\nalkalies, not with acids,--and which is absolutely infusible and fixed\nin the highest temperature to which we can expose it.\n\nI have thus endeavoured to place, in the strongest possible light, the\nmost imposing arguments which I can conceive to be urged against the\n_permanent identity_ of the sentient and thinking principle, that,\nin combating even _Sophistry_ itself, you may learn, as I have said,\nto combat with it on equal ground, and assume no advantage but that\nirresistible advantage which Truth must always afford to him who is the\ncombatant of Error.\n\nThe positive evidence of the identity of the mind I shall proceed to\nconsider in my next Lecture.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[44] Mart. Scrib. chap. vii.--Pope's Works, _edit._ 1757, v. vii. p.\n82-84.\n\n[45] Essays on the Intellectual Powers, Essay III. chap. iv.--v. 1. p.\n341. _Edit. Ed._ 1808.\n\n[46] Monsieur Des Cartes. _Shaftesb._\n\n[47] Shaftesbury's Characteristics, vol. iii. p. 172-174. _Edit._ 1745.\n\n[48] Pope's Essay on Man, Ep. II. v. 275-282.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XIII.\n\nON THE DIRECT EVIDENCE OF MENTAL IDENTITY; AND OBJECTIONS ANSWERED.\n\n\nMy last Lecture, Gentlemen, was employed in considering the great\nquestion of the Identity of the Mind, as one and permanent, amid all\nthe infinite variety of our feelings; and particularly, in stating the\ntwo most forcible objections, which I can imagine to be urged against\nthis identity,--_one_ founded on the striking contrasts, intellectual\nand moral, which the same mind exhibits in different periods of life,\nand in different circumstances of fortune,--the _other_, more abstract,\nand, therefore, less obvious, but not less forcible, founded on the\nmere diversity of our temporary feelings, as itself inconsistent with\nidentity, at least with that strict and absolute identity, to which,\nas in the case of the mind, nothing can have been added,--from which\nnothing can have been taken away,--and which, by its very nature, as\nsimple and indivisible, must have been incapable of any elementary\nchange.\n\nSince the exposure of the fallacy, on which these objections are\nfounded, would, however, afford only a sort of _negative_ evidence of\nthat great truth which they oppose, it will be of advantage, before\nentering on an examination of the objections themselves, to state, in\nthe first place, the nature of that _positive_ evidence, which does\nnot, indeed, lead us to the belief of the unity and permanence of our\nspiritual being, by that slow process which is denominated reasoning,\nbut constitutes to us, primarily and directly, an impossibility of\ndisbelieving it. I do this the more readily, from the opportunity\nwhich it gives of making you acquainted with the paramount importance\nof those principles of _intuitive belief_, which are essential to\nphilosophy in all its forms, as they are physically essential, indeed,\nto the very preservation of our animal existence; and which the rash\nand unphilosophic extension of them by one class of philosophers, and\nthe equally unphilosophic misapprehension of them by other writers\nwho controverted them, have rendered more necessary, than it would\notherwise have been, to state to you with precision.\n\nOf these _first truths_, as they have been termed, the subject, which\nwe are at present considering, affords one of the most striking\nexamples. The belief of our identity is not the result of any series of\npropositions, but arises immediately, in certain circumstances, from\na principle of thought, as essential to the very nature of the mind,\nas its powers of perception or memory, or as the power of reasoning\nitself, on the essential validity of which, and consequently on the\nintuitive belief of some first truth on which it is founded, every\nobjection to the force of these very truths themselves must ultimately\nrest. To object is to argue; and to argue is to assert the validity\nof argument, and, therefore, of the primary evidence, from which the\nevidence of each succeeding proposition of the argument flows. To\nobject to the authority of such primary intuitive belief, would thus be\nto reason against reason,--to affirm and deny at the same moment,--and\nto own that the very arguments which we urge are unworthy of being\nreceived and credited.\n\nAs the nature of the process of reasoning has not yet come under our\nreview, it may not at first appear to you, how essential the truths of\nintuition are to those very truths which are usually opposed to them.\nBut that they are thus essential, a very little attention will be\nsufficient to show you.\n\nAll belief, it is evident, must be either _direct_ or _indirect_. It is\ndirect, when a proposition, without regard to any former proposition\nexpressed or understood, is admitted as soon as it is expressed in\nwords, or as soon as it rises silently in the mind. Such are all the\norder of truths, which have been denominated, on this account, first\ntruths. The belief is indirect, when the force of the proposition,\nto which assent is given, is admitted only in consequence of the\nprevious admission of some former proposition, with which it is\nfelt to be intimately connected; and the statement in words, or the\ninternal developement of these relative propositions in the order\nin which their relation to the primary proposition is felt, is all\nthat constitutes _reasoning_. The indirect belief which attends the\nresult of reasoning, even in the proudest demonstration, is thus\nonly another form of some first truth, which was believed directly\nand independently of reasoning; and, without this primary intuitive\nassent, the demonstration itself, in all its beautiful precision and\nregularity, would be as powerless and futile as the most incoherent\nverbal wrangling.\n\nWithout some principles of immediate belief, then, it is manifest,\nthat we could have no belief whatever; for we believe one proposition,\nbecause we discover its relation to some other proposition, which is\nitself, perhaps, related, in like manner, to some other proposition\nformerly admitted, but which, carried back as far as it may, through\nthe longest series of ratiocination, must ultimately come to some\nprimary proposition, which we admit from the evidence contained in\nitself, or, to speak more accurately, which we believe from the mere\nimpossibility of disbelieving it. All reasoning, then, the most\nsceptical, be it remarked, as well as the most dogmatical, must\nproceed on some principles, which are taken for granted, not because\nwe infer them by logical deduction, for this very inference must then\nitself be founded on some other principle assumed without proof; but\nbecause the admission of these first principles is a necessary part\nof our intellectual constitution. The ridicule, therefore, with which\nDr Priestley and some other English metaphysicians, were disposed to\nregard the decision of philosophical questions, on certain ultimate\nprinciples of common sense, was surely, at least in its wide degree\nof extension, misplaced; though the phrase _common sense_, it will\nbe admitted, was not the happiest that could have been chosen. The\ncontroversy, indeed, was truly a verbal and insignificant one, unless\nas far as it had reference to the unnecessary multiplication of these\nprinciples, by the philosophers of this part of the island whom Dr\nPriestley opposed; since, if traced to their ultimate evidence, it\ncould have been only from some one or more of the principles of common\nsense, at least from those primary universal intuitions of direct\nbelief, which were all that Dr Reid and his friends meant to denote\nby the term, that the very reasonings employed against them derived\neven the slightest semblance of force. An argument that rejects not\nthe phrase common sense only, which is of little consequence, but\nalso what the phrase was intended, by its authors, to imply, is an\nargument confessedly founded upon nothing; which, therefore, as wholly\nunfounded, requires no answer, and which, at any rate, it would be\nvain to attempt to answer, because the answer, if it proceed on any\nground whatever, must begin with assuming what the argument rejects, as\ninadmissible.\n\nAll reasoning, then, I repeat, whether sceptical or dogmatical, must\ntake for granted, as its primary evidence, the truth of certain\npropositions, admitted _intuitively_, and independently of the\nreasoning, which follows, but cannot precede, the perception of\ntheir truth; and hence, as we cannot suppose that the subsequent\nratiocination, though it may afford room for errors in the process,\ncan at all add evidence to these primary truths; which, as directly\nbelieved, are themselves the ultimate evidence of each successive\nproposition, down to the last result of the longest argument; we must\nadmit that our identity, if it be felt by us intuitively, and felt\nuniversally, immediately, irresistibly, is founded on the very same\nauthority as the most exact logical demonstration, with this additional\nadvantage, that it is not subject to those possibilities of error in\nthe steps of the demonstration, from which no long series of reasoning\ncan be exempt.\n\nSo little accustomed are we, however, to think of this primary\nfundamental evidence of every reasoning, while we give our whole\nattention to the consecutive propositions which derive from it their\nforce, that we learn, in this manner, to consider truth and reasoning\nas necessarily connected, and to regard the assertion of truths that\ndo not flow from reasoning, as the assertion of something which it\nwould be equally unworthy of philosophy to assert or to admit; though\nevery assertion and every admission, which the profoundest reasoner can\nmake, must, as we have seen, involve the direct or indirect statement\nof some truth of this kind. Nor is it wonderful that we should thus\nthink more of the reasoning itself, than of the foundation of the\nreasoning; since the _first truths_, which give force to reasoning\nbut require no reasoning to establish them, must necessarily be of a\nkind which all admit, and which, therefore, as always believed by us,\nand undisputed by others, have excited no interest in discussion, and\nhave never seemed to add to our stock of knowledge, like the results\nof reasoning, which have added to it truth after truth. Yet that they\nare thus uninteresting to us, is the effect only of their primary,\nand universal, and permanent force. They are the only truths, in\nshort, which every one admits; and they seem to us unworthy of being\nmaintained as truths, merely because they are the only truths which are\nso irresistible in evidence, as to preclude the possibility of a denial.\n\nIt is not as the primary evidence of all our processes of reasoning,\nhowever, that they are chiefly valuable. Every action of our lives is\nan exemplification of some one or other of these truths, as practically\nfelt by us. Why do we believe, that what we remember truly took place,\nand that the course of nature will be in future such as we have already\nobserved it? Without the belief of these physical truths, we could not\nexist a day, and yet there is no _reasoning_ from which they can be\ninferred.\n\nThese principles of intuitive belief, so necessary for our very\nexistence, and too important, therefore, to be left to the casual\ndiscovery of reason, are, as it were, an internal never-ceasing\nvoice from the Creator and Preserver of our being. The reasonings\nof men, admitted by some, and denied by others, have over us but a\nfeeble power, which resembles the general frailty of man himself.\nThese internal revelations from on high, however, are omnipotent\nlike their Author. It is _impossible_ for us to doubt them, because\nto _disbelieve_ them would be to deny what our very constitution was\nformed to admit. Even the Atheist himself, therefore, if, indeed,\nthere be one who truly rejects a Creator and Ruler of the universe,\nis thus every moment in which he adapts his conduct implicitly, and\nwithout reasoning, to these directions of the Wisdom that formed him,\n_obeying_, with most exact subserviency, that very _Voice_ which he is\nprofessing to question or to deride.\n\nThat the assertion of principles of intuitive belief, independent of\nreasoning, may be carried to an extravagant and ridiculous length,--as,\nindeed, seems to me to have been the case in the works of Dr Reid, and\nsome other Scotch philosophers, his contemporaries and friends,--no one\ncan deny; nor that the unnecessary multiplication of these would be\nin the highest degree injurious to sound philosophy,--both as leading\nus to form false views of the nature of the mind, in ascribing to it\nprinciples which are no part of its constitution, and, still more, as\nchecking the general vigour of our philosophic inquiry, by seducing us\ninto the habit of acquiescing too soon, in the easy and indolent faith,\nthat it is unnecessary for us to proceed farther, as if we had already\nadvanced as far as our faculties permit. It is the more unfortunate,\nbecause our very avidity for knowledge, which is only another name\nfor that philosophic curiosity in which inquiry originates, is itself\nfavourable to this too easy acquiescence; tending, consequently, by\na sort of double influence, to repress the very speculation to which\nit gave rise. This it does, by rendering the suspense of ungratified\ncuriosity so _painful_ to us, as to resemble, in a very great degree,\nthe uneasiness which we feel from the ungratified cravings of bodily\nappetite. We more readily, therefore, yield to the illusion which seems\nto remove this suspense: and are happy to think, however falsely, that\nwe have now completed our inquiry, and that, without attempting any\nmore elementary analysis, we may content ourselves with simply classing\nthe results which we have already obtained. Though there is no human\nbeing who must not have felt doubts on some point or other, it is not\nevery one who knows how to doubt. To the perfection of a doubt, indeed,\nit is essential,--if I may apply to it what rhetoricians say of an epic\nor dramatic narrative,--that it should have a beginning, a middle,\nand in many cases, too, though not in all, an end. The middle is a\nvery easy matter; the great difficulty relates to the beginning and\nthe end, and to the end not less than the beginning. We err equally,\nwhen the doubt ceases too soon, and when it does not cease where it\nought to cease. There is a scepticism as different from the true\nspirit of philosophy, as the most contented ignorance, that has never\nquestioned a single prejudice; a scepticism, which, instead of seeking\nto distinguish truth from falsehood, _professes_ to deny altogether\nthe competency of our faculties as to making such a distinction in any\ncase, and to which any proposition, therefore, is as likely as its\nopposite. With this wild half reasoning extravagance, which is ignorant\nwhether it affirms or denies, and which does not even know certainly\nthat it has any uncertainty at all, it would be manifestly absurd to\nreason; and we may even truly say of it, notwithstanding the high\ncharacter of perfect doubting which it affects, that it does not know\nhow to doubt more than the all-credulous imbecility which it despises\nand derides; because it does not know in what circumstances doubt is\nlegitimate, and in what circumstances it should cease. But, at the same\ntime, he also, it may be said, does not know how to doubt, who is\ncompletely satisfied with the result of an inquiry which he is capable\nof prosecuting still further,--even though it were only by the addition\nof a single step to the thousand which he may already have made. Truth\nis the last link of many long chains; the first links of all of which,\nNature has placed in our hands. When we have fairly arrived at the\nlast, and feel completely that there is no link beyond, it would be\nmanifestly absurd to suppose, that we can still proceed further;--but\nif we stop before we have arrived at the last, maintaining, without\nstretching out our hand to make the experiment, that there cannot be\nyet another link after that which we have reached, it matters not how\nfar we may have advanced. Truth is still _beyond_ us--to be grasped\nonly by an arm more vigorous and persevering.\n\nIf, instead of maintaining boldly, that we have reached the last\nlink of the chain, we content ourselves with affirming, that we have\nreached the last which human effort can reach, we must beware that we\ndo not measure the incapacity of the whole race of mankind by our own\nindividual inability, or, which is far from improbable, that we do not\nmistake for inability, even in ourselves, what is only the irksomeness\nof long continued exertion. Our power is often much greater than we are\nwilling to believe; and in many cases, as La Rochefoucault very justly\nsays, it is only to excuse to ourselves our own indolence that we talk\nof things as impossible. \u201cNon putant fieri,\u201d says Seneca, speaking of\npersons of this character, \u201cquicquid facere non possunt. Ex infirmitate\nsua ferunt sententiam.\u201d--\u201cScis quare non possumus ista? Quia nos posse\nnon credimus.\u201d--\u201cMagno animo de rebus magnis judicandum est; alioqui\nvidebitur illarum vitium esse quod nostrum est.\u201d\n\nMuch evil, then, it must be admitted, would arise in the Philosophy of\nMind from a disposition to acquiesce too soon in instinctive principles\nof belief. But though these may be, and have been, multiplied\nunnecessarily, and beyond the truth of nature, it is not less certain,\nthat of our mental nature such principles are truly a part. We should,\nindeed, draw _monsters_, not _men_, if we were to represent the human\nhead and trunk with a double proportion of arms and legs; but we should\nalso give an unfaithful portraiture of the human figure, and should\ndraw monsters, not men, if we were to represent them with but one arm\nand leg, or with no arm or leg at all. In like manner, to suppose the\nmind endowed with more principles of intuition than belong to it, would\nbe to imagine a species of _mental_ monster. But it would not less be\na mental monster, if we were to attempt to strip it of the principles\nwhich it truly possesses.\n\nIn contending, then, for the authority of certain _first principles_\nof belief, such as that on which I conceive the conviction of\nour identity to be founded, I am sufficiently aware, in how many\ninstances, reference to these has been rashly made by philosophers;\nwhen a deeper and more minute analysis would have shewn, that the\nsupposed first principles were not elementary laws of thought, but\nwere resolvable into others more simple. It is not to be inferred,\nhowever, from the rash attempts to establish principles of intuitive\nbelief which do not exist, that there are no such principles in our\nmental constitution, any more than it is to be inferred, from the\ngeneral prevalence of bad reasoning, that it is impossible for a human\nbeing to reason accurately. I trust, at any rate, that I have already\nsufficiently warned you, against the danger of acquiescing too soon\nin any proposition, as a law _of thought_, precluding all further\ninquiry, from its own primary and independent evidence; and that I\nhave impressed you, not merely with the necessity of admitting some\nprinciples of this sort, as essential to every reasoning, but with\nthe necessity also, of admitting them, only after the most cautious\nexamination.\n\nThe difficulty of ascertaining precisely, whether it be truth which we\nhave attained, is, in many cases, much greater, than the difficulty of\nthe actual attainment. Philosophy has in this respect been compared, by\na very happy illustration,--which, therefore, homely and familiar as it\nis, I make no scruple to quote,--to \u201ca game at which children play, in\nwhich one of them, with his eyes bandaged, runs after the others. If he\ncatch any one, he is obliged to tell his name; and if he fail to name\nhim, he is obliged to let him go, and to begin his running once more.\nIt is the same,\u201d says Fontenelle, the author from whom I borrow this\nimage, \u201cin our seeking after truth. Though we have our eyes bandaged,\nwe do sometimes catch it.--But then we cannot maintain with certainty\nthat it _is_ truth, which we have caught;--and in that moment it\nescapes from us.\u201d\n\nIf there be, as it has been already shewn that there must be,\nintuitive truths; and, if we are not to reject, but only to weigh\ncautiously, the belief which seems to us intuitive, it will be\ndifficult to find any, which has a better claim to this distinction,\nthan the faith which we have, in our identity, as one continued\nsentient and thinking being, or rather, to speak more accurately, as\none permanent being capable of many varieties of sensation and thought.\n\nThere is to be found in it, every circumstance which can be required\nto substantiate it as a law of intuitive belief. It is universal,\nirresistible, immediate. Indeed, so truly prior and paramount is it\nto mere reasoning, that the very notion of reasoning necessarily\ninvolves the belief of our identity as admitted. To reason, is to draw\na conclusion from some former proposition; and how can one truth be\ninferred from another truth, unless the mind, which admits the one,\nbe the mind, which admitted the other? In its order, as much as in\nits importance, it may be truly considered as the _first_ of those\ntruths which do not depend on reasoning, and as itself necessarily\nimplied, perhaps in all, certainly in the greater number, of our other\nintuitions. I believe, for example, without being able to infer it,\nor even to discover the greater probability of it, by any process of\nreasoning, that the course of nature in future will resemble the past;\nand, since all mankind have the same irresistible tendency, I have no\nscruple in referring it to an original principle of our nature. In\ntaking for granted this similarity, however, in the order of succession\nof two distinct sets of phenomena, I must previously have believed,\nthat _I_, the same sentient being, who expect a certain order in the\nfuture phenomena of nature, have already observed a certain order in\nthe past.\n\nSince, then, the belief of our identity is intuitive and irresistible,\nthe only inquiry which remains is as to the circumstances in which the\nbelief arises. Identity is a _relative_ term. It implies of course,\nin every instance, a double observation of some sort. The identity of\nour mind is its continuance, as the subject of various feelings, or at\nleast as that which is susceptible of various feelings. The belief of\nit therefore, can arise only on the consideration of its successive\nphenomena; and is indeed involved in the mere consideration of these as\nsuccessive.\n\nThe knowledge of our _mind_ as a _substance_, and the belief of\nour _identity_ during successive feelings, may be considered as\nthe same notion, expressed in different words. Our identity is\nthe unity and sameness of that which thinks and feels,--itself\nsubstantially unchanged amid the endless variety of its thoughts and\nfeelings,--capable of existing separately in all these different\nstates; not ceasing therefore when they cease, but independent of their\ntransient changes. The knowledge of _mind_, then, as a substance,\nimplying the belief of identity during changes of state cannot be\ninvolved in any one of these separate states; and, if our feelings\nmerely succeeded each other, in the same manner as the moving bodies of\na long procession are reflected from a mirror, without any vestige of\nthem as _past_, or consequently, any remembrance of their successions,\nwe should be as incapable of forming a notion of the sentient substance\n_mind_, abstracted from the momentary sensation, as the mirror itself;\nthough we should indeed differ from the mirror, in having what mind\nonly can have, the sensations themselves, thus rapidly existing and\nperishing.\n\nBut, if it be only on the consideration of some _past_ feeling,\nthat the belief of the permanent substance mind can arise, it is to\nthe principle which recals to us past feelings, that the belief is\nultimately to be traced. We _remember_;--and in that remembrance is\ninvolved the belief, the source of which we seek. It is not merely a\npast feeling that arises to us, in what is commonly termed memory, but\na feeling that is recognized by us as _ours_, in that past time of\nwhich we think,--a feeling, therefore, of that mind which now remembers\nwhat it before saw, perhaps, or heard, or enjoyed, or suffered. We\nare told by writers on this subject, that it is from a _comparison_\nof our present with our past consciousness, that the belief of our\nidentity in these states arises; and this use of the term comparison,\nwhich is commonly applied to a process of a different kind, may perhaps\nmislead you as to this simpler process. It is true, indeed, that the\nbelief arises from a feeling of the past, that is remembered, together\nwith the consciousness of our remembrance as a present feeling,--a\ncontemplation, as it were, of two successive states of the mind. But\nthe comparison is nothing more than this.--It is not to be supposed\nthat we discover in the two feelings some common quality or proportion,\nas when, in arithmetic or geometry we compare two numbers, or two\nregular figures; for the two feelings may have nothing common, except\nthat very belief of identity which is involved in the remembrance\nitself. We remember the past,--we feel the present,--we believe, and\ncannot but believe, that the rememberer of the past existed in that\npast which he remembers. The _process_ itself is sufficiently simple,\nhowever truly wonderful one of the feelings may be which forms the\nmost important part of the process;--for we are not to forget that the\nremembrance itself, the revealer of the past, is not a past, but a\n_present_ feeling. It is the mind existing for the present moment in a\nparticular state, as much as any primary and immediate sensation is the\nmind existing in a particular state. That this state of remembrance,\nitself a present feeling, should be representative to us of some former\nfeeling, so as to impress us irresistibly with the belief of that\nformer state of the mind, is indeed most wonderful; but that it does\nimpress us with this belief, is as undeniable as the belief itself is\nirresistible.\n\nOur faith in our identity, then, as being only another form of the\nfaith which we put in memory, can be questioned only by those who\ndeny all memory, and with memory all reasoning of every kind,--who\nbelieve only the existence of the present moment, and who with respect\nto every thing else, are as incapable of opposing or questioning as\nthey are of believing. If our memory be unworthy of the faith which we\n_intuitively_ give to it, all that is founded on memory, and therefore\ndemonstration itself, must equally deceive us. We cannot admit the\nmost rigid demonstration, or expect it to be admitted, without having\nalready admitted, intuitively, that identity, which in words only we\nprofess to question, and to question which, even in words, is to assert\nthe reality of that which we deny.\n\nThe belief of the identity of self, then, as the one permanent subject\nof the transient feelings remembered by us, arises from a _law of\nthought_, which is essential to the very constitution of the mind. It\nhas accordingly all the qualities, which I can imagine to be required\nby the most rigid scrutinizer of our principles of intuitive assent. It\nis universal, and immediate, and irresistible. I do not believe, with\nmore confidence, that the half of thirty-two is equal to the square of\nfour, than I believe, that I, who computed the square of four, am the\nsame with that mind, which computes the half of thirty-two, and asserts\nthe equality of the two numbers.\n\nThis consideration is of itself decisive of the question of\n_identity_; since, if it be manifest, that there is an universal,\nimmediate, and irresistible impression of our identity,--an impression,\nwhich cannot be traced to any law of thought more simple,--its truth\nis established by a species of evidence, which must be allowed to\nbe valid, before the very objections can be put, in which it is\nprofessedly denied;--every objection, however sceptical, involving, as\nwe have seen, and necessarily involving, the assertion of some such\nintuitive proposition, from which alone its authority, if it have any\nauthority, is derived. In endeavouring to move the whole world of truth\nwith his lever, there must still be some little spot at least, on which\nthe sceptic must be content to rest his foot as firmly as others. \u0394\u1f78\u03c2\n\u03c0\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03c3\u03c4\u1ff6, he must still be condemned to say with Archimedes; and if we\nallow no resting-place to his foot,--or, even allowing him this, if\nwe allow no fulcrum for the instrument which he uses, he may contract\nor lengthen his lever at pleasure; but all the efforts, which in such\ncircumstances, he can make, will exhibit nothing so striking to those\nby whom the efforts are witnessed, as the laborious impotence of him\nwho employs them. To deny any first principles of intuitive belief,\nthat are not themselves to stand in need of a demonstration,--which, as\na demonstration, or series of consecutive propositions, can be founded,\nin its primary evidence, only on some principle of the same kind,--is,\nindeed, for such a sceptical mechanic, to set his foot upon air, rather\nthan on the ground, on which all around him are standing, and to throw\naway the single fulcrum on which his lever rests, and from which alone\nall its power is derived.\n\nThe belief of our mental identity, then, we may safely conclude,\nis founded on an essential principle of our constitution,--in\nconsequence of which, it is _impossible_ for us to consider our\n_successive_ feelings, without regarding them as truly _our_ successive\nfeelings--states, or affections of one thinking substance. But though\nthe belief of the identity of the substance which thinks, is thus\nestablished on the firmest of all grounds, the very ground, as we\nhave seen, on which demonstration itself is founded,--even though no\nparticular fallacy could be traced in the objections brought against\nit, which I detailed in my last Lecture,--it is still an interesting\ninquiry, in what the fallacy of the objections consists; and the\ninquiry is the more interesting, as it will lead us to some remarks and\ndistinctions, which, I flatter myself, will throw some light on the\nphilosophy of all the changes, material as well as mental, that are\nevery moment taking place in the universe.\n\nThe objections brought against the identity of the mind, from a\nsupposed incompatibility of its _diversities_ of state with _sameness_\nof substance, appear to me to depend on the assumption of a test of\nidentity, transferred, without sufficient reason, from the obvious\nappearances of matter to mind, and which, if _matter_ be accurately\nconsidered, is equally false, too, as applied to _it_. The cause of\nthe transference, however, from the obvious material appearances, is\na very natural one,--the same, which has included so many analogies,\nfrom external things, in the language, which we employ to express\nthe intellectual functions. It is with the changes of the material\nsubstances around us, that all our operations, which leave any fixed\nand permanent marks of our agency, are immediately concerned. It is\nindeed only through them, that our communication with other minds\ncan be at all carried on; and it is not wonderful, therefore, that,\nin considering the nature of _change_, of every kind, our philosophy\nshould be strongly tainted with prejudices, derived from the material\nworld, the _scene_ of all the immediate and lasting changes, which\nit is in our power to produce. How much the mere materialism of our\nlanguage has itself operated, in darkening our conceptions of the\nnature of the mind, and of its various phenomena, is a question,\nwhich is obviously beyond our power to solve; since the solution of\nit would imply, that the mind of the solver was itself free from the\ninfluence which he traced and described. But of this, at least, we may\nbe sure, that it is almost impossible for us to estimate the influence\ntoo highly; for we must not think, that its effect has been confined\nto the works of philosophers. It has acted, much more powerfully, in\nthe familiar discourse, and silent reflections of multitudes, that\nhave never had the vanity to rank themselves as philosophers,--thus\nincorporating itself, as it were, with the very essence of human\nthought. In that rude state of social life, in which languages had\ntheir origin, the inventor of a word probably thought of little more,\nthan the temporary facility, which it might give to himself and his\ncompanions, in communicating their mutual wants, and concerting their\nmutual schemes of co-operation. He was not aware, that, with this\nfaint and perishing sound, which a slight difference of breathing\nproduced, he was creating that which was afterwards to constitute\none of the most imperishable of things, and to form, in the minds\nof millions, during every future age, a part of the complex lesson\nof their intellectual existence,--giving rise to lasting systems of\nopinions, which, perhaps, but for the invention of this single word,\nnever could have prevailed for a moment, and modifying sciences, the\nvery elements of which had not then begun to exist. The inventor of\nthe most barbarous term may thus have had an influence on mankind,\nmore important, than all which the most illustrious conqueror could\neffect, by a long life of fatigue, and anxiety, and peril, and guilt.\nOf the generalship of Alexander, and the valour of his armies,--of all\nwhich he suffered, and planned, and executed, what permanent vestiges\nremain, but in the writings of historians! In a very few years, after\nthe termination of his dazzling career, every thing on the earth was\nalmost as if he had never been. A few phrases of Aristotle achieved a\nmuch more extensive and lasting conquest, and are, perhaps, even at\nthis moment, exercising no small sway on the very minds which smile at\nthem with scorn, and which, in tracing the extent of their melancholy\ninfluence on the progress of science, in centuries that are past, are\nunconscious that they are describing and lamenting prejudices, of which\nthey are themselves still, in a great measure, the slaves. How many\ntruths are there, of which we are ignorant, merely because one man\nlived!\n\nTo return, however, to the objections, which we are to consider.\n\nDiversity of any kind, it is said, is inconsistent with absolute\nidentity, in any case, and in the _mind_, which is by supposition\n_indivisible_, nothing can be added to it or taken away, and no\ninternal change can take place, in the relative positions and\naffinities of parts which it has not. Joy and sorrow are _different_\nin themselves; that which is joyful, therefore, and that which is\nsorrowful, cannot be _precisely_ the same, or diversity of any\nkind might be consistent with absolute identity. That the joyful\nand sorrowful mind are precisely the same, is not asserted, if the\nsameness be meant to imply sameness of state; for it is admitted,\nthat the _state_ of the mind is different in joy and sorrow! and the\nonly question is, whether this difference, to which we give the name\nof difference of state, be incompatible with complete and absolute\nsameness of substance.\n\nThe true key to the sophistry is, as I have already said, that it\nassumes a false test of identity, borrowed, indeed, from the obvious\nappearances of the material world, but from these obvious appearances\nonly. Because diversity of any kind seems, in these familiar cases, to\nbe inconsistent with absolute identity, we draw hastily the _universal_\nconclusion, that it is inconsistent with absolute identity in any case.\nParadoxical as the assertion may appear, however, we may yet safely\nassert, that, not in mind only, but, as we shall find, in matter also;\nsome sort of diversity is so far from being inconsistent with absolute\nidentity, that there is scarcely a single moment, if, indeed, there be\na single moment, in which every atom in the universe is not constantly\nchanging the tendencies that form its physical character, without\nthe slightest alteration of its own absolute identity; so that the\nvariety of states or tendencies of the same identical mind, in joy and\nsorrow, ignorance and knowledge, instead of being opposed, as you might\nthink, by the general analogy of nature, is in exact harmony with that\ngeneral analogy. It is from our view of _matter_, unquestionably, as\nimplying, in all its visible changes of state, some loss of identity,\nsome addition or subtraction of particles, or change of their form of\ncombination, that the objection, with respect to the identity of the\n_mind_, during its momentary or lasting changes of state, is derived;\nand yet we shall find, that it is only when we consider even matter\nitself superficially and slightly, that we ascribe the changes which\ntake place in it, to circumstances that affect its identity. To view it\nmore profoundly and accurately, is to observe, even in matter, constant\nchanges of state, where the identity has continued entire, and changes\nas opposite, as those of the mind itself, when, at different periods,\nit presents itself in different aspects, as sad and cheerful, ignorant\nand wise, cruel and benevolent.\n\nThe apparent mystery of the continued identity of one simple and\nindivisible mind, in all the variety of states, of which it is\nsusceptible, is thus in a great measure, solved, when we find this\nunion of variety and sameness to be the result of a law that is not\nlimited to our spiritual being, but extends to the whole universe,\nor at least to every thing which we know in the universe. It can no\nlonger appear to us peculiarly wonderful, that the mind should exist at\ndifferent moments in opposite states, and yet be the same in its own\nabsolute nature, when we shall find that this compatibility is true of\nevery atom around us, as much as of the mind itself.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XIV.\n\nCONTINUATION OF THE ANSWER TO OBJECTIONS AGAINST THE DOCTRINE OF MENTAL\nIDENTITY.\n\n\nMy Lecture yesterday was, in a great measure, employed in illustrating\nthe primary evidence of those principles of _intuitive assent_, to\nwhich we traced our belief of the identity of the mind as one and\npermanent, in all the variety of its ever-changing affections. I\nexplained to you, particularly with a view to that vague and not very\nluminous controversy, in which Dr Priestley was engaged with some\nphilosophers of this part of the Island, in what manner the truth of\nthese intuitive propositions must be assumed or admitted by all who\nreason, even by the wildest sceptic who professes to question them;\npointing out to you, at the same time, the danger to which two of\nthe strongest principles of our constitution, our indolence and our\nlove of knowledge, alike expose us--the danger of believing too soon\nthat we have arrived at truths which are susceptible of any minuter\nanalysis. In conformity, therefore, with the caution which this danger\nrenders necessary, we examined the belief of our continued identity;\nand we found it to possess the distinguishing marks, which I ventured\nto lay down as the three great characters of intuition, that it is\n_universal_, _immediate_, and _irresistible_;--so universal, that even\nthe very maniac, who conceives that he was yesterday emperor of the\nMoon, believes that he is to-day the very person who had yesterday that\nempire--so immediate, that we cannot consider any two feelings, of our\nmind as successive, without instantly considering them as feelings of\nour mind, that is to say, as states of one permanent substance, and so\nirresistible that even to doubt of our identity, if it were possible\nfor us truly to doubt of it, would be to believe, that our mind, which\ndoubts, is that very mind which has reflected and reasoned on the\nsubject.\n\nHaving thus stated the _positive_ ground of belief, in our spiritual\nidentity, I proceeded to consider the _negative_ evidence which\nmight arise from the confutation of the objections urged against\nit,--objections drawn from the supposed incompatibility of the changes\nof our mental affections, with that strict absolute identity of\nsubstance, to which nothing can have been added, and from which nothing\ncan have been taken away. The test of identity, which this supposed\nincompatibility implies, I stated to be a very false one, transferred\nfrom matter to mind, and borrowed, not from a philosophical, but from a\nvery superficial view even of matter itself. If it appear, on a closer\ninquiry, that matter itself, without the slightest loss of identity,\nexists at different moments, in states which are not merely different\nbut opposite, and exists in almost infinite variety of such states, it\ncannot surely seem wonderful, that the mind also should, without the\nslightest loss of its identity, exist at different moments, in states\nthat are different and opposite.\n\nThat a superficial view of matter, as it presents itself to our mere\norgans of sense, should lead us to form a different opinion, is,\nhowever, what might readily be supposed, because the analogies, which\nthat superficial view presents, are of a kind that seem to mark a loss\nof identity whenever the state itself is altered.\n\nIn experimental philosophy, and in the obvious natural phenomena of\nthe material world, whenever a body changes its state, some addition\nor separation has previously taken place. Thus, water becomes steam\nby the addition, and it becomes ice by the loss, of a portion of that\nmatter of heat which is termed by chemists _caloric_; which loss and\naddition are, of course, inconsistent with the notion of absolute\nnumerical identity of the corpuscles, in the three states of water as\na solid, a liquid, and a gaseous vapour. _Perception_, by which the\nmind is metaphorically said to acquire knowledge, and _forgetfulness_,\nby which it is metaphorically said to lose knowledge, have, it must be\nconfessed, a very striking analogy to these processes of corpuscular\nloss and gain; and, since absolute identity _seems_ to be inconsistent\nwith a change of state in the one set of phenomena, with which we are\nconstantly familiar, we find difficulty in persuading ourselves, that\nit is not inconsistent with a change of state in the other set also.\nIt is a difficulty of the same kind as that which every one must\nhave felt, when he learned, for the first time, the simple physical\nlaw, that matter is indifferent as to the states of motion and rest,\nand that it requires, therefore, as much force to destroy completely\nthe motion of a body, as to give it that motion when at rest. We have\nnot been accustomed to take into account the effects of _friction_,\nand of atmospherical resistance, in gradually destroying, without the\ninterference of any visible force, the motion of a ball, which we are\nconscious of effort in rolling from our hand; and we think, therefore,\nthat rest is the natural state of a body, and that it is the very\nnature of motion to cease spontaneously. \u201cDediscet animus sero, quod\ndedicit diu.\u201d It is a very just saying of a French writer, that \u201cit is\nnot easy to persuade men to put their _reason_ in the place of their\n_eyes_; and that when, for example, after a thousand proofs, they are\nreasonable enough to do their best to believe, that the planets are so\nmany opaque, solid, habitable orbs, like our earth, they do not believe\nit in the same manner as they would have done if they had never looked\nupon them in another light. There still comes back upon their belief\nsomething of the first notion which they had, that clings to them with\nan obstinacy, which it requires a continual effort to shake off.\u201d[49]\n\nIt is, then, because some substantial loss or gain does truly take\nplace in the changing phenomena of the bodies immediately around us,\nto which we are accustomed to pay our principal attention, that we\nlearn to regard a change of state in matter as significant of loss\nof identity, and to feel, therefore, some hesitation in admitting\nthe mental changes of state to be consistent with absolute sameness\nof substance. Had our observation of the _material_ phenomena been\ndifferent, there would have been a corresponding difference in our view\nof the changes of the phenomena of the mind.\n\nIf, for example, instead of previously gaining or losing caloric,--as\nin the constitution of things of which we have our present\nexperience,--the particles of the water had suddenly assumed the\nstate of _vapour_ on the sounding of a trumpet at a distance, and the\nstate of _ice_ immediately on the rising of the sun,---in short, if\nthe different changes of state in bodies, by which their physical\ncharacter for the time seems, in many cases, to be wholly altered, had\noccurred without any apparent loss or gain of substance, we should\nthen no longer have found the same difficulty in admitting the changes\nof state in mind as consistent with its identity; and the sentient\nsubstance, which previously existed in a different state, might then,\non the sounding of a trumpet, have been conceived by us to begin to\nexist, in the state which constitutes that particular sensation of\nhearing, or, on the rising of the sun, to exist in that different\nstate which constitutes the sun's change of colour as readily as the\nmaterial substance, previously existing in the form of water, to begin\nat the same moment, without any essential or numerical change, and\nconsequently with perfect identity, to exist in the new state of steam,\nor in the state of a chrystalline mass, as solid as the rock from which\nit hangs as an icicle, or that glitters with its gemmy covering.\n\nBut it may be said, that the very supposition which we now make is an\nabsurd one; that the mere presence of the sun in the firmament, at a\ndistance from the water, cannot be supposed to convert it into ice,\nunless the water gain or lose something, and consequently cease to\nhave absolute identity; and that the case, therefore, is of no value,\nas illustrating the compatibility of change of state in our various\nsensations, with unaltered identity of the sentient mind. To this I\nmight answer, that although the presence of the sun certainly does not\noperate in the manner supposed,--as the sequences of events are now\narranged in the great system of nature,--it is only by experience, and\nnot by intuition or reasoning, we know, that the presence of the sun\nhas not the very effect which the separation of caloric now produces,\nand that there is nothing absolutely more wonderful in the one case\nthan in the other. If our experience had been the reverse of this,--if\nthe change of place of a few particles of caloric had not, as now,\nconverted the liquid water into that solid congeries of crystals\nwhich we call ice,--we should then have found as little difficulty\nin conceiving that it should not have this effect, as we now find in\nadapting our belief to the particular series of events which constitute\nour present experience.\n\nIt is not necessary, however, to have recourse to suppositions\nof this kind; since the system of nature, even according to our\npresent experience of it, furnishes sufficient proof of changes as\nwonderful in the state of bodies produced obviously at a distance,\nand, therefore, without any loss or addition which can affect their\nidentity. For sufficient evidence of this, I need appeal only to the\nagency of the celestial _gravitation_; that gigantic energy of nature\nwhich fills the universe, like the immediate presence of the Deity\nhimself,--to which, in the immensity of its influence, the distances,\nnot from planets to planets merely, but from suns to suns, are like\nthose invisible spaces between the elements of the bodies around us,\nthat seem actual contact to our eyes,--and in comparison with which,\nthe powers, that play their feeble part in the physical changes on the\nsurface of our earth, are as inconsiderable as the atoms, on which they\nexercise their little dominion, are to the massy orbs which _it_ wields\nand directs at will,--\n\n \u201cThose bright millions of the heavens,\n Of which the least full Godhead had proclaim'd,\n And thrown the gazer on his knee.\u201d--\u201cAdmire\n The tumult untumultuous! All on wing,\n in motion all; yet what profound repose!\n What fervid action, yet no noise!--as aw'd\n To silence by the presence of their Lord.\u201d\n\nThe action of these great planetary bodies on each other,--it surely\ncannot be denied,--leaves them separate identities, precisely as\nbefore; and it is a species of agency, so essential to the magnificent\nharmony of the system, that we cannot conceive it to have been\ninterrupted, for a single moment, since the universe itself was formed.\nAn action, therefore, has been constantly taking place on all the\nbodies in the universe,--and consequently a difference of some sort\nproduced,--which yet leaves their identities unaffected. But, though\nthe identity of the substance of the separate orbs is not affected\nby their mutual attractions, the _state_, or temporary physical\ncharacter, of these orbs,--considered individually as one great\nwhole,--_must_ be affected,--or it would be absurd to speak of their\nmutual agency at all; for action implies the sequence of a change of\nsome sort, and there can be no action, therefore, where the substances\ncontinue precisely the same, and their state also precisely the same,\nas before the action. Accordingly, we find, on our own globe, that\ngreat changes of state, such as form the most striking of its regular\nvisible phenomena, are produced by this distant operation. The waters\nof our ocean, for example, rise and fall,--and, therefore, must have\naltered states, or physical tendencies, in consequence of which they\nrise and fall, as there is no corresponding addition or subtraction of\nmatter,--at regular intervals,--which it is in our power to predict\nwith infallible accuracy,--not because we can divine any loss of\nidentity in the fluid mass,--any internal change in its elementary\ncomposition, or the nature and varieties of the winds, which are to\nsweep along its surface,--but because we know well, at what hours, and\nin what relative situation, a certain great body, at the distance of\nsome hundreds of thousands of miles, is to be passing along the heavens.\n\nIf, then, the mere position of a distant heavenly body can cause\nthe particles of our ocean to arrange themselves in a different\nconfiguration,--from that in which they would otherwise have existed,\nand, therefore, must have produced in the particles that change of\nstate, which forces them, as it were, into this altered form,--without\naddition to them of any thing, or subtraction of any thing,--in short,\nleaving in them the same absolute numerical or corpuscular identity as\nbefore,--there surely can be no greater difficulty, in supposing, as\nin the case before imagined, that a certain position of the sun might\nhave immediately caused the particles of a distant liquid, to arrange\nthemselves in the particular configuration, that constitutes the solid\nice,--which, though perhaps a more striking change of state, would\nnot have been more truly a change of state, than that, which it now\nunquestionably produces, in modifying the rise or fall of our tides.\nAnd, if a distant body can produce in _matter_ a change of state,\nwithout affecting its identity, by any addition or subtraction, we may\nsurely admit, that the presence of an external body, as in perception,\nmay, in _mind_ also, produce a change of state, without affecting its\nidentity; unless indeed, (which is not impossible, because nothing\nis impossible to human folly,) we should be inclined to reverse our\nprejudices, and maintain, that matter may be easily conceived to change\nthe affinities or tendencies that form its physical character, in the\nparticular circumstances observed, without any addition or subtraction\nof substance, but that some positive addition or subtraction of\nsubstance is, notwithstanding, essential to the simple changes or\naffections of the mind.\n\nIf the _moon_ were suddenly annihilated, our earth would still be the\nsame identical planet, without the loss or gain of a single particle\nof substance. But the state of this planet, as a whole, and of every\natom of this planet, would be instantly altered, in many most important\nrespects,--so completely altered, indeed, that not an atom of the\nmass would tend to the other atoms of the mass, in the same manner\nas before. In like manner, if the _light_,--which now, operating on\none of my organs of sense, causes my mind to exist in the state that\nconstitutes the sensation of a particular colour,--were suddenly to\nvanish, the state of my mind would be instantly changed, though my mind\nitself, considered as a substance, would still continue unaltered.\nIn both cases,--the spiritual, and the material,--and in both cases,\nalike,--_absolute identity_, in the strictest sense of the term, is\n_consistent_ with innumerable _diversities_.\n\nIn the discussion of this supposed difficulty, I have chosen,\nfor illustration, in the first place, to consider the _planetary\nattractions_, in preference to those which occur, in the minuter\nchanges, that are simply terrestrial; because in the case of\noperations at a distance, it is impossible for us, not to perceive,\nthat, even in matter, a change of state is not inconsistent with\ncomplete permanence of absolute corpuscular identity; while, in the\ncompositions or decompositions, that occur spontaneously, or by\nartificial experiment, in the physical changes on the surface of our\nearth, the additions or subtractions of matter, that appear to us to\nconstitute these phenomena, truly destroy the corpuscular identity of\nthe substances, in which the change takes place; and the change of\nstate is thus considered by us, as implying a positive substantial\nchange. But when we examine even these phenomena a little more deeply,\nwe shall find, that, like the great operations of gravitation on the\nmasses of the universe,--the change, in these also, is not a positive\nchange of substance, but is simply a change of state in a congeries of\nindependent substances, which we term _one_ substance, merely because\nthe spaces, that are really between them, are imperceptible to our very\nimperfect organs; the addition or subtraction of matter being not that\nwhich constitutes the new states or tendencies of the particles which\ncontinue present, but merely that which gives occasion to those changes\nof state or tendency;--as the positions of the heavenly bodies do not\nconstitute the phenomena of our tides, but merely give occasion to\nthat difference of state in the particles of the ocean, in consequence\nof which they assume of themselves a different configuration. Man\nis placed, as it has been truly said, on a point, between two\ninfinities,--the infinitely _great_, and the infinitely _little_. It\nmay be an extravagant speculation, to which I have before alluded,--but\nit is not absolutely absurd, to suppose, that in the unbounded system\nof nature, there may be beings, to whose vision the whole planetary\nattendants of each separate sun, which to us appear to revolve at\ndistances so immense, may yet seem but one small cohesive mass, in the\nsame manner, as to those animalcul\u00e6, whose existence and successive\ngenerations had been altogether unknown to man, till the microscope\ncreated them, as it were to his feeble sight,--and which, perhaps, are\nmighty animals compared with races of beings still more minute, that\nare constantly living in our very presence, and yet destined never to\nbe known to us,--those bodies, which to us seem one small cohesive\nmass, may appear separated by distances, relatively as great, as to\nus are those of the planets. That light, itself a _body_, should pass\nfreely through a mass of solid crystal, is regarded by us as a sort of\nphysical wonder; and yet it is far from impossible, that, between the\natoms which compose this apparently solid mass, whole nations of living\nbeings maybe dwelling, and exercising their mutual works of peace or\nhostility; while perhaps, if philosophy can be exercised, in brains of\nsuch infinitesimal dimensions, in the same manner as in our coarser\norgans, the nature of the atoms, or distant worlds around them, may be\ndividing with endless absurdities, the Ptolemies and Aristotles of the\nlittle republics. We have all so much of the nature of the inhabitants\nof Brobdignag, that a supposition of this kind,--which is perhaps\ntruly in itself not a very probable one,--yet appears to us much more\nimprobable, than it really is. We smile, as recognizing our own nature,\nwhen the sovereign of that country of giants is represented by the most\nunfortunate, or rather the most fortunate of all voyagers, as \u201cturning\nto his first minister, who waited behind him with a white staff, near\nas tall as the mainmast of the Royal Sovereign, and observing how\ncontemptible a thing was human grandeur, which could be mimicked by\nsuch diminutive insects.\u201d \u201cAnd yet,\u201d said he, \u201cI dare engage, those\ncreatures have their titles and distinctions of honour; they contrive\ntheir nests and burrows, that they call houses and cities; they make\na figure in dress and equipage; they love, they fight, they dispute,\nthey cheat, they betray.\u201d And we fully enter into the difficulty which\nthe _savans_ of the country, who had all agreed that the new-discovered\nanimal could not have been produced according to the regular laws of\nnature, must have found, in giving him a name. \u201cOne of them seemed to\nthink that I might be an embryo, or abortive birth. But this opinion\nwas rejected by the other two, who observed my limbs to be perfect\nand finished; and that I had lived several years, as it was manifest\nfrom my beard, the stumps whereof they plainly discovered through\na magnifying-glass. They would not allow me to be a dwarf, because\nmy littleness was beyond all degrees of comparison; for the queen's\nfavourite dwarf, the smallest ever known in that kingdom, was near\nthirty feet high. After much debate, they concluded unanimously, that\nI was only _relplum scalcath_, which is interpreted literally _lusus\nnatur\u00e6_; a determination exactly agreeable to the modern philosophy\nof Europe, whose professors, disdaining the old evasion of occult\ncauses, whereby the followers of Aristotle endeavoured in vain to\ndisguise their ignorance, have invented this wonderful solution of all\ndifficulties, to the unspeakable advancement of human knowledge.\u201d[50]\n\nWhatever may be thought of speculations of this kind, however, with\nrespect to the relative distance of the atoms of bodies, it is not the\nless certain, that these atoms are separate substances, independent\nof the other similar or different substances that apparently adhere\nto them in continuity,--that they are, in truth, the only material\nsubstances which really exist, since the bodies which we term masses\nare only those very atoms under another name,--that they remain,\nand cannot but remain, identical, amid all the changes of chemical\ncomposition or decomposition,--and that the change which they suffer,\ntherefore, however strikingly their physical character may be altered\nfor the time, is a change not of _substance_ but of _state_ only. In\nthe case of the formation of _ice_, for example, the elementary atoms\nthemselves, which are all that truly exist in nature, are not, and\ncannot be, changed; but particles, which were formerly easily separable\nfrom adjacent particles, now resist this separation by a considerable\nforce. There is a change in their _state_, therefore, since they now\nexist with a different degree of tendency toward each other,--a change,\nto which the separation of a quantity of caloric may, indeed, have\ngiven occasion, but which is to be distinguished from that momentary\nseparation itself, since the solidity, which is only another name for\nthe corpuscular resistance, continues after the separation is complete,\nand would continue forever, unless a change of temperature were again\nto restore that former state or tendency of the particles, in which\nthey were easily separable. To him who has learned to consider bodies\nas, what they truly are, a multitude of separate and independent\ncorpuscles, there is no change of identity, and cannot be any change of\nidentity, in all the phenomena or changes of the universe. The atoms,\nwhich alone existed, continue as before; and all which constitutes the\nphenomenon, or varieties of successive phenomena, is a change of their\nplace or tendency.\n\nThis _corpuscular_ view of the material universe,--which, of course,\nadmits an infinite variety of applications, corresponding with the\ninfinite variety of its phenomena,--has many most striking analogies\nin that moral universe, with the phenomena of which we are chiefly\nconcerned. Indeed, when we consider any of the masses before us, as\nderiving all its apparent magnitude from a number of separate bodies,\nof which it is composed,--any one of which, _individually_, would be\ntoo minute to be distinguishable by us,--it is scarcely possible not to\nthink of the similarity which it presents to the multitudes of human\nbeings that are as it were, massed together in the great nations of\nthe earth; and in which any single individual, if he could be supposed\nto have exercised his powers separately, would have been truly as\ninsignificant as a single atom separated from the mass of which it is\na part. What we call the greatness of a nation, is nothing more than\nthe union of a number of little interests and little passions joined\nin one common object; to which insignificant elements, so wonderful\nwhen combined, if we could distinctly reduce, by analysis, the most\nunrivalled power that has ever commanded the admiration and envy of\nthe world, it would, at first view, run some little risk of appearing\ncontemptible. The advantages of this social union of mankind, as\nsilently felt at every moment, are unquestionably so infinite in\ncomparison, as almost to sink into nothing the occasional evils to\nwhich the aggregation and massing of so many powers, when ill directed,\nmay give rise,--though these terrific evils, when they occur, may dwell\nmore permanently in the mind;--like the visitations of storms and\nearthquakes, which we remember forever, while, with a sort of thankless\nforgetfulness, we scarcely think of the calm beauty and regularity\nwhich, season after season, passes over us. The rock which, descending\nfrom the top of a mountain, lays waste whatever it meets in its\nprogress,--and to attempt to stop which, while its short career lasts,\nwould be almost like instant annihilation,--derives this overwhelming\nforce from an infinite number of independent corpuscles, any one of\nwhich, if it had fallen singly, would have been far less destructive\nthan the flutter of an insect's wing; and that tyrannical power of a\nsingle man, before which, in unhappy ages of successful oppression, the\nearth has so often trembled,--as before some power of darkness, endowed\nwith more than human sway,--has derived its irresistible might, not\nfrom powers included in itself,--which, in reference to the objects\nachieved by it, would have been feeble indeed,--but from the united\npowers of beings still feebler, who were trembling while they executed\ncommands to which themselves alone gave omnipotence.\n\nTo this corpuscular view, however, though it is unquestionably the\nsort of view to which, in our ultimate physical inquiries into\nthe phenomena of matter, we must come, you may, perhaps, not be\nsufficiently accustomed, to enter fully into the reasoning on the\nsubject. It will probably be less difficult for you, if we take rather,\nas an illustration, the simpler case of _impulse_; in which the bodies\naffecting each other are not, as in chemistry, indistinguishable\ncorpuscles, but _masses_, clearly defined, and easily perceptible.\n\nI need not, of course, repeat the arguments formerly stated, to prove\nthat _attraction_, however general it may be as a law of matter at all\nvisible distances, does not continue, but gives place to an opposite\ntendency at those smaller distances, which we are unable to perceive\nwith our weak organs, and which we learn to estimate only by effects\nthat are inconsistent with absolute contact;--for example, by the\nwell-known fact of the compressibility of bodies, which could not\ntake place if their particles were already in contact, and which\nby continually increasing resistance to the compressing force that\nwould bring the corpuscles nearer, shews, that there is, at different\ndegrees of nearness, a tendency continuing to operate, which is the\nvery reverse of attraction. There is, therefore, every reason to\nbelieve,--since repulsion, as the fact of forcible compression shews,\ntakes place while the particles of bodies are still at a certain\ndistance,--that the motion produced in one body by another, and\nascribed to immediate impulse, is produced, without actual contact,\nby this mutual repulsion, as it is called, of the bodies when brought\nwithin a certain invisible degree of vicinity to each other; or,\nin other words,--for repulsion means nothing more mysterious than\nthis simple fact,--the tendency which bodies, in certain relative\npositions of apparent but not actual contact, have to fly off from\neach other with certain degrees of velocity, as in certain other\nrelative positions, of distinguishable distance, they have a tendency\nto approach each other. This repulsion, or tendency from each other\nat one point of nearness, is of itself as easy to be conceived, as\nthat _attraction_, or tendency toward each other at other points of\ndistance, to which we give the name of _gravitation_; and it is only\nfrom our greater familiarity with the one, as operating at distances\nwhich are visible, while the other,--except in a few cases, such as\nthose of magnetism and electricity,--operates only at distances which\nare imperceptible to us, that we feel a little more difficulty in\nadmitting the _repulsion_ than the _attraction_ of matter. There is\nthen,--however universal gravitation may seem, when we think only\nof perceptible distances,--a certain point of near approach, before\nactual contact, at which gravitation ceases; and, beyond this point,\nthe tendency of bodies toward each other is converted,--as the force\nnecessary to compress them evidently shews,--into a tendency from each\nother; _both_ tendencies, indeed, being _inexplicable_, but the one in\nno respect more so than the other.\n\nFor this apparent digression, on a point of general physics, I make no\napology, as it is absolutely necessary for illustrating the particular\ncase to which I am to proceed. The consideration of it requires, what\nthe whole of this discussion, indeed, has already required from you, no\nsmall exercise of patient attention; but I trust that I sufficiently\nprepared you for this, in a former Lecture, when I stated the\nimportance of such attention, not merely in relation to the subject\nconsidered at the time, but as a part of your mental discipline,\nand the advantage which might thus be derived to your intellectual\ncharacter, from the very difficulties which the subject presents. It\nis in philosophy, as in many a fairy tale. The different obstacles\nwhich the hero encounters, are not progressively greater and greater;\nbut his most difficult achievements are often at the very commencement\nof his career. He begins, perhaps, with attacking the castle of some\nenchanter, and has to force his way, unassisted, through the griffins\nand dragons that oppose his entrance. He finishes the adventure, with\nthe death of the magician--and strips him of some ring, or other\ntalisman, which renders his subsequent adventures comparatively\neasy and secure. I cannot venture to say, indeed, that a perfect\nacquaintance with the difficulties of the present question, and of some\nof the late questions which have engaged us, will be such a talisman to\nyou, in your future career of intellectual science. But I may safely\nsay, that the habit of attentive thought, which the consideration of\nsubjects, so abstract, necessarily produces, in those who are not too\nindolent to give attention to them, or too indifferent to feel interest\nin them, is more truly valuable than any talisman, of which accident or\nforce might deprive you. The _magic_ with which this endows you, is not\nattached to a _ring_, or a gem, or any thing external; it lives, and\nlives forever, in the very essence of your minds.\n\nWhen a billiard ball, on being struck, approaches another, which is at\nrest, it soon arrives at the point of seeming, but not actual contact,\nat which their mutual attraction ceases, and the force which it has\nacquired still carrying it on, it passes this bounding point, and\narrives at a point at which repulsion has already begun. Accordingly\nthe body, formerly at rest, now flies off, on a principle precisely\nsimilar, (though the mere direction be opposite) to that by which the\nsame ball, if dropped from a hand that supported it, would, without the\nactual impulse of any body, have quitted its state of rest, as in the\npresent case, and have gravitated, or, which is the same thing, have\nmoved of itself toward the earth.\n\nBefore the first ball, which you will, perhaps more easily remember\nby the name, A, arrived so very near to the second ball B, as to\nhave come within the sphere of their mutual repulsion, this second\nball was at rest, that is to say, it had no tendency to move in any\ndirection. This state of rest, however, is only one of the many states,\nin which a body may exist; and if, which must surely be allowed, a\nbody having a tendency to continued motion, be in a different state,\nfrom one which has no such tendency, this change of state implying,\nit must be remarked, not even the slightest loss of identity, has\nbeen produced in the body B, by the mere vicinity of the body A. For\nthe sake of illustration, let us now suppose this body A to be hot or\nluminous. It will still, as before, produce the new state of tendency\nto motion, in B, when it arrives within the limits of their sphere of\nrepulsion. Is it less conceivable, then, that the mere presence of\nthis hot or luminous body should produce the new sensation of warmth,\nor of colour, which are different states of the sentient mind, without\naffecting in the slightest degree the identity of the mind itself,\nthan that it should produce, without any loss of absolute identity, in\nthe body B, an immediate tendency, in that body, to move along with a\ncertain velocity, a state as different from that in which it remains\nat rest, as the sensation of warmth, which is one state of the mind,\nis different from the sensation of colour, which is another state of\nthe mind? Nor does the parallel end here; for, since a body at rest,\nacquiring a tendency to begin motion in one particular direction, as,\nfor example, to move _north_, must be in a different state from that\nin which it would have been, if it had acquired an instant tendency\nto move _east_, or in any other direction; and, the direction once\nbegun, being the same, since a body having a tendency to move with one\nvelocity, must, at every moment of its progress, be in a different\nstate from that in which it has a tendency to move with a different\nvelocity, it is evident, that the mere presence of a body may produce,\nin a second body, according to the difference of their positions and\nrelative magnitudes, a variety of states, that, when all the varieties\nof direction, and all the varieties of velocity are estimated together,\nmay be considered as infinite,--equal at least in number, to the\ndifferent states of which the mind is susceptible, in its almost\ninfinite variety of feelings; and all this without any essential\nchange, that can affect the identity of the quiescent or moving body,\nor any essential change, that can affect the identity of the mind.\n\nI am aware, that, when you consider, for the first time, this assertion\nof an infinite variety of _states_, corresponding with all the\ninnumerable varieties of direction and velocity, in the tendencies of\na simple billiard-ball, which, in the various circumstances supposed,\nappears to us precisely the same, in all its sensible qualities,\nyou may be apt to conceive, that the assertion must be founded on a\nmistake, and, from the influence of former prejudice may be inclined\nto think, that, when it exhibits a tendency to begin to move east,\nat one time, and, at another time, a beginning tendency to move\nnorth, this does not arise from any difference of state in itself,\nbut from its being merely carried along by the first ball, which\nwas itself previously moving in one or other of these particular\nlines of direction. When the elastic billiard-ball, however, bounds\naway from the ball which strikes it, this supposition is manifestly\ninapplicable;--and, in all cases, it is the influence only of former\nprejudice which can lead you to this opinion,--the influence of that\nprejudice, by which you may have been accustomed to consider impulse,\nnot as inducing a tendency to motion at some little distance, but as\ninvolving the necessity of actual contact. To destroy this prejudice,\na very little reflection on the phenomena of elastic bodies, in their\nshocks and mutual retrocessions, is surely all that can be requisite;\nand if the motion of B, and consequently its tendency to motion, have\nbegun, without contact of A, as it afterwards continues while A, the\nelastic body which struck it, is moving back in an opposite direction,\nit could not be by mechanical trusion, as carried along by A, which\nis still at some points of distance from it when its motion begins,\nand at still greater distance the longer the motion continues, that\nB has assumed any one of its variety of states,--that, for example,\nin which, in one case, it tends to move east, in another case to move\nnorth, in one case to move rapidly, in another slowly. To say that the\nbody acquires this new tendency because it is impelled, is only to\nsay that it is impelled because it is impelled. It is an equally idle\nuse of language, to affirm, as if a word could obviate the difficulty\ninstead of merely stating it,--that A, in communicating a different\ntendency to B, which was before at rest, does this by a principle, or\npower of repulsion; for this, as I have said, is merely to state in\na single word, the regularity in certain circumstances of the very\nfact asserted. The different tendencies of B, and consequently the\ndifferent states in which B exists,--are not the less different, in\nwhatever manner the difference may have been produced, or by whatever\nword, or combination of words, the difference may be expressed. There\nis no magic, in the phrase, _principle_ of repulsion, or _power_ of\nrepulsion, which can render the _same_, states or tendencies that are\nin themselves opposite;--for, as far as we understand the phrase, it\nexpresses nothing more than the invariableness of the simple fact,\nthat in certain circumstances of relative position, bodies have a\ntendency to fly off from each other, as in certain other circumstances\nof relative position, which constitute the phenomena of gravitation,\nthey have a tendency to approach. Whatever term we may employ to denote\nit, it is still a physical fact, that at a certain point of near and\nseemingly close approach of another mass, a body which was before in a\nstate of rest, acquires immediately a tendency to fly off in different\ndirections, and with different velocities at different times, and\nconsequently, that, if the tendency to begin or to continue motion,\nin one direction, and with one velocity, be a state different from\nthat which constitutes the tendency to begin or to continue motion in\nanother direction, and with another velocity, the ball B, in these\ndifferent circumstances, however identical it may be in substance,\nexists in two different states;--or all states, however different, may\nbe said to be the same.\n\nIt may be admitted, then, that the _feeling of rapture_ is a state of\nmind, completely different from that which constitutes the _feeling\nof agony_,--that the sensation of the fragrance of a rose, has no\nresemblance to our conception of a sphere or of an equilateral\ntriangle,--and that, in general, all those thoughts and emotions,\nwhich,--more truly than the mere union of the immortal spirit within us\nwith the body which it animates,--may be said to constitute _life_,\n\n \u201cLove, Hope, and Joy, fair Pleasure's smiling train,--\n Hate, Fear, and Grief, the family of Pain;\u201d\n\nthese, as they prevail, in different hours, render the same individual\nmind more unlike to itself, if its states or tendencies alone, and not\nits substantial identity be considered, than the minds perhaps of any\ntwo human beings, at the same moment. But still, as we have seen, even\nfrom the analogy of the material world,--which was supposed to furnish\na powerful objection, it is no argument against the absolute identity\nof the mind, that exists in different states, however opposite, any\nmore, than it is an argument against the absolute identity of a body,\nthat it, at one moment, has a tendency to one particular motion,--at\nanother moment a tendency to a different motion,--and at another\nmoment, no tendency whatever to motion of any kind; since, in all these\ncases, as much as in the varying affections of the mind, there is a\n_change of state_, with absolute _identity of substance_.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[49] Fontenelle, Pluralit\u00e9 des Mondes, Conversat. 6me.\n\n[50] Gulliver's Travels, part ii. chap. 3.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XV.\n\nCONSIDERATION OF THE OBJECTIONS AGAINST MENTAL IDENTITY, CONTINUED;\nOPINION OF MR LOCKE RESPECTING IDENTITY; SOURCE OF HIS PARADOX ON THIS\nSUBJECT; AND REFLECTIONS SUGGESTED BY IT.\n\n\nMy last Lecture, Gentlemen, was employed in considering the general\nobjection to the Identity of the Mind, drawn from the contrasts\nof its momentary feelings,--an objection founded on the supposed\nincompatibility of diversity of any kind, with strict and absolute\n_identity_. After the very full examination which it received, it is\nunnecessary to dwell at any length on the other objection, drawn from\nchanges of general character, in the same individual, at different\nperiods of life, or in different circumstances of fortune; since\nprecisely the same arguments, from the general analogy of nature, which\ndisprove the supposed incompatibility in the one case, disprove it\nalso in the other. Even _matter_ itself, we have seen, may, without\nthe slightest alteration of its identity, exist in an almost infinite\nvariety of states; having, in some of these states, qualities precisely\nthe reverse of those, which it exhibited in other states, attracting\nwhat it repelled, repelling what it attracted;--and it surely is not\nmore wonderful, therefore, that the same identical mind, also, should,\nin relation to the same objects, in different circumstances, be\nsusceptible of an almost infinite variety of affections,--approving,\ndisapproving, choosing, repenting. If we knew nothing more of the\nrelations of two billiard balls to each other, than the phenomena which\nthey exhibit, in the moment of their mutual percussion, when they\nhave been forced, within a certain degree of close vicinity, by the\nimpelling stroke, we should regard them, from their instant reciprocal\nrepulsion, as having a natural tendency to fly off from each other;\nand, in the state in which they then exist, there is no question that\nsuch is their tendency,--a tendency, which, in these circumstances,\nmay be regarded as their genuine physical character. Yet we have only\nto imagine the two balls placed at a distance from each other, like\nthat of the remotest planet from the sun; and, in traversing the whole\nwide void that intervenes, what a different physical character would\nthey exhibit, in their accelerating tendency toward each other, as if\ntheir very nature were lastingly changed? If there are, then, such\nopposite tendencies in the same bodies, without any loss of identity,\nwhy may not the same minds also have _their_ opposite tendencies,\nwhen, in like manner, removed, as it were, into circumstances that\nare different, loving, perhaps, what they hated before, and hating\nwhat they loved? If the change of state be not _temporary_, but\n_permanent_, the resulting affections may well be supposed to be\npermanently different; and, indeed, if they be different at all, cannot\nbut be permanently different, like the altered state. It is as little\nwonderful, therefore, when any lasting change of circumstances is\ntaken into account, that the same individual should no longer exhibit\nthe same intellectual and moral appearances, as that matter, in its\ndifferent states, should no longer exhibit the same obvious phenomena,\n_attracting_, perhaps, the very bodies which it before repelled, and\n_repelling_ the very bodies which it before attracted, and attracting\nand repelling with differences of force, and consequent differences of\nvelocity in the bodies moved, the varieties of which it would require\nall the powers of our arithmetic to compute.\n\nWhen we observe, then, in a mind, which we have long known and valued,\nany marks of _altered character_,--when, for example, in one, who,\nby the favour, or rather by the cruelty of Fortune, has been raised,\nfrom a situation comparatively humble, to sudden distinctions of\npower and opulence, we see the neglect of all those virtues, the\nwider opportunity of exercising which seemed to him formerly the\nchief, or even the only, advantage that rendered such distinctions\ndesirable,--the same frivolous vanity, which before appeared to him\nridiculous in others, and the same contemptuous insolence of pride,\nwhich before appeared to him contemptible,--a craving and impatient\ndesire of greater wealth, merely because he has no longer any use to\nmake of it, unless, indeed that it has become more necessary to his\n_avarice_, than it ever was before to his _want_,--and a gay and\nscornful indifference to miseries, that are still sometimes able to\nforce themselves upon his view, the relief of which, that once seemed\nto him so glorious a privilege, would now not require of him even the\nscanty merit of sacrificing a single superfluity: When we perceive this\ncontrast, and almost say within ourselves, Is this the same being? we\nshould remember that the influence of fortune is not confined to the\nmere trapping, which it gives or takes away,--that it operates _within_\nas much as _without_,--and that, accordingly, in the case now imagined\nby us, the new external circumstances have been gradually modifying the\nmind, in the same manner, as new external circumstances of a different\nkind modify the bodies, which happen to be placed in them,--not\naffecting their _identity_, but altering their _state_; and that, if\nwe could distinguish, as accurately, the series of changes, which take\nplace in mind, as we can distinguish those which take place in matter,\nwe should not be more astonished, that, in circumstances of rare and\nunhappy occurrence, a disposition once apparently generous is generous\nno more, than we are to observe a body, attracted to another body, at\none distance, and afterwards repelled from it, in consequence merely of\na change of their mutual position,--a change so very slight as to be\naltogether undistinguishable by our senses.\n\nI have dwelt on this question at much greater length than I should\notherwise have done, however interesting it truly is as a question of\nmetaphysics, because I was anxious to obviate a prejudice which is\nvery closely connected with this point, and which, most unfortunately\nfor the progress of the Philosophy of Mind, has given a wrong bias to\nthe speculations of many very enlightened men. No one, I am aware,\ncan be so sincerely sceptical as to doubt, even for a moment, his\nown identity, as _one continued sentient being_, whatever ingenious\nsophistry he may urge in support of the paradox which he professes to\nhold. But still, while the compatibility of diversity with absolute\nidentity, as now explained to you, was but obscurely felt,--a\ncompatibility which, to the best of my remembrance, no writer, with\nwhom I am acquainted, has attempted to illustrate,--the difficulty of\nreconciling the growth or decay of knowledge, and all the successive\ncontrasts or changes of feeling, which our sensations, thoughts,\nemotions, exhibit, with the permanent indivisible unity of the same\nsentient principle, has been sufficient, in many cases, to produce a\nvague and almost unconscious tendency to materialism, in minds that\nwould not otherwise have been easily led away by a system so illusive;\nand, where it has not produced this full effect, it has at least\nproduced a tendency, in many cases, to encumber the simple theory\nof the mental phenomena with false and unnecessary hypotheses, very\nmuch akin to those of absolute materialism. Without this absolute\nmaterialism, _mind_ must still be left, indeed, as the ultimate subject\nof sensation, and the difficulty truly remains the same; but it is\ncontrived to complicate, as much as possible, the corporeal part of the\nprocess, which precedes this ultimate mental part, by the introduction\nof phantasms, or other shadowy films, animal spirits, vibratiuncles,\nor other sensorial motions, that a wider room may thus be left for a\nplay of changes, and the difficulty of accounting for the diversity\nof sensations be less felt, when it is to be divided among so many\nsubstances in almost constant motion; while the attention is, at the\nsame time, led away from the immediate _mental_ change, in which alone\nthe supposed difficulty consists, to the mere _corpuscular_ changes, in\nwhich there is no supposed difficulty.\n\nIt is a general law of our internal, as well as of our external\nperceptions, that we distinguish most readily what is least\ncomplicated. In a chorus of many voices, a single discordant voice may\nescape even a nice discriminator of musical sounds, who would have\ndetected instantly the slightest deviation from the melody of a simple\nair. A juggler, when he wishes to withdraw a single card, is careful to\npresent to us many; and, though the card which he withdraws is truly\nbefore our eyes at the very moment at which he separates it from the\npack, we do not discover the quick motion which separates it, however\nsuspiciously watchful we may be, because our vigilance of attention is\ndistracted by the number of cards which he suffers to remain. It is not\nbecause the card which he removes is not before us, then, that we do\nnot observe the removal of it, but because it is only one of many that\nare before us. It is precisely the same in those complicated material\nprocesses, with which some theorists encumber the simple phenomena of\nthe mind. The difficulty which seems, to them, to attend any diversity\nwhatever in a substance that is identical, simple, indivisible, and\nincapable of addition or subtraction, remains, indeed, ultimately in\nall its force, and would strike us equally, if this supposed difficulty\nwere to be considered alone. But many hypothetical vibrations, or other\nmotions, are given to our consideration at the same moment, that glance\nupon our mental view like the rapid movements of the juggler's hand.\nWe, therefore, do not feel so painfully as before a difficulty which\noccupies our attention only in part; and, in our feeble estimation of\nthings, to render a difficulty less visible to us, is almost like a\ndiminution of the difficulty itself.\n\nFor obviating this tendency to _materialism_, or to what may be\nconsidered almost as a species of _semi-materialism_ in the physiology\nof the mind, it is of no small consequence to have accurate views of\nthe nature of our mental identity. Above all, it is of importance, that\nwe should be sufficiently impressed with the conviction, that absolute\nidentity, far from excluding every sort of diversity, is perfectly\ncompatible, as we have seen, with diversities that are almost infinite.\nWhen we have once obtained a clear view of this compatibility, as\nindependent of any additions or subtractions of substance, we shall\nno longer be led to convert our simple mental operations into long\ncontinued processes, of which the last links only are mental, and the\npreceding imaginary links corporeal; as if the introduction of all\nthis play of hypotheses were necessary for saving that identity of\nmind, which we are perhaps unwilling to abandon altogether; for it will\nthen appear to us not more wonderful, that the _mind_, without the\nslightest loss of identity, should at one moment begin to exist in the\nstate which constitutes the sensation of the fragrance of a rose, and\nat another moment should begin to exist in the state which constitutes\nthe sensation of the sound of a flute, or in the opposite states of\nlove and hate, rapture and agony--than that the same _body_, without\nthe slightest change of its identity, should exist, at one moment, in\nthe state which constitutes the tendency to approach another body, and\nat another moment in the opposite state which constitutes the tendency\nto fly from it, or that, with the same absolute identity, it should\nexist, at different moments in the different states, which constitute\nthe tendencies to begin motion in directions that are at right angles\nto each other, so as to begin to move in the one case north, in the\nother east, and to continue this motion, at one time with one velocity,\nat other times with other velocities, and consequently, with other\ntendencies to motion that are infinite, or almost infinite.\n\nWith these remarks, I conclude what appears to me to be the most\naccurate view of the question of our personal, or, as I have rather\nchosen to term it, our mental identity. We have seen, that the belief\nof this arises, not from any inference of reasoning, but from a\nprinciple of intuitive assent, operating universally, immediately,\nirresistibly, and therefore justly to be regarded, as essential to our\nconstitution,--a principle, exactly of the same kind, as those, to\nwhich reasoning itself must ultimately be traced, and from which alone\nits consecutive series of propositions can derive any authority. We\nhave seen, that this belief,--though intuitive,--is not involved in any\n_one_ of our separate feelings, which, considered merely as present,\nmight succeed each other, in endless variety, without affording\nany notion of a sentient being, more permanent than the sensation\nitself; but that it arises, on the consideration of our feelings as\n_successive_, in the same manner, as our belief of proportion, or\nrelation in general, arises, not from the conception of _one_ of the\nrelated objects or ideas, but only after the previous conception of\n_both_ the relative and the correlative; or rather, that the belief\nof identity does not arise as subsequent, but is involved in the very\nremembrance which allows us to consider our feelings as successive;\nsince it is impossible for us to regard them as successive, without\nregarding them as feelings of our sentient self;--not flowing,\ntherefore, from experience or reasoning, but essential to these,\nand necessarily implied in them,--since there can be no result in\nexperience, but to the mind which remembers that it has previously\nobserved, and no reasoning but to the mind which remembers that it\nhas felt the truth of some proposition, from which the truth of its\npresent conclusion is derived. In addition to this positive evidence\nof our identity, we have seen, that the strongest objections which we\ncould imagine to be urged against it, are, as might have been expected,\nsophistical, in the false test of identity which they assume,--that\nthe contrasts of momentary feeling, and even the more permanent\nalterations of general character, in the same individual, afford no\nvalid argument against it; since, not in _mind_ only, but in _matter_\nalso,--(from a superficial and partial view of the phenomena of which\nthe supposed objections are derived,)--the most complete identity of\nsubstance, without addition of any thing, or subtraction of any thing,\nis compatible with an infinite _diversity of states_.\n\nI cannot quit the subject of identity, however,--though from my belief\nof its importance, I may already, perhaps, have dwelt upon it too\nlong,--without giving you some slight account of the very strange\nopinions of Mr Locke on the subject. I do this, both because some\nnotice is due, to the paradoxes,--even though they be erroneous,--of\nso illustrious a man, and because I conceive it to be of great\nadvantage, to point out to you occasionally the illusions, which have\nbeen able to obscure the discernment of those _bright_ spirits, which\nnature sometimes, though sparingly, grants, to adorn at least that\nintellectual gloom, which even they cannot irradiate; that, in their\npath of glory, seem to move along the heavens by their own independent\nlight, as if almost unconscious of the darkness below, but cannot\nexist there for a moment, without shedding, on the feeble and doubtful\nthrongs beneath, some faint beams of their own incommunicable lustre.\nIt is chiefly, as connected with these eminent names, that fallacy\nitself becomes instructive, when simply exhibited,--if this only be\ndone, not from any wish to disparage merits, that are far above the\nimpotence of such attempts, but with all the veneration which is due\nto human excellence, united as it must ever be to human imperfection,\n\u201cEven the errors of great men,\u201d it has been said, \u201care fruitful of\ntruths;\u201d and, though they were to be attended with no other advantage,\nthis one at least they must always have, that they teach us how very\npossible it is for man to err; thus lessening at once our tendency to\nslavish acquiescence in the unexamined opinions of others, and--which\nis much harder to be done--lessening also, as much as it is possible\nfor any thing to lessen, the strong conviction, which we feel, that we\nare ourselves unerring.--The first and most instructive lesson, which\nman can receive, when he is capable of reflection, is to _think for\nhimself_; the second, without which the first would be comparatively of\nlittle value, is to reject, in _himself_, that infallibility, which he\nrejects in _others_.\n\nThe opinion of Locke, with respect to personal identity, is, that it\nconsists in consciousness alone; by which term, in its reference to\nthe past, he can mean nothing more than perfect memory. As far back as\nwe are conscious, or remember; so far and no farther, he says, are we\nthe same persons. In short, what we do not remember, we, as persons,\nstrictly speaking, never did. The identity of that which remembers,\nand which is surely independent of the remembrance itself, is thus\nmade to consist in the remembrance, that is confessedly fugitive; and,\nas if that every possible inconsistency might be crowded together\nin this simple doctrine, the same philosopher, who holds, that our\npersonal identity consists in _consciousness_, is one of the most\nstrenuous opponents of the doctrine, that the soul always thinks, or is\n_conscious_; so that, in this interval of thought, from consciousness\nto consciousness,--since that which is essential to identity is, by\nsupposition, suspended, the same identical soul, as far as individual\npersonality is concerned, is not the same identical soul, but exists\nwhen it does not exist.\n\n\u201cThere is another consequence of this doctrine,\u201d says Dr Reid, \u201cwhich\nfollows no less necessarily, though Mr Locke probably did not see it.\nIt is that a man be, and at the same time not be, the person that did a\nparticular action.\n\n\u201cSuppose a brave Officer to have been flogged when a boy at school,\nfor robbing an orchard, to have taken a standard from the enemy in\nhis first campaign, and to have been made a General in advanced life:\nSuppose also, which must be admitted to be possible, that when he took\nthe standard, he was conscious of his having been flogged at school;\nand that when made a General, he was conscious of his taking the\nstandard, but had absolutely lost the consciousness of his flogging.\n\n\u201cThese things being supposed, it follows, from Mr Locke's doctrine,\nthat he who was flogged at school is the same person who took the\nstandard; and that he who took the standard is the same person who was\nmade a General. Whence it follows, if there be any truth in logic, that\nthe General is the same person with him who was flogged at school. But\nthe General's consciousness does not reach so far back as his flogging,\ntherefore, according to Mr Locke's doctrine, he is not the person who\nwas flogged, Therefore the General is, and at the same time is not, the\nsame person with him who was flogged at school.\u201d[51]\n\nBut it is needless to deduce consequences, from this very strange\nparadox; since its author himself has done this, most freely and\nfully, and often with an air of pleasantry, that, but for the place\nin which we find it, as forming a part of a grave methodical essay on\nthe understanding, would almost lead us to think, that he was himself\nsmiling, in secret, at his own doctrine, and propounding it with the\nsame mock solemnity with which the discoverer of Laputa has revealed to\nus all the secrets of the philosophy of that island of philosophers.\n\nHe allows it to follow, from his doctrine, that, if we remembered _at\nnight_, and never but at night, one set of the events of our life; as,\nfor instance, those which happened five years ago; and never but in\nthe day time, that different set of events, which happened six years\nago; this, \u201cday and night man,\u201d to use his own phrase, would be two\nas distinct persons, as Socrates and Plato; and, in short, that we\nare truly as many persons as we have, or can be supposed to have, at\ndifferent times, separate and distinct remembrances of different series\nof events. In this case, indeed, he makes a distinction of the visible\n_man_, who is the same, and of the _person_ who is different.\n\n\u201cBut yet possibly it will still be objected,\u201d he says, \u201csuppose I\nwholly lose the memory of some parts of my life, beyond a possibility\nof retrieving them, so that perhaps I shall never be conscious of\nthem again; yet am I not the same person that did those actions, had\nthose thoughts that I once was conscious of, though I have now forgot\nthem? To which I answer, that we must here take notice what the word\nI is applied to; which, in this case, is the man only. And the same\nman being presumed to be the same person, I is easily here supposed\nto stand also for the same person. But if it be possible for the same\nman to have distinct incommunicable consciousness at different times,\nit is past doubt the same man would at different times make different\npersons; which we see is the sense of mankind in the solemnest\ndeclaration of their opinions; human laws not punishing the mad man for\nthe sober man's actions, nor the sober man for what the mad man did,\nthereby making them two persons: which is somewhat explained by our\nway of speaking in English, when we say such an one is not himself, or\nis beside himself; in which phrases it is insinuated, as if those who\nnow, or at least first used them, thought that self was changed, the\nself-same person was no longer in that man.\u201d[52]\n\nSuch is the doctrine of a philosopher, whose intellectual excellence\nwas unquestionably of the highest rank, and whose powers might be\nconsidered as entitling him to exemption, at least, from those _gross_\nerrors which far weaker understandings are capable of discovering, if\neven this humble relative privilege had not been too great for man.\nHe contends, that our remembrance of having done a certain action, is\nnot merely to us, the rememberers, the _evidence_ by which we believe\nthat we were the persons who did it, but is the very circumstance that\nmakes us _personally_ to have done it,--a doctrine, which, if the word\n_person_ were to be understood in the slightest degree in its common\nacceptation, would involve, as has been justly said, an absurdity as\ngreat as if it had been affirmed, that our belief of the creation of\nthe world actually made it to have been created.\n\nIf we could suppose Mr Locke to have never thought on the subject of\npersonal identity, till this strange doctrine, and its consequences,\nwere stated to him by another, it may almost be taken for granted, that\nhe would not have failed instantly to discover its absurdity, as a mere\nverbal paradox; and, yet, after much reflection on the subject, he\ndoes not perceive that very absurdity, which he would have discovered,\nbut _for reflection_. Such is the strange nature of our intellectual\nconstitution. The very functions, that, in their daily and hourly\nexercise, save us from innumerable errors, sometimes lead us into\nerrors, which, but for them, we might have avoided. The philosopher is\nlike a well armed and practised warrior, who, in his helmet and coat\nof mail, goes to the combat with surer means of victory, than the ill\ndisciplined and defenceless mob around him, but who may yet sometimes\nfall where others would have stood, unable to rise and extricate\nhimself, from the incumbrance of that very armour, to which he has owed\nthe conquests of many other fields.\n\nWhat, then, may we conceive to have been the nature of the illusion,\nwhich could lead a mind like that of Mr Locke, to admit, _after_\nreflection, an absurd paradox, and all its absurd consequences, which,\n_before_ reflection, he would have rejected?\n\nIt is to be traced chiefly, I conceive, to a source which is certainly\nthe most abundant source of error in the writings and silent\nreflections of philosophers, especially of those who are gifted with\noriginality of thought,--the ambiguity of the language they use, when\nthey retain a word with one meaning, which is generally understood\nin a different sense; the common meaning, in the course of their\nspeculations, often mingling insensibly with their own, and thus\nproducing a sort of confusion, which incapacitates them from perceiving\nthe precise consequences of either. Mr Locke gives his own definition\nof the word person, as comprised in the very consciousness which he\nsupposes to be all that is essential to personal identity; or at least\nhe speaks of consciousness so vaguely and indefinitely, as to allow\nthis meaning of his definition to be present to his own mind, as often\nas he thought of personality. \u201cTo find,\u201d he says, \u201cwherein personal\nidentity consists, we must consider what _person_ stands for; which, I\nthink, is a thinking intelligent being, that has reason and reflection,\nand can consider itself as itself, the same thinking thing, in\ndifferent times and places, which it does only by that consciousness,\nwhich is inseparable from thinking.\u201d[53]\n\nHaving once given this definition of a person, there can be no\nquestion, that personal identity, in _his_ sense, is wherever\n_consciousness_ is, and only where consciousness is. But this is true\nof a person, only as defined by him; and, if strictly analysed, means\nnothing more, than that consciousness is wherever consciousness is,--a\ndoctrine, on which, certainly, he could not have thought it worth his\nwhile to give any very long commentary. It appears more important\nhowever, even to himself, and worthy of the long commentary which he\nhas given it, because, in truth, he cannot refrain from still keeping,\nin his own mind, some obscure impression of the more common meaning of\nthe term, and extending to a _person_, as thus commonly understood,\nwhat is true only of a person, as defined by him. It is as if some\nwhimsical naturalist should give a definition of the word _animal_,\nexclusive of every winged creature, and should then think that he was\npropounding a very notable and subtile paradox, in affirming that no\nanimal is capable of rising for a few minutes above the surface of the\nearth. It would be a paradox, only inasmuch as it might suggest to\nthose who heard it, a meaning _different_ from that of the definition;\nand, but for this misconception, which the author of it himself might\nshare, would be so insignificant a truism, as not to deserve even the\nhumblest of all praise, that of amusing absurdity.\n\nWhen, in such cases as this, we discover that singular inconsistency,\nwhich is to be found even in the very _excellence_ of every thing that\nis _human_,--the perspicacity which sees, at an immeasurable distance,\nin the field of inquiry, what no other eye has seen, and which yet, in\nthe very objects which it has grasped, is unable to distinguish what is\nvisible to common eyes, are we to lament the imperfection of our mental\nconstitution, which leaves us liable to such error? Or, as in other\ninstances, in which, from our incapacity of judging rightly, we are\ntempted at first to regret the present arrangement of things, are we\nnot rather to rejoice that we are so constituted by nature? if man had\nnot been formed to _err_, in the same manner as he is formed to reason,\nand to know, that perfect system of faculties, which excluded error,\nmust have rendered his discernment too quick, not to seize instantly\ninnumerable truths, the gradual discovery of which, by the exercise of\nhis present more limited faculties, has been sufficient to give glory\nand happiness to whole ages of philosophical inquiry. If, indeed, the\nfield had been absolutely boundless, he might still have continued\nto advance, as at present, though with more gigantic step, and more\nsearching vision, and found no termination to his unlimited career.\nBut the truths which relate to us physically, on this bounded scene of\nthings in which we are placed, numerous as they are, are still in some\nmeasure finite, like that scene itself; and the too rapid discoveries,\ntherefore, of a few generations, as to the most important properties of\nthings, would have left little more for the generations which were to\nfollow, than the dull and spiritless task of learning what others had\npreviously learned, or of teaching what themselves had been taught.\n\nPhilosophy is not the mere _passive possession_ of knowledge; it is,\nin a much more important respect, the active exercise of acquiring it.\nWe may truly apply to it what Pascal says of the conduct of life in\ngeneral. \u201cWe think,\u201d says he, \u201cthat we are seeking _repose_, and all\nwhich we are seeking is _agitation_.\u201d In like manner, we think that\nit is _truth_ itself which we seek, when the happiness which we are\nto feel most strongly, is in the mere search; and all that would be\nnecessary, in many cases, to make the object of it appear indifferent,\nwould be to put it fairly within our grasp.\n\n \u201cOur hopes, like towering falcons, aim\n At objects in an airy height;\n But all the pleasure of the game,\n Is afar off to view the flight.\u201d\n\nWhat little value do we set on discoveries that have been long familiar\nto us, though their own essential value must still continue the same.\nEven on the whole mass of knowledge, that has been gradually and\nslowly transmitted to us, we reflect with little interest, unless\nas it may lead to something yet unknown; and the result of a single\nnew experiment, which bears no proportion to the mass to which it is\nadded, will yet be sufficient to rouse and delight every philosopher in\nEurope. It is a very shrewd remark of a French writer, in reference to\nthe torpor, which the most zealous inquirer feels, as to every thing\nwhich he _knows_, and his insatiable avidity for every thing which he\ndoes _not_ know, that \u201cif Truth were fairly to show herself as she is,\nall would be ruined; but it is plain, that she knows very well, of how\ngreat importance it is, that she should keep herself out of sight.\u201d\n\nIf we were to acquire, by an unhappy foresight, the knowledge which\nis not yet ours, it is very evident, that we must soon regard it, in\nthe same manner, as the knowledge which we have already acquired. The\ncharm of novelty, the delights of gratified curiosity, would not be for\nus. The prey would be at our feet; and it would be vain, therefore, to\nexpect that ardour of soul, which is kindled, amid the hopes and the\nfears, the tumult and the competition of the chase.\n\n\u201cIf man were _omnipotent_, without being _God_,\u201d says Rousseau, \u201che\nwould be a miserable creature: he would be deprived of the pleasure of\n_desiring_; and what privation would be so difficult to be borne!\u201d It\nmay be said, at least with equal truth, that, if man were _omniscient_,\nwithout the other perfections of the Divinity, he would be far less\nhappy than at present. To infinite benevolence, indeed, accompanied\nwith infinite power, a corresponding infinity of knowledge must afford\nthe highest of all imaginable gratifications, by its subservience to\nthose gracious plans of good, which are manifested in the universe, and\nwhich, in making known to us the existence of the Supreme Being, have\nmade him known to us, as the object of grateful love and admiration.\nBut if, in other respects, we were to continue as at present,--with\nour erring passions, and moral weaknesses of every sort,--to be doomed\nto have nothing _to learn_, would be a punishment, not a blessing. In\nsuch circumstances, if they were to continue forever, the annihilation\nof our intellectual being would not be an evil so great, as the mere\nextinction of our curiosity, and of all the delights and consolations\nwhich it affords, not merely when we gratify it, but when we are merely\nseeking to gratify it.\n\n \u201cElse wherefore burns,\n In mortal bosoms, this unquenched hope\n That breathes from day to day sublimer things,\n And mocks possession! Wherefore darts the mind,\n With such resistless ardour, to embrace\n Majestic forms, impatient to be free,\n Proud of the strong contention of her toils,\n Proud to be daring?\u201d[54]--\n\n \u201cWhy departs she wide[55]\n From the dull track and journey of her times,\n To grasp the good she knows not? In the field\n Of things which may be, in the spacious field\n Of science, potent arts, or dreadful arms,\n To raise up scenes, in which her own desires\n Contented may repose,--when things which are\n Pall on her temper like a twice told tale.\u201d[56]\n\nIt is sufficient, that we are endowed with powers of discovery. Our\ngratitude is due to Heaven for the gift; and the more due for that\ngracious wisdom, which has known how to _limit_ the powers which it\ngave, so as to produce a greater result of good by the very limitation.\nOur prejudices, which sometimes forbid reasoning, and the errors, to\nwhich our imperfect reasoning often leads us, we should consider, when\nall their remote relations are taken into account, as indirect sources\nof happiness; and though we may wish, and justly wish, to analyse them,\nand to rise above their influence,--for, without this exertion, and\nconsequent feeling of progress, on our part, they would be evil rather\nthan good,--we must not forget, that it is to them we owe the luxury,\nwhich the immediate analysis affords, and the acquisition of the\ninnumerable truths, which the prevalence of these errors, in past ages,\nhas left to be discovered by the ages which succeed.\n\nIn this, and in every thing which relates to man, Nature has had\nin view, not the individual or the single generation only, but the\n_permanent race_. She has therefore, not exhausted her bounty on any\none period of the long succession; but, by a provision, which makes\nour very weakness instrumental to her goodness, she has given to all,\nthat distant and ever-brightening hope, which, till we arrive at our\nglorious destination,\n\n \u201cLeads from goal to goal,\n And opens still, and opens on the soul.\u201d\n\nWith enough of _mental vigour_ to advance still farther in the tracks,\nof science that are already formed, and to point out new tracks to\nthose who are to follow, we have enough of _weakness_ to prevent us\nfrom exploring and exhausting, what is to occupy, in the same happy\nsearch, the millions of millions that are to succeed us. Truth itself,\nindeed, will always be progressive; but there will still, at every\nstage of the progress, be something to _discover_, and abundance to\n_confute_. \u201cIn 24,000 years,\u201d to borrow the prediction of a very\nskilful prophet,--\u201cIn 24,000 years, there will arise philosophers,\nwho will boast, that they are destroying the errors which have been\nreigning in the world for 30,000 years past; and there will be people\nwho will believe, that they are then only just beginning to open their\neyes.\u201d\n\nIn these remarks, on the nature of our varied consciousness, and on\nthe unity and identity of the mind in all its varieties,--we have\nconsidered the mental phenomena in their _general_ aspect. We have now\nto consider them as arranged in kindred classes,--or rather to attempt\nthe difficult task of the classification itself.\n\nTo this I shall proceed in my next Lecture.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[51] Reid's Essays on the Intellectual Powers, Essay III. Chap. vi.\n\n[52] Essay concerning Human Understanding, B. ii. c. xxvii. sect. 20.\n\n[53] Essay concerning Human Understanding, B. ii. c. xxvii. sect. 9.\n\n[54] Pleasures of Imagination, (first form of the poem,) B. i. v.\n166-171. 173-5.\n\n[55] ----Why departs the soul\n Wide from the track.--ORIG.\n\n[56] Pleasures of Imagination, (second form of the Poem,) B. i. v.\n213-220.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XVI.\n\nON THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE PHENOMENA OF MIND.\n\n\nAfter considering the Phenomena of the Mind _in general_, we are\nnow to proceed to consider them, in the _separate classes_ in which\nthey may be arranged. The phenomena themselves, indeed, are almost\ninfinite, and it might seem, on first reflection a very hopeless task,\nto attempt to reduce, under a few heads, the innumerable feelings,\nwhich diversify almost every moment of our life. But to those, who\nare acquainted with the wonders, which classification has performed,\nin the other sciences, the task, difficult as it is, will still seem\nnot absolutely hopeless; though in one respect, its difficulty will\nbe more highly estimated by them, than by others;--since _they_ only,\nwho know the advantage of the fixed and definite nature of the objects\nof classification, in other _sciences_, can feel, how much greater\nthe obstacles must be, to any accurate arrangement, in a science, of\nwhich the objects are indefinite, and complex, incapable of being fixed\nfor a moment in the same state, and destroyed by the very effort to\ngrasp them. But, in this, as in other instances, in which nature has\ngiven us difficulties with which to cope, she has not left us to be\nwholly overcome; or, if we must yield, she has at least armed us for\nso vigorous a struggle, that we gain additional intellectual strength,\neven in being vanquished. \u201cStudiorum salutarium, etiam citra effectum,\nsalutaris tractatio est.\u201d If she has placed us in a labyrinth, she has\nat the same time furnished us with a clue, which may guide us, not\nindeed through all its dark and intricate windings, but through those\nbroad paths, which conduct us into day. The single power, by which we\ndiscover resemblance or relation in general, is a sufficient aid to us,\nin the perplexity and confusion of our first attempts at arrangement.\nIt begins, by converting thousands, and more than thousands, into one,\nand, reducing, in the same manner, the numbers thus formed, it arrives\nat last at the few distinctive characters of those great comprehensive\ntribes, on which it ceases to operate, because there is nothing left\nto oppress the memory, or the understanding. If there had been no\nsuch science as chemistry, who could have ventured to suppose, that\nthe innumerable bodies, animate and inanimate, on the surface of our\nglobe, and all, which we have been able to explore in the very depths\nof the earth itself, are reducible, and even in the imperfect state\nof the science, have been already reduced, to a few simple elements?\nThe science of mind, as it is a science of analysis, I have more than\nonce compared to _chemistry_, and pointed out to you, and illustrated,\nits various circumstances of resemblance. In this too, we may hope the\nanalogy will hold,--that, as the innumerable aggregates, in the one\nscience, have been reduced and simplified, the innumerable complex\nfeelings in the other will admit of a corresponding reduction and\nsimplification.\n\nThe classes which we form, in the mental as well as in the material\nuniverse, depend, as you cannot but know, on certain relations which\nwe discover in the phenomena; and the relations according to which\nobjects may be arranged, are of course various, as they are considered\nby different individuals in different points of view. Some of these\nrelations present themselves immediately, as if to our very glance;\nothers are discoverable only after attentive reflection;--and though\nthe former, merely as presenting themselves more readily, may seem on\nthat account, better suited for the general purpose of arrangement,\nit is not the less true that the classification, which approaches\nnearest to perfection, is far from being always that which is founded\non relations, that seem at first sight the most obvious. The rudest\nwanderer in the fields may imagine, that the profusion of blossoms\naround him,--in the greater number of which he is able, himself, to\ndiscover many striking resemblances,--may be reduced into some order of\narrangement. But he would be little aware, that the principle according\nto which they are now universally classed, has relation, not to the\nparts which appear to him to constitute the whole flower, but to some\nsmall part of the blossom, which he does not perceive, at the distance\nat which he passes it, and which scarcely attracts his eye, when he\nplucks it from the stem.\n\nTo our _mental_ classifications the remark is equally applicable. In\nthese too, the most obvious distinctions are not always those which\nanswer best the purposes of systematic arrangement. The phenomena of\nthe mind, are only the mind itself existing in certain states; and,\nas many of these states are in their nature agreeable, and others\ndisagreeable, this difference, which is to the sentient being himself\nthe most important of all differences, may be supposed, to afford the\nmost obvious principle of classification. What is pleasant, what is\npainful, are perhaps the first classes, which the infant has formed\nlong before he is capable of distinguishing them by a name; and the\nvery imbecility of idiotism itself, to which nothing is true or false,\nor right or wrong,--and to which there is no future, beyond the\nsucceeding moment,--is yet capable of making this primary distinction,\nand of regulating, according to it, its momentary desires.\n\n \u201cThe love of pleasure is man's eldest-born,\n Born in his cradle, living to his tomb.\n Wisdom,--her younger sister, though more grave,\n Was meant to minister, not to dethrone[57]\n Imperial Pleasure, queen of human hearts.\u201d[58]\n\nThe distribution, which we should be inclined to make, of our mental\nphenomena, according to this obvious principle, would be into\nthose which are pleasing, those which are painful, and those which\nare neither painful nor pleasing. But, however obvious this first\ndistinction may seem, as a principle of arrangement, the circumstances,\non which the differences depend, are so very indefinite, that the\ndistinction,--though it may be useful to have it in view, in its most\nstriking and permanent cases,--cannot be adopted, as the basis of\nany regular system. To take the mere pleasures and pains of _sense_,\nfor example,--to what intelligible division could we reduce these,\nwhich are not merely fugitive in themselves, but vary, from pain to\npleasure, and from pleasure to pain, with a change of their external\nobjects, so slight often, as to be scarcely appreciable, and, in many\ncases, even when the external objects have continued exactly the same?\nHow small, and how variable a boundary separates the warmth which is\npleasing from the heat which pains! A certain quantity of light is\ngrateful to the eye. Increase it;--it becomes, not indifferent,--though\nthat would be a less change,--but absolutely painful; and, if the eye\nbe inflamed, even the small quantity of light,--which was agreeable\nbefore, and which seemed, therefore, to admit of being very safely\nclassed among the sources of pleasure,--is now converted into a source\nof agony. Since it is impossible, therefore, to fix the limits of\npain and pleasure, and every affection or state of mind, agreeable,\ndisagreeable, or indifferent, may, by a very trifling change of\ncircumstance, be converted into an opposite state, it is evident, that\nany division, founded on this vague and transient distinction, must\nperplex, and mislead us, in our attempts to systematize the almost\ninfinite diversities of thought and feeling, rather than give us any\naid in the arrangement.\n\nThe great leading division of the mental phenomena which has met with\nmost general adoption by philosophers, is into those which belong to\nthe _understanding_, and those which belong to the _will_;--a division\nwhich is very ancient, but though sanctioned by the approbation of\nmany ages, very illogical; since the will, which, in this division,\nis nominally opposed to the intellect, is so far from being opposed\nto it in reality, that, even by the asserters of its diversity, it is\nconsidered as exercising, in the intellectual department, an empire\nalmost as wide, as in the department allotted to itself. We reason, and\nplan, and invent, at least as _voluntarily_,--as we esteem, or hate, or\nhope, or fear. How many emotions are there too, which cannot, without\nabsolute torture, be forced into _either_ division! To take only a few\ninstances, out of many,--to what class are we to reduce grief, joy,\nadmiration, astonishment, which perhaps are not phenomena of the mere\nunderstanding, and which,--though they may lead indirectly to desires\nor volitions,--have nothing, in themselves, that is voluntary, or\nthat can be considered as in any peculiar degree connected with the\n_will_? The division of the mental phenomena into those which belong\nto the _understanding_, and those which belong to the _will_, seems,\ntherefore, to be as faulty, as would be the division of animals, into\nthose which have legs and those which have wings; since the same\nanimals might have both legs and wings, and since whole tribes of\nanimals have neither one nor the other.\n\nAnother division of the phenomena of mind, similar to the former, and\nof equal antiquity, since it corresponds with the very ancient division\nof philosophy into the contemplative and the active, is into those\nwhich belong to the _intellectual_ powers, and those which belong to\nthe _active_ powers. \u201cPhilosophia et contemplativa est et activa;\nspectat simulque agit.\u201d I must confess, however, that this division of\nthe mental phenomena, as referable to the intellectual and the active\npowers of the mind,--though it has the sanction of very eminent names,\nappears to me to be faulty, exactly in the same manner as the former,\nwhich, indeed, it may be considered almost as representing, under a\nchange of name. Its parts are not opposed to each other, and it does\nnot include all the phenomena which it should include. Is mere grief,\nfor example, or mere astonishment, to be referred to our intellectual\nor to our active powers? I do not speak of the faculties which they\nmay or may not call into action; but of the feelings themselves, as\npresent phenomena or states of the mind. And, in whatsoever manner we\nmay define the term _active_, is the mind more active, when it merely\ndesires good and fears evil, when it looks with esteem on virtue,\nand with indignation, or disgust, and contempt on vice, than when\nit pursues a continued train of reasoning, or fancy, or historical\ninvestigation? when, with Newton, it lays down the laws of planetary\nmotion, and calculates, in what exact point of the heavens, any one\nof the orbs, which move within the immense range of our solar system,\nwill be found to have its place at any particular moment, one thousand\nyears hereafter; when, with Shakespeare, it wanders beyond the universe\nitself, calling races of beings into existence, which nature never\n_knew_, but which nature might almost _own_--or when, with Tacitus, it\nenrols slowly, year after year, that dreadful reality of crimes and\nsufferings, which even dramatic horror, in all its license of wild\nimagination, can scarcely reach--the long unvarying catalogue, of\ntyrants,--and executioners,--and victims, that return thanks to the\ngods and die,--and accusers rich with their blood, and more mighty,\nas more widely hated, amid the multitudes of prostrate slaves, still\nlooking whether there may not yet have escaped some lingering virtue,\nwhich it may be a merit to destroy, and having scarcely leisure to\nfeel even the agonies of remorse, in the continued sense of the\nprecariousness of their own gloomy existence? When it thus records\nthe warning lessons of the past, or expatiates in fields, which itself\ncreates, of fairy beauty or sublimity, or comprehends whole moving\nworlds within its glance, and calculates and measures infinitude--the\nmind is surely active, or there are no moments in which it is so. So\nlittle, indeed, are the intellectual powers opposed to the active,\nthat it is only when some intellectual energy co-exists with desire,\nthat the mind is said to be active, even by those who are unaccustomed\nto analytical inquiries, or to metaphysical nomenclature. The love\nof power, or the love of glory, when there is no opportunity of\nintellectual exertion, may, in the common acceptation of the word, be\nas passive as tranquillity itself. The passion is active only when,\nwith intellectual action, it compares means with ends, and different\nmeans with each other, and deliberates, and resolves, and executes.\nChain some revolutionary usurper to the floor of a dungeon, his\nambition may be active still, because he may still be intellectually\nbusy in planning means of deliverance and vengeance; and, on his bed of\nstraw, may conquer half the world. But, if we could fetter his reason\nand fancy, as we can fetter his limbs, what activity would remain,\nthough he were still to feel that mere desire of power or glory, which,\nthough usually followed by intellectual exertion, is itself as prior\nto these exertions, all that constitutes ambition, as a passion? There\nwould, indeed, still be in his mind the awful elements of that force,\nwhich bursts upon the world with conflagration and destruction; but,\nthough there would be the _thunder_, it would be the thunder sleeping\nin its cloud. To _will_, is to act with desire; and, unless in the\nproduction of mere muscular motion, it is only _intellectually_ that we\ncan act. To class the active powers, therefore, as distinct from the\nintellectual, is to class them, as opposed to that, without which, as\nactive powers, they cannot even exist.\n\nIt may, certainly, be contended, that, though the mental phenomena,\nusually ranked under this head, are not immediately connected with\naction, they may yet deserve this generic distinction, as leading to\naction indirectly,--and if they led, in any peculiar sense, to action,\nhowever indirectly, the claim might be allowed. But, even with this\nlimited meaning, it is impossible to admit the distinction asserted\nfor them. In what sense, for example, can it be said, that _grief_\nand _joy_, which surely are not to be classed under the intellectual\npowers of the mind, lead to action even indirectly, more than any other\nfeelings, or states, in which the mind is capable of existing? We may,\nindeed, _act_ when we are joyful or sorrowful, as we may act when we\nperceive a present object, or remember the past; but we may also remain\nat rest, and remain equally at rest, in the one case, as in the other.\nOur intellectual energies, indeed, even in this sense, as indirectly\nleading to action, are, in most cases, far more active, than sorrow,\neven in its very excess of agony and despair; and, in those cases in\nwhich sorrow _does_ truly lead to action, as when we strive to remedy\nthe past, the mere regret which constitutes the sorrow, is not so\nclosely connected with the conduct which we pursue, as the intellectual\nstates of mind that intervened--the successive judgments, by which we\nhave compared projects with projects, and chosen at last the plan,\nwhich, in relation to the object in view, has seemed to us, upon the\nwhole, the most expedient.\n\nIf, then, as I cannot but think, the arrangement of the mental\nphenomena, as belonging to two classes of powers, the intellectual\nand the active, be at once incomplete, and not accurate, even to the\nextent to which it reaches, it may be worth while to try at least some\nother division, even though there should not be any very great hope of\nsuccess. Though we should fail in our endeavour to obtain some more\nprecise and comprehensive principle of arrangement, there is also some\nadvantage gained, by viewing objects, according to new circumstances\nof agreement or analogy. We see, in this case, what had long-passed\nbefore us unobserved, while we were accustomed only to the order and\nnomenclature of a former method; for, when the mind has been habituated\nto certain classifications, it is apt, in considering objects, to\ngive its attention only to those properties which are essential to\nthe classification, and to overlook, or at least comparatively to\nneglect, other properties equally important and essential to the very\nnature of the separate substances that are classed, but not included\nin the system as characters of generic resemblance. The individual\nobject, indeed, when its place in any system has been long fixed and\nfamiliar to us, is probably conceived by us less, as an _individual_,\nthan as one of a class of individuals, that agree in certain respects,\nand the frequent consideration of it, as one of a class, must fix\nthe peculiar relations of the class, more strongly in the mind, and\nweaken proportionally the impression of every other quality that is\nnot so included. A _new_ classification, therefore, which includes,\nin its generic character, those neglected qualities, will of course\ndraw to them attention, which they could not otherwise have obtained;\nand, the more various the views are, which we take of the objects of\nany science, the juster consequently, because the more equal, will be\nthe estimate which we form of them. So truly is this the case, that I\nam convinced, that no one has ever read over the mere terms of a new\ndivision, in a science, however familiar the science may have been to\nhim, without learning more than this new division itself, without being\nstruck with some property or relation, the importance of which he _now_\nperceives most clearly, and which he is quite astonished that he should\nhave overlooked so long before.\n\nI surely need not warn you, after the observations which I made in my\nIntroductory Lectures, on the Laws and Objects of Physical Inquiry in\nGeneral, that every _classification_ has reference only to our mode of\nconsidering objects; and that, amid all the varieties of systems which\nour love of novelty, and our love of distinction, or our pure love\nof truth and order may introduce, the phenomena themselves, whether\naccurately, or inaccurately classed, continue unaltered. The mind is\nformed susceptible of certain affections. These states or affections\nwe may generalize more or less; and, according to our generalization,\nmay give them more or fewer names. But whatever may be the extent of\nour vocabulary, the mind itself,--as independent of these transient\ndesignations, as He who fixed its constitution,--still continues to\nexhibit the same unaltered susceptibilities, which it originally\nreceived; as the flowers, which the same divine Author formed, spring\nup, in the same manner, observing the same seasons, and spreading to\nthe sun the same foliage and blossoms, whatever be the system and the\ncorresponding nomenclature according to which botanists may have agreed\nto rank and name their tribes. The great Preserver of nature has not\ntrusted us, with the dangerous power of altering a single physical law\nwhich He has established, though He has given us unlimited power over\nthe _language_ which is of our own creation. It is still with us, as it\nwas with our common sire in the original birthplace of our race. The\nAlmighty presents to us all the objects that surround us, wherever we\nturn our view; but He presents them to us, only that we may give them\nnames. Their powers and susceptibilities they already possess, and we\ncannot alter these, even as they exist in a single atom.\n\nIt may, perhaps, seem absurd, even to suppose, that we should think\nourselves able to change, by a few generic words, the properties of\nthe substances which we have classed; and if the question were put\nto us, as to this effect of our language, in any particular case,\nthere can be no doubt, that we should answer in the negative, and\nexpress astonishment that such a question should have been put. But\nthe illusion is not the less certain, because we are not aware of\nits influence; and, indeed, it could no longer be an illusion, if\nwe were completely aware of it. It requires, however, only a very\nlittle reflection on what has passed in our own minds, to discover,\nthat, when we have given a _name_ to any quality, that quality\nacquires immediately, in our imagination, a comparative importance,\nvery different from what it had before; and though nature in itself\nbe truly unchanged, it is ever after, relatively to our conception,\ndifferent. A difference of words is, in this case, more than a mere\nverbal difference. Though it be not the expression of a difference\nof doctrine, it very speedily becomes so. Hence it is, that the same\nwarfare, which the rivalries of individual ambition, or the opposite\ninterests, or supposed opposite interests, of nations have produced, in\nthe great theatre of civil history, have been produced, in the small\nbut tumultuous field of science, by the supposed incompatibility of\na few abstract terms; and, indeed, as has been truly said, the sects\nof philosophers have combated, with more persevering violence, to\nsettle what they mean by the constitution of the world, than all the\nconquerors of the world have done to render themselves its masters.\n\nStill less, I trust, is it necessary to repeat the warning, already so\noften repeated, that you are not to conceive, that any classification\nof the states or affections of the mind, as referable to certain\npowers or susceptibilities, makes these powers any thing different\nand separate from the mind itself, as originally and essentially\nsusceptible of the various modifications of which these powers are\nonly a shorter name. And yet what innumerable controversies in\nphilosophy have arisen, and are still frequently arising, from this\nvery mistake, strange and absurd as the mistake may seem. No sooner,\nfor example, were certain affections of the mind classed together,\nas belonging to the _will_, and certain others, as belonging to the\n_understanding_,--that is to say, no sooner was the mind, existing\nin certain _states_, denominated the understanding, and in certain\nother states denominated the will,--than the understanding and the\nwill ceased to be considered as the same individual substance, and\nbecame immediately, as it were, two opposite and contending powers,\nin the empire of mind, as distinct, as any two sovereigns, with their\nseparate nations under their controul; and it became an object of as\nfierce contention to determine, whether certain affections of the\nmind belonged to the _understanding_, or to the _will_, as, in the\nmanagement of political affairs, to determine, whether a disputed\nprovince belonged to one potentate, or to another. Every new diversity\nof the faculties of the mind, indeed, converted each faculty into a\n_little independent mind_,--as if the original mind were like that\nwonderful animal, of which naturalists tell us, that may be cut into an\nalmost infinite number of parts, each of which becomes a polypus, as\nperfect as that from which it was separated. The only difference is,\nthat those who make us acquainted with this wonderful property of the\n_polypus_, acknowledge the divisibility of the parent animal; while\nthose, who assert the spiritual multiplicity, are at the same time\nassertors of the absolute indivisibility of that which they divide.\n\nAfter these warnings, then, which, I trust, have been almost\nsuperfluous, let us now endeavour to form some classification of the\nmental phenomena without considering, whether our arrangement be\nsimilar or dissimilar to that of others. In short, let us forget, as\nmuch as possible, that any prior arrangements have been made, and\nthink of the phenomena only. It would, indeed, require more than human\nvision, to comprehend all these phenomena of the mind, in our gaze at\nonce,--\n\n \u201cTo survey,\n Stretch'd out beneath us, all the mazy tracts\n Of passion and opinion,--like a waste\n Of sands, and flowery lawns, and tangling woods,\n Where mortals roam bewilder'd.\u201d\n\nBut there is a mode of bringing all this multitude of objects, within\nthe sphere of our narrow sight, in the same manner, as the expanse of\nlandscape, over which the eye would be long in wandering,--the plains,\nand hills, and woods, and waterfalls,--may be brought, by human art,\nwithin the compass of a mirror, far less than the smallest of the\ninnumerable objects which it represents.\n\nThe process of _gradual generalizing_, by which this reduction is\nperformed, I have already explained to you. Let us now proceed to avail\nourselves of it.\n\nAll the feelings and thoughts of the mind, I have already frequently\nrepeated, are only the mind itself existing in certain states. To these\nsuccessive states our knowledge of the mind, and consequently our\narrangements, which can comprehend only what we know, are necessarily\nlimited. With this simple word _state_, I use the phrase _affection_ of\nmind as synonymous, to express the momentary feeling, whatever it may\nbe,--with this difference only, that the word _affection_ seems to me\nbetter suited for expressing that momentary feeling, when considered\nas an _effect_,--the feeling itself as a state of the mind, and the\nrelation which any particular state of mind, may bear to the preceding\ncircumstances, whatever they may be that have induced it. Our _states_\nof mind, however, or our _affections_ of mind, are the simplest terms,\nwhich I can use for expressing the whole series of phenomena of the\nmind in all their diversity, as existing phenomena, without any mixture\nof hypothesis, as to the particular mode in which the successive\nchanges may be supposed to arise.\n\nWhen we consider, then, the various states or affections of the mind,\nwhich form this series, one circumstance of difference must strike us,\nthat some of them arise immediately, in consequence of the presence of\nexternal objects,--and some, as immediately, in consequence of certain\npreceding affections of the mind itself. The one set, therefore, are\nobviously the result of the laws both of matter and of mind,--implying,\nin external objects, a power of affecting the mind, as well as, in the\nmind, a susceptibility of being affected by them. The other set result\nfrom the susceptibilities of the mind itself, which has been formed by\nits divine Author to exist in certain states, and to exist in these in\na certain relative order of succession. The affections of the one class\narise, because some external object is present;--the affections of the\nother class arise, because some previous change in the states of the\nmind has taken place.\n\nTo illustrate this distinction by example, let us suppose ourselves,\nin walking across a lawn, to turn our eyes to a particular _point_, and\nto perceive there _an oak_. That is to say, the presence of the oak, or\nrather of the light reflected from it, occasions a certain new state of\nthe mind, which we call a sensation of _vision_, an affection, which\nbelongs to the mind alone, indeed, but of which we have every reason\nto suppose, that the mind, _of itself_, without the presence of light,\nwould not have been the subject. The peculiar sensation, therefore, is\nthe result of the presence of the light reflected from the oak; and we\nperceive it, because the mind is capable of being affected by external\nthings. But this affection of the mind, which has an external object\nfor its immediate cause, is not the only mental change which takes\nplace. Other changes succeed it, without any other external impression.\nWe compare the oak with some other tree which we have seen before, and\nwe are struck with its superior magnificence and beauty;--we imagine\nhow some scene more familiar to us would appear, if it were adorned\nwith this tree, and how the scene before us would appear, if it were\nstripped of it;--we think of the number of years, which must have\npassed, since the _oak_ was an _acorn_;--and we moralize, perhaps, on\nthe changes, which have taken place, in the little history of ourselves\nand our friends, and, still more, on the revolutions of kingdoms,--and\nthe birth and decay of a whole generation of mankind,--while it has\nbeen silently and regularly advancing to maturity, through the sunshine\nand the storm. Of all the variety of states of the mind, which these\nprocesses of thought involve, the only one, which can be ascribed to\nan external object as its direct cause, is the primary perception of\nthe oak; the rest have been the result not immediately of any thing\nexternal, but of preceding states of the mind;--that particular mental\nstate, which constituted the perception of the oak, being followed\nimmediately by that different state, which constituted the remembrance\nof some tree observed before, and this by that different state which\nconstituted the comparison of the two; and so successively, through\nall the different processes of thought enumerated. The mind, indeed,\ncould not without the presence of the oak,--that is to say, without\nthe presence of the light which the oak reflects,--have existed in\nthe state which constituted the perception of the oak. But as little\ncould any external object, without this primary mental affection, have\nproduced immediately, any of those other states of the mind, which\nfollowed the perception. There is, thus, one obvious distinction of the\nmental phenomena; as in relation to their causes, external or internal;\nand, whatever other terms of subdivision it may be necessary to employ,\nwe have, at least, _one_ boundary, and know what it is we mean, when we\nspeak of the external and internal affections of the mind.\n\nThe first stage of our generalization, then, has been the reduction\nof all the mental phenomena to two definite classes, according as the\ncauses, or immediate antecedents, of our feelings are themselves mental\nor material. Our next stage must be the still further reduction of\nthese, by some new generalizations of the phenomena of each class.\n\nThe former of these classes,--that of our _external_ affections of\nthe mind,--is, indeed, so very simple, as to require but little\nsubdivision. The other class, however, that of the internal affections\nor states of the mind,--comprehends so large a proportion of the mental\nphenomena, and these so various, that, without many subdivisions, it\nwould be itself of little aid to us in our arrangement.\n\nThe first great subdivision, then, which I would form, of the internal\nclass, is into our _intellectual states of mind_, and our _emotions_.\nThe latter of these classes comprehends all, or nearly all the mental\nstates, which have been classed, by others, under the head of active\npowers. I prefer, however, the term _emotions_, partly, because I\nwish to avoid the phrase _active powers_,--which, I own, appears to\nme awkward and ambiguous, as opposed to other powers, which are not\nsaid to be passive; and partly, for reasons before mentioned, because\nour intellectual states or energies,--far from being opposed to our\nactive powers,--are, as we have seen, essential elements of their\nactivity,--so essential, that, without them, _these_ never could have\nhad the name of _active_; and because I wish to comprehend, under the\nterm, various states of the mind, which cannot, with propriety, in\nany case, be termed _active_,--such as grief, joy, astonishment,--and\nothers which have been commonly, though, I think, inaccurately,\nascribed to the intellectual faculties,--such as the feelings of\nbeauty and sublimity,--feelings, which are certainly much more\nanalogous to our other emotions,--to our feelings of love or awe,--for\nexample,--than to our mere remembrances or reasonings, or to any other\nstates of mind, which can strictly be called intellectual. I speak at\npresent, it must be remembered, of the mere feelings produced by the\ncontemplation of beautiful or sublime objects,--not of the judgment,\nwhich we form, of objects, as more or less fit to excite these\nfeelings; the judgment being truly _intellectual_, like all our other\njudgments; but being, at the same time, as distinct from the _feelings_\nwhich it measures, as any other judgment from the external or internal\nobjects which it compares.\n\nThe exact meaning of the term _emotion_, it is difficult to state in\nany form of words,--for the same reason which makes it difficult, or\nrather impossible, to explain, what we mean by the term thought, or\nthe terms sweetness or bitterness. What can be more opposite than\npleasure and pain! the real distinction of which is evidently familiar,\nnot to man only, but to every thing that lives; and yet if we were to\nattempt to show, in what their difference consists, or to give a verbal\ndefinition of either, we should find the task to be no easy one. Every\nperson understands, what is meant by an _emotion_, at least as well,\nas he understands what is meant by any intellectual power; or, if he\ndo not, it can be explained to him, only by stating the number of\nfeelings to which we give the name, or the circumstances which induce\nthem. All of them, indeed, agree in _this_ respect, that they imply\npeculiar vividness of feeling, with _this_ important circumstance, to\ndistinguish them from the vivid pleasures and pains of sense,--that\nthey do not arise immediately from the presence of external objects,\nbut subsequently to the primary feelings, which we term sensations\nor perceptions. Perhaps if any definition of them be possible, they\nmay be defined to be _vivid feelings_, arising immediately from the\nconsideration of objects, perceived, or remembered, or imagined, or\nfrom other prior emotions. In some cases,--as in that of the emotion\nwhich beauty excites,--they may succeed so rapidly to the primary\nperception, as almost to form a part of it. Yet we find no great\ndifficulty of analysis, in separating the _pleasing effect_ of beauty,\nfrom the perception of the mere form and colour, and can very readily\nimagine the same accurate perception of _these_, without the feeling of\nbeauty, as we can imagine the same feeling of beauty to accompany the\nperception of forms and colours very different.\n\n \u201cSure the rising sun,\n O'er the cerulean convex of the sea,\n With equal brightness, and with equal warmth,\n Might roll his fiery orb; nor yet the soul\n Thus feel her frame expanded, and her powers\n Exulting in the splendour she beholds,\n Like a young conqueror moving through the pomp\n Of some triumphal day. When join'd at eve,\n Soft murmuring streams, and gales of gentlest breath,\n Melodious Philomela's wakeful strain\n Attemper, could not man's discerning ear,\n Through all its tones, the sympathy pursue;\n Nor yet this breath divine of nameless joy\n Steal through his veins, and fan the awaken'd heart,\n Mild as the breeze, yet rapturous as the song.\u201d[59]\n\nOur emotions, then, even in the cases in which they seem most directly\nto _co-exist_ with perception, are still easily distinguishable from\nit; and, in like manner, when they arise from the _intellectual states_\nof memory, imagination, comparison, they are equally distinguishable\nfrom what we _remember_, or _imagine_, or _compare_. They form truly\na separate order of the internal affections of the mind,--as distinct\nfrom the intellectual phenomena, as the class, to which they both\nbelong, is distinguishable from the class of external affections, that\narise immediately from the presence of objects without.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[57] Instead of \u201cnot to dethrone,\u201d the original has \u201cand not to mar.\u201d\n\n[58] Night Thoughts, viii. 595-599.\n\n[59] Pleasures of Imagination, Book III. v. 464-478.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XVII.\n\nCLASSIFICATION OF THE PHENOMENA OF MIND.--CLASS I. EXTERNAL\nSTATES.--INTRODUCTORY.\n\n\nIn my last Lecture, Gentlemen, I endeavoured to prepare the way,\nfor arranging, in certain classes, that almost infinite variety of\nphenomena, which the mind exhibits,--pointing out to you the peculiar\ndifficulty of such a classification, in the case of phenomena so\nindefinite and fugitive, as those of the mind, and the nature of that\ngeneralizing principle of analogy or resemblance, on which every\nclassification, whether of the material or mental phenomena, must\nalike proceed. I then took a slight view of the primary, leading,\ndivisions of the phenomena of the mind, which have met with most\ngeneral adoption,--the very ancient division of them, as of two great\ndepartments, belonging to the _understanding_ and the _will_,--and\nthe similar division of them, as referable to two classes of powers,\ntermed the _intellectual_ and _active powers_ of the mind. I explained\nto you the reasons, which led me to reject both these divisions, as\nat once incomplete, from not comprehending all the phenomena, and\ninaccurate, from confounding even those phenomena, which they may truly\nbe considered as comprehending.\n\nAfter rejecting these, it became necessary to attempt some new\narrangement, especially as we found reason to believe that some\nadvantage could scarcely fail to arise from the attempt itself, even\nthough it should fail as to its great object; and we, therefore,\nproceeded to consider and arrange the phenomena, as nearly as possible,\nin the same manner as we should have done, if no arrangement of them\nhad ever been made before.\n\nIn thus considering them, the first important distinction which\noccurred to us, related to their _causes_, or immediate antecedents,\nas foreign to the mind, or as belonging to the mind itself; a\ndistinction too striking to be neglected as a ground of primary\ndivision. Whatever that may be, which feels and thinks, it has been\nformed to be susceptible of certain changes of state, in consequence of\nthe mere presence of external objects, or at least of changes produced\nin our mere bodily organs, which, themselves, may be considered as\nexternal to the mind; and it is susceptible of certain other changes of\nstate, without any cause external to itself, one state of mind being\nthe immediate result of a former state of mind, in consequence of those\nlaws of succession of thoughts and feelings, which He, who created the\nimmortal soul of man, as a faint shadow of His own eternal spirit, has\nestablished in the constitution of our mental frame. In conformity\nwith this distinction, we made our first division of the phenomena\nof the mind, into its _external_ and _internal_ affections; the word\n_affection_ being used, by me, as the simplest term for expressing a\nmere change of state induced, in relation to the affecting cause, or\nthe circumstances, whatever they may have been, by which the change was\nimmediately preceded.\n\nThe class of _internal affections_,--by far the more copious\nand various of the two,--we divided into two great orders, our\n_intellectual_ states of mind, and our _emotions_, words which are,\nperhaps, better understood, before any definition is attempted of\nthem, than after it, but which are sufficiently intelligible without\ndefinition, and appear to exhaust completely the whole internal\naffections of the mind. We have sensations or perceptions of the\nobjects that affect our bodily organs; these I term the sensitive or\nexternal affections of the mind; we remember objects--we imagine them\nin new situations--we compare their relations; these mere conceptions\nor notions of objects and their qualities, as elements of our general\nknowledge, are what I have termed the intellectual states of the mind;\nwe are moved with certain lively feelings, on the consideration of what\nwe thus perceive, or remember, or imagine, or compare, with feelings,\nfor example, of beauty, or sublimity, or astonishment, or love, or\nhate, or hope, or fear; these, and various other vivid feelings,\nanalogous to them, are our _emotions_.\n\nThere is no portion of our consciousness, which does not appear to me\nto be included in one or other of these three divisions. To know all\nour sensitive states or affections,--all our intellectual states,--and\nall our emotions, is to know all the states or phenomena of the mind;\n\n \u201cUnde animus scire incipiat, quibus inchoet orsa\n Principiis seriem rerum tenuemque catenam\n Mnemosyne; Ratio unde, rudi sub pectore tardum\n Augeat imperium, et primum mortalibus \u00e6gris\n _Ira, dolor, metus, et cur\u00e6_ nascantur inanes.\u201d[60]\n\nIt must not be conceived, however, that, in dividing the class of\ninternal affections of the mind, into the two distinct orders of\nintellectual states, and emotions; and, in speaking of our emotions as\nsubsequent in their origin, I wish to be understood, that these never\nare combined, at the same moment, in that sense of combination, as\napplied to the mind, which I have already explained too frequently,\nto need again to define and illustrate it. On the contrary, they\nvery frequently concur; but, in all cases in which they do concur,\nit is easy for us to distinguish them by reflective analysis. The\nemotion of _pity_, for example, may continue in the mind, while we\nare _intellectually_ planning means of relief, for the sufferers who\noccasioned it; but, though the pity and the reasoning _co-exist_, we\nhave little difficulty in separating them in our reflection. It is the\nsame with all our vivid desires, which not merely lead to action, but\naccompany it. The sage, who in the silence of midnight, continues still\nthose labours which the morning began, watching, with sleepless eye,\nthe fate of some experiment, that almost promises to place within his\nhand the invisible thread, which leads into the labyrinths of nature,\nor exploring those secrets of the mind itself, by the aid of which\nhe is afterwards to lay down rules of more accurate philosophizing,\nand to become the legislator of all who think, is not cheered, in his\ntoils, merely by occasional anticipations of the truths that await his\nsearch. The pleasure of future discovery is, as it were, a constant\nlight, that shines upon him and warms him; and, in the very moments\nin which he watches, and calculates, and arranges, there are other\nprinciples of his nature, in as lively exercise as his powers of\nobservation and reasoning. The warrior, at the head of an army, which\nhe has often led from victory to victory, and which he is leading\nagain to new fields of conflict, does not think of glory only in the\nintervals of meditation or action. The passion which he obeys, is\nnot a mere inspiring genius, that occasionally descends to rouse or\ninvigorate. It is the _soul_ of his continued existence,--it marches\nwith him, from station to station,--it deliberates with him in his\ntent,--it conquers with him in the field,--it thinks of new successes,\nin the very moment of vanquishing; and, even at night, when his body\nhas yielded at last to the influence of that fatigue, of which it was\nscarcely conscious, while there was room for any new exertion by which\nfatigue could be increased, and when all the anxieties of military\ncommand are slumbering with it, the passion that animates him, more\nactive still, does not quit him as he rests, but is wakeful in his very\nsleep, bringing before him dreams, that almost renew the tumults and\nthe toils of the day. Our emotions, then, may _co-exist_ with various\nsensations, remembrances, reasonings,--in the same manner as these\nfeelings, sensitive or intellectual, may variously co-exist with each\nother. But we do not think it less necessary to class our sensations of\nvision as different from our sensations of smell, and our comparison,\nas itself different from the separate sensations compared, because we\nmay, at the same moment, both see and smell a rose, and may endeavour\nto appreciate the relative amount of pleasure which that beautiful\nflower thus doubly affords. In like manner, our intellectual states of\nmind, and our emotions, are not the less to be considered as distinct\nclasses, because any vivid passion may continue to exist together with\nthose intellectual processes of thought, which it originally prompted,\nand which, after prompting, it prolongs.\n\nIn all these cases, however, in which an emotion _co-exists_ with the\nresults of other external or internal influences, it is still easy to\ndistinguish its subsequence to the feelings that preceded it. Pity, for\nexample, as in the case to which I have before alluded, may co-exist\nwith a long train of thoughts, that are busily occupied in endeavouring\nto relieve most effectually the misery which is pitied; but the misery\nmust have been itself an object of our thought, before the state of\nmind which constitutes pity, could have been induced. The emotion which\nwe feel, on the contemplation of beauty, may continue to co-exist with\nour mere perception of the forms and colours of bodies; but these forms\nand colours must have been perceived by us, before the delightful\nemotion could have been originally felt. In short, our emotions,\nthough like the warmth and radiance, which seem to accompany the very\npresence of the sun, rather than to flow from it--they may seem in many\ncases to be a part of the very feelings which excite them, are yet,\nin every instance, as truly secondary to these feelings, as the light\nwhich beams on us, on the surface of our earth, is subsequent to the\nrising of the great orb of day.\n\nAs yet, we have advanced but a short way, in our generalization of the\nmental phenomena: though, as far as we have advanced, our division\nseems sufficiently distinct and comprehensive. The mind is susceptible\nof certain existing affections, of certain intellectual modifications\nwhich arise from these, and of certain emotions which arise from both;\nthat is to say, it is capable of existing in certain states, the\nvarieties of which correspond with these particular designations. We\nsee, we remember, or compare, what we have seen, regard what we see, or\nremember, or compare, with desire or with aversion; and of these, or of\nstates analogous to these, the whole of life, sensitive, intellectual,\nor moral, is composed. Every minute, therefore, of every hour, in\nall its variety of occupation, is but a portion of this complicated\ntissue. Let us suppose ourselves, for example, looking down from an\neminence, on the prospect beneath.--On one side all is desolation,--and\nwe see perhaps, at a little distance, some half-roofless hovel, as\nmiserable, as the waste immediately around it, which has scarcely\nthe appearance of a dwelling for any living thing, but seems rather,\nas if Nature herself had originally placed it there, as a part of\nthe general sterility and ruggedness. On the other side, all is\nplenty and magnificence;--and we see, amid lawns and wooded banks, a\nmansion as different in aspect, as if the beings that inhabited it\nwere of a different race,--which, as a part of the scene, where it is\nplaced, accords so harmoniously with the whole, that, without it, the\nscene itself would appear incomplete, and almost incongruous, as if\nstripped of some essential charm. To view these separate dwellings,\nand all the objects around them--if no other feeling arose--would be\nto have a series of external or sensitive affections only. But it is\nscarcely possible for us to view them, without the instant rise of\nthose intellectual states of mind which constitute comparison, and of\nthose affections of another order, which constitute the emotions of\nadmiration and desire in the one case, and in the other the emotions\nthat are opposite to admiration and desire, together perhaps with some\nof those bitter emotions which the sight of misery makes in every\nbreast that is not unworthy of so sacred an influence.\n\nIn this example, our intellectual states of mind, and our emotions,\nhave for their objects things really existing without; but the external\naffections of our senses, though the most permanent, and usually the\nmost vivid, and therefore the best remembered, of all the sources of\nour internal feelings are far from being necessary, in every instance,\nto the production of these. There is a constant, or almost constant\nsuccession of internal affections of mind, of thoughts, and emotions,\nfollowing thoughts and emotions, which even though we were to be\nrendered incapable of a single new sensation,--if our animal life\ncould in these circumstances be long protracted,--would still preserve\nto us also that _intellectual_ and _moral_ existence, which is the\nonly life, that is worthy of the name. The knowledge which we acquire\nfrom _without_, lives in us _within_; and, in such a case as that\nwhich I have now imagined, our memory would be to us in some measure\nevery sense, which we had lost, creating to us again that very world\nwhich had vanished before us. If we could compare and love or hate\nonly things actually present, we should be far from the maturity and\nperfection of an infant's mind, and should scarcely be advanced to the\nrank of idiocy, which limited as it is in its range, still comprehends\nin its little sphere of foresight and memory, some few moments at\nleast of the past, and even a moment or two of the future. It is with\nthe future and with the past, that, intellectually and morally, we\nare chiefly conversant. To these high capacities of our being, the\nsubjects, which can exercise our powers and feelings, however distant\nin time or place, are as it were _everlastingly present_,--like that\nmysterious eternal _now_, of which theologians speak,--in which past,\npresent, and future are considered, as, in every moment of every age,\nalike visible to the omniscient glance of the Divinity. We love the\nvirtues, of which we read, with the same sort of emotion, with which\nwe love the virtues that are mingling with us in the present hour.\nThe patriot of the most remote age,--of whom we know nothing, but\nthe historical tale, of his voluntary perils or sufferings, in some\ngenerous cause,--is like the friend of our familiar intercourse; and\nthe sacrifices, that wrought the happiness of millions of beings, who\nare now not merely _unknown_ to us, but of whom not a single name is\nremembered on the earth, awake a sort of veneration, that is almost\ncombined with gratitude, as if we were in the presence of a personal\ndeliverer. It is the same with absolute _unreality_, nor merely with\nthat which no longer exists, but with that which never had existence.\nWe are struck with the beauty of what we only imagine, in the same\nmanner, though perhaps not with the same liveliness of feeling, as\nwe are struck with the beauty of external things. Our emotions then,\nhowever dependent they may have been originally, are _now_ no longer\ndependent, on these external things. They may arise, from memory or\nimagination, as readily as from perception; but when they arise from\nmemory or imagination, they are as truly distinguishable from what we\nremember and imagine, as they are distinguishable from our perceptions\nof mere forms and colours and other sensible qualities, when they arise\nfrom what we perceive.\n\nTo have arranged all the varieties of feelings of which the mind is\nsusceptible, in the three great divisions to which our arrangement\nas yet has extended,--though it is unquestionably to have made some\nadvance in our generalization,--is yet to have made only a small part\nof the necessary progress; since each of these three orders comprehends\nalmost innumerable phenomena, which require the aid of more minute\ndivision. In the class of our external affections, indeed, this\nsubdivision is very simple and easy; since our separate organs of sense\nfurnish, of themselves, a very evident ground of distinction. But the\ntwo orders of our internal affections have no such obvious and tangible\ndistinction, to serve as the basis of their subdivisions. They admit,\nhowever,--as I trust we shall find,--of distinctions, which, though\nnot equally _obvious_, are almost equally definite, and require only\na very little reflection, to be understood as clearly, as the organic\nrelations, according to which we distinguish our sensations of sound,\nor smell, or sight. It is not my intention, however, to proceed, at\npresent, to the consideration of these subdivisions; since the nature\nof the more minute arrangement will, I conceive, be better understood,\nwhen we come to treat of each separate order fully, than they could be\nnow, by the mere enumeration of a few names, of the propriety of which,\nas mere names, and, still more of the propriety of the arrangement\nwhich they involve, you could not be expected to form any accurate\njudgment, without a fuller elucidation.\n\nAll which I must request you, then, at present, to keep in remembrance,\nis the _primary_ division, which we have made, of the different states\nof the mind into two great classes, and the _secondary_ division which\nwe have made of _one_ of these classes, into its two very comprehensive\norders.--You will remember, then, that the various affections, of which\nthe mind is susceptible, are either _external_, as they arise from\ncauses without the mind, or _internal_, as they arise from previous\nstates, of the mind itself;--that of these internal affections, some\nare mere conceptions or notions of former feelings, or of objects and\nof the qualities or relations of objects, as remembered or variously\ncombined or compared,--results of different susceptibilities of\nour intellectual constitution, to which different names have been\ngiven, conception, memory, imagination, abstraction, reason, and\nother synonymous terms;--that these internal affections or states\nof the mind, which I have denominated its intellectual states, are\ndistinctly separable, in our reflective analysis, from certain vivid\nfeelings, that may arise instantly in the mind, on the consideration\nof these mere intellectual results, or on the perception of objects\nwithout,--feelings of admiration, love, desire, and various other\nanalogous, or opposite states of the mind;--but that there is such\nan order of vivid feelings, which arise, in many cases, on the mere\nconsideration of what we perceive or remember, or imagine, or compare,\nand that this order is what I wish to be distinguished by the name of\n_emotions_.\n\nAccording to this division, therefore, of the mental phenomena, into\nthose which are of external and those which are of internal origin,\nand the subdivision which we have made of this latter class, I shall\nproceed to consider, first, The external powers or susceptibilities\nof the mind; 2dly, The intellectual powers or susceptibilities of the\nmind; and, 3dly, Its susceptibilities of emotion,--beginning with that\nclass, which we have every reason to suppose to be first, in the actual\norder of developement,--the powers or susceptibilities of the mind, in\nits immediate relation to its own bodily organs.\n\nCertain states of our bodily organs are directly followed by certain\nstates or affections of our mind;--certain states or affections of\nour mind are directly followed by certain states of our bodily organs.\nThe nerve of sight, for example, is affected in a certain manner;\nvision, which is an affection or state of the mind, is its consequence.\nI will to move my hand; the hand obeys my will, so rapidly, that the\nmotion, though truly subsequent, seems almost to accompany my volition,\nrather than to follow it. In conformity with the definitions before\ngiven of power and susceptibility, the one as implying a reference to\nsomething consequent, the other a reference to something antecedent,\nI should be inclined to consider the sensation which follows the\npresence of an external object as indicating a mental susceptibility\nof being so affected;--the production of muscular motion by the will,\nas indicating a mental power. But the terms are of less consequence,\nif you understand fully the distinction that is implied in them; and\nyou may be allowed still, in compliance with the general language, to\nspeak of the power or faculty of sensation or perception, if you mean\nnothing more, as often as you use these terms, than that the mind is\naffected in a certain manner, and, therefore, must have had a previous\nsusceptibility of being thus affected whenever certain changes have\npreviously taken place, in that nervous system, with which it is\nconnected.\n\nIn considering the susceptibilities of the mind, I comprehend, under\nits _external_ affections, all those phenomena or states of the\nmind, which are commonly termed _sensations_; together with all our\ninternal organic feelings of pleasure or pain, that arise from states\nof the nervous system, as much as our other sensations. Many of these\nare commonly ranked under another head, that of _appetites_,--such\nas hunger, thirst, the desire of repose, or of change of muscular\nposition, which arises from long-continued exertion; the oppressive\nanxiety, which arises from impeded respiration, and various other\ndiseases, arising from bodily uneasiness. But these appetites evidently\nadmit of being analysed into two distinct elements,--a pain of a\npeculiar species, and a subsequent desire of that which is to relieve\nthe pain,--states of mind, of which one may immediately succeed the\nother; but which are, unquestionably, as different in themselves, as\nif no such succession took place,--as different as the pleasure of\nmusic is from the mere desire of enjoying it again, or as the pain of\nexcessive heat, in burning, from the subsequent desire of coolness.\nThe pain, which is _one_ element of the appetite, is an _external_\naffection of the mind, to be classed with our other sensations,--the\nsucceeding desire, which is another element of it, is an _internal_\naffection of the mind, to be classed with our other emotions of desire.\nWe might have felt the same pain of hunger, though we had not been\naware, that it arose from want of food, and consequently could not\nhave felt any desire of food, but merely the general desire of relief\nwhich attends every disagreeable sensation. We might have felt the\nsame uneasiness, which we term thirst, though we had not been aware,\nthat it would be relieved by a draught of any beverage,--and the same\npain of impeded respiration or fatigue, though nature had not led\nus instinctively, in the one case to perform the muscular actions\nnecessary for expiration and inspiration; in the other, to change\nour posture, and thus give repose to the wearied limbs. Whatever be\nthe organic states, which occasion these painful feelings, that are\nelementary in our appetites, there can be no doubt, that some organic\naffections precede them, as truly as some affection of an external\norgan precedes the pain of a burn, or the painful temporary blindness,\nwhen we are dazzled with excessive light. And though, in the case of\nthe appetite, we may give the same name to the pain, and to the desire\nof that which is to relieve the pain; or rather, may give one name\nto the combination of the two feelings,--which is not to be wondered\nat, where the two feelings are so universally and so immediately\nsuccessive,--this error, or rather this mere abbreviation of language,\nis no reason that we should consider the elementary pain itself, as\ndifferent, in kind, from our other pains, that have not merely half\na term to express them, but a whole undivided word of their own. The\npain, of which the appetite desires the relief, is a _sensation_, as\nmuch as any other internal bodily pain which we feel,--a state or\naffection of the mind, arising, immediately and solely, from a state or\naffection of the body,--which is the only definition that can be given\nof a _sensation_.\n\nThe pain of hunger and thirst, then, and, in general, every internal\npain arising from a state of the bodily organs,--and distinct from the\nsubsequent desires which they occasion,--are as truly _sensations_,\nas any other sensations; and the desires that follow these particular\nsensations, are as truly _desires_, as any other desires of which we\nhave the consciousness. We may, indeed, if we resolve to invent a\nnew name, for those particular desires, that terminate immediately\nin the relief of bodily pain, or the production of bodily pleasure,\ngive to such desires the name of _appetites_; but it is surely a very\nsimple analysis only, that is necessary to separate, from the desire of\nrelief, the feeling of the pain which we wish to be relieved; since it\nis very evident, that the pain _must_ have existed primarily _before_\nany such desire could be felt.\n\nThat the various species of _uneasiness_, which are elementary parts\nof our appetites, recur, at intervals, in which there is some degree\nof regularity, does not alter their nature, when they _do_ recur, so\nas to render a peculiar arrangement necessary for including them. The\nmental states, which constitute the uneasiness that is felt, recur\nthus at intervals, not from any thing peculiar in the mind itself,\nthe phenomena of which alone we are considering, but because the\nbody is only at intervals in the state, which precedes or induces\nthose peculiar mental affections. If, instead of the _two_ or _three_\nperiods, at which the appetite of hunger recurs, the nervous system\nwere, one hundred times in the day, at intervals the most irregular,\nin that state, which is immediately followed by the feeling of hunger,\nthe painful feeling,--and the consequent desire of food, which has\nbeen found to relieve it,--would of course, be felt one hundred times\nin the day. The regularity, therefore, of the recurrence of this state\nof the nerves, is a phenomenon, which belongs to the consideration of\nthe physiologist of the _body_, not of the physiologist of the _mind_,\nwhose immediate office is finished, when he can trace any particular\nfeeling of the mind to some affection of our organic frame, as its\ninvariable antecedent; and who knowing, therefore, that the feeling\nof pain in any of our appetites, is the effect or result of some\norganic affection, is not surprised that it should not recur, when that\norganic affection has not previously taken place,--any more than he\nis surprised that we do not enjoy the fragrance of roses or violets,\nwhen there are no particles of odour to be inhaled by us; or do not\nlisten to songs and choral harmonies, when there is no vibration to be\ntransmitted to the auditory nerve. It is at certain regular periods,\nthat the full light of day, and the twilight of morning and evening,\nare perceived by us. But we do not think it necessary, on this account,\nto give any peculiar name to these visual perceptions, to distinguish\nthem from others less regular, because we know, that the reason of the\n_periodic_ recurrence of these perceptions, is that the various degrees\nof sunshine, which produce them, exist only at such intervals. We are\n_hungry_, when the nerves of the stomach are in a certain state; we\nperceive the sun, when the organ of vision is in a certain state. It is\nas little wonderful, that we should _not_ have the feeling of hunger,\nexcept when the nerves of the stomach are in this state, as that we\nshould _not_ have the perception of the meridian sun, when the sun\nitself is beneath our horizon.\n\nSince the mere pains of appetite, however, most important as they truly\nare, for the ends which they immediately answer, are yet of little\nimportance in relation to our general knowledge, it is unnecessary\nto dwell on them at length. But I cannot quit the consideration of\nthem, without remarking that admirable provision which the gracious\nAuthor of Nature has made by them, for the preservation not of our\n_being_ merely, but of our _well-being_--of that health and vigour,\nwithout which, a frail and feverish existence, at least in its\nrelation to this earthly scene, would be of little value. The daily\nwaste of the body requires daily supply to compensate it; and if this\nsupply be neglected, or be inadequate--or, on the other hand, if it\nbe inordinately great, _disease_ is the necessary consequence. To\npreserve the _medium_, therefore, or at least to prevent any very great\ndeviation from it, _He_, who planned our feelings and faculties as well\nas our bodily frame, has made it painful for us to omit what is so\nimportant to life; and painful also to prolong the supply in any great\nproportion, after the demands of nature have been adequately satisfied.\nIf food had afforded gratification only as relieving the pain of\nhunger, these natural boundaries of appetite would have required no aid\nfrom _moral_ or _physical_ lessons of temperance. But the indulgence\nof nature, in conferring on us the sense of taste, and making food a\nluxury as well as a relief, we abuse, as we abuse her other kindnesses.\nThe pleasures of this most intemperate of senses, may lead, in\nsome degree, beyond the due point of supply, the greater number of\nmankind; and may drive, to excesses more injurious, all those herds of\nunthinking sensualists who prefer the sickly enjoyment of an hour, to\nthe health and virtue, and intellectual as well as physical comfort, of\nmore frugal repasts. Yet even to them, nature points out in the feeling\nof satiety, where intemperance begins, or where it has already begun;\nand if they persist, notwithstanding this feeling, how much more would\nthey be in danger of over-loading the powers of life, if there had\nbeen no such feeling of growing uneasiness, to suppress the avidity of\ninsatiable indulgence.\n\n\u201cThough a man knew,\u201d says Dr Reid, \u201cthat his life must be supported\nby _eating_, reason could not direct him when to eat, or what; how\nmuch, or how often. In all these things, appetite is a much better\nguide than reason. Were reason only to direct us in this matter, its\ncalm voice would often be drowned in the hurry of business, or the\ncharms of amusement. But the voice of appetite rises gradually, and,\nat last, becomes loud enough to call off our attention from any other\nemployment.\u201d[61]\n\nIf indeed, the necessary supply were long neglected, the morbid state\nof the body which would ensue, though no pain of actual hunger were to\nbe felt, would convince, at last, the sufferer of his folly. But the\nprovidence of our gracious Creator, has not trusted the existence of\nman to the dangerous admonition of so rough a monitor, which might,\nperhaps, bring his folly before him only when it was too late to be\nwise. The pain of hunger--that short disease, if it may be so termed,\nwhich it is in our power so speedily to cure, prevents diseases that\nmore truly deserve the name. Between _satiety_ on one side, and _want_\non the other, the stream of health flows tranquilly along, which, but\nfor these boundaries, would speedily waste itself and disappear; as the\nmost magnificent river, which, if dispersed over a boundless plain,\nwould flow almost into nothing, owes its abundance and majestic beauty\nto the very _banks_ that seem to confine its waters within too narrow a\nchannel.\n\nBesides those particular feelings of bodily uneasiness, which, as\nattended with desire, constitute our appetites, there are other\naffections of the same class, which, though not usually ranked\nwith our external sensations or perceptions, because we find it\ndifficult to ascribe them to any local organ, are unquestionably to\nbe arranged under the same head; since they are feelings which arise,\nas immediately and directly from a certain state of a part of the\nnervous system, as any of the feelings which we more commonly ascribe\nto external sense. Of this kind is that muscular pleasure of _alacrity_\nand action, which forms so great a part of the delight of the _young_\nof every species of living beings, and which is felt, though in a less\ndegree, at every period of life, even the most advanced; or which,\nwhen it ceases in age, only gives place to another species of muscular\npleasure--that which constitutes the pleasure of ease--the same species\nof feeling, which doubles, to ever one, the delight of exercise, by\nsweetening the repose to which it leads, and thus making it indirectly,\nas well as directly, a source of enjoyment.\n\nIn treating of what have been termed the _acquired perceptions of\nvision_, which are truly what give to vision its range of power, and\nwithout which the mere perception of colour would be of little more\nvalue than any other of the simplest of our sensations, I shall have\nan opportunity of pointing out to you some most important purposes, to\nwhich our muscular feelings are instrumental; and in the nicer analysis\nwhich I am inclined to make of the perceptions commonly ascribed to\ntouch,--if my analysis be accurate--we shall find them operating at\nleast as powerfully. At present, however, I speak of them merely\nas sources of animal pleasure or pain, of pleasure during moderate\nexercise and repose, and of pain during morbid lassitude, or the\nfatigue of oppression and unremitted labour.\n\nThe pleasure which attends good health, and which is certainly more\nthan mere freedom from pain, is a pleasure of the same kind. It is\na pleasure, however, which, like every other long continued bodily\npleasure, we may suppose, to be diminished by habitual enjoyment; and\nit is therefore, chiefly, on recovery from sickness, when the habit has\nbeen long broken by feelings of an opposite kind, that we recognize\nwhat it must originally have been; if, indeed it be in our power to\nseparate, completely, the mere animal pleasure from those mingling\nreflecting pleasures which arise from the consideration of past pain,\nand the expectation of future delight. To those among you, who know\nwhat it is to have risen from the long captivity of a bed of sickness,\nI need not say, that every function is, in this case, more than mere\nvigour; it is a happiness, but to breathe and to move; and not every\nlimb merely, but almost every fibre of every limb, has its separate\nsense of enjoyment. \u201cWhat a blessed thing it is to breathe the fresh\nair!\u201d said Count Struensee, on quitting his dungeon, though he was\nquitting it only to be led to the place of execution, and cannot,\ntherefore, be supposed to have felt much more than the mere animal\ndelight.\n\n \u201cHe does not scorn it, who, imprisoned long\n In some unwholesome dungeon, and a prey\n To sallow sickness, which the vapours, dank\n And clammy of his dark abode have bred,\n Escapes at last to liberty and light;\n His cheek recovers soon its healthful hue;\n His eye relumines its extinguish'd fires;\n He walks, he leaps, he runs--is wing'd with joy,\n And riots in the sweets of every breeze.\u201d[62]\n\nOn these mere animal gratifications, however, I need not dwell any\nlonger. There is much more to interest our curiosity, in the sensations\nand perceptions which more frequently go under those names; to the\nconsideration of which I shall proceed in my next Lecture.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[60] Gray de Principiis Cogitandi, Lib. I. v. 1-5.\n\n[61] On the Active Powers, Essay III. c. 1.\n\n[62] Cowper's Task, book i.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XVIII.\n\nON THE MORE DEFINITE EXTERNAL AFFECTIONS OF MIND IN GENERAL.\n\n\nIn my Lecture yesterday, after some further elucidation of the _triple\ndivision_ which we formed of the mental phenomena, as external\nor sensitive affections of the mind, intellectual states of the\nmind,--emotions,--I proceeded to consider the first of these divisions,\nof which the characteristic distinction is, that the phenomena included\nin it have their causes or immediate antecedents _external_ to the\nmind itself. In this division, I comprehended, together with the\nfeelings which are universally ascribed to certain organs of sense,\nmany feelings, which, though unquestionably originating in states of\nour bodily organs, as much as our other sensations, are yet commonly\nranked as a different order--such as our various appetites, or\nrather that elementary uneasiness which is only a part, but still an\nessential part of our appetites, and which is easily distinguishable\nfrom the mere desire, which is the other element; since, however\nrapid the succession of them may be, we are yet conscious of them as\nsuccessive. The particular uneasiness, it is evident, must have been\nfelt as a sensation before the desire of that which is to relieve the\nuneasiness could have arisen. To the same class, too, I referred the\nvarious organic feelings, which constitute the animal pleasure of good\nhealth, when every corporeal function is exercised in just degree;\nand in a particular manner, our _muscular_ feelings, whether of mere\ngeneral lassitude or alacrity; or those fainter differences of feelings\nwhich arise in our various motions and attitudes, from the different\nmuscles that are exercised, or from the greater or less contraction\nof the same muscles. These muscular feelings, though they may be\nalmost unnoticed by us, during the influence of stronger sensations,\nare yet sufficiently powerful, when we attend to them, to render us,\nindependently of sight and touch, in a great measure sensible of\nthe position of our body in general, and of its various parts; and\ncomparatively indistinct as they are, they become,--in many cases, as\nin the acquired perceptions of vision, for example, and equally too, as\nI conceive, in various other instances, in which little attention has\nbeen paid to them by philosophers,--_elements_ of some of the nicest\nand most accurate judgments which we form.\n\nIt is, however, to that widest and most important order of our external\naffections, which comprehends the feelings more commonly termed\n_sensations_, and universally ascribed to particular organs of sense,\nthat we have now to proceed. In these, we find the rude elements of\nall our knowledge, the materials on which the mind is ever operating,\nand without which, it seems to us almost impossible to conceive that\nit could ever have operated at all, or could, even in its absolute\ninactivity, have been conscious of its own inert existence.\n\nThis order of our external feelings comprehends all those _states_\nof mind, however various they may be, which immediately succeed\nthe changes of state, produced, in any of our organs of sense, by\nthe presence of certain external bodies. The mental affections are\nthemselves,--as I have said,--commonly termed _sensations_; but we\nhave no verb, in our language, which exactly denotes what is expressed\nin the substantive noun. To _feel_ is, in its two senses, either much\nmore limited or much more general, being confined, in its restricted\nmeaning, to the sensations of one organ, that of touch,--and as a\nmore general word, being applicable to all the varieties of our\nconsciousness, as much as to those particular varieties, which are\nimmediately successive to the affections of our organs of sense. We\nare said, in this wider use of the term, to feel indignation, love,\nsurprise, as readily as we are said to feel the warmth of a fire, or\nthe coldness of snow.\n\nIn defining our sensations, to be those mental affections, which are\nimmediately successive to certain organic affections, produced by\nthe action of external things, it is very evident, that I have made\ntwo assumptions,--first of the existence of external things, that\naffect our organs of sense; and, secondly of organs of sense, that\nare affected by external things;--unless, indeed, the assumption of\nthe existence of organs of sense be considered,--as in philosophic\ntruth it unquestionably is--only another form of the assumption of the\nexistence of external things, since, in relation to the sentient mind,\nthe organs thus supposed to exist, are, in strictness of language,\n_external_, as much as the objects supposed to act upon them. All of\nwhich we are truly conscious, in sensation, is the mental affection,\nthe last link of the series, in the supposed process; what we term our\nperceptions of organs of sense, or of other external things that act\nupon these--our ideas, for example, of a brain or an eye, a house or a\nmountain, being as truly states of our own percipient mind, and nothing\nbut states of our own mind, as our feeling of joy or sorrow, hope or\nfear, love or hate,--to which we never think of giving an _existence_,\nnor a direct and immediate _cause_ of existence, _out_ of ourselves.\nBy the very constitution of our nature, however, or by the influence\nof associations as irresistible as intuition itself,--it is impossible\nfor us not to feel this essential reality in the causes of one set of\nour mental affections, in the same manner as it is impossible for us to\nascribe it to another set. The brain, the eye, the house, the mountain,\nwe believe, and cannot but believe, to have external existence,\nindependent of our own; the joy and sorrow, hope and fear, love and\nhate, we believe, and cannot but believe, to be merely states of our\nown mind, occasioned by other former states of mind, and dependent,\ntherefore, for their continuance, on our own continued existence only.\nEven in our wildest dreams,--in which we imagine all things that are\npossible, and almost all things which are impossible; we never consider\nour joy or sorrow, as directly indicative of any thing separate from\nourselves, and independent of us,\n\n \u201cWhile o'er our limbs sleep's soft dominion spread,\n What tho' our soul fantastic measures trod,\n O'er fairy fields; or mourn'd along the gloom\n Of pathless woods; or down the craggy steep\n Hurl'd headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool;\n Or scaled the cliff,--or danced on hollow winds,\n With antic shapes, wild natives of the brain;\u201d\n\nit was still only the cliff, the wood, the pool, which we considered\nas _external_: the _sorrow_ with which we mourned along our gloomy\ntrack, the _pain_ with which we swam the turbid water, the _horror_\nwhich we felt at the antic shapes, with which we mingled in the\nghostly dance, were felt to be wholly _in ourselves_, and constituted,\nwhile they lasted, the very feeling of our own existence.--The belief\nof an external world is, however, to come afterwards under our full\nexamination:--It is sufficient, for the present, to know, that in\nthe period after infancy, to which alone our memory extends, we are\nled, irresistibly, to believe in it; and that the belief of it,\ntherefore, in whatever manner it may have originated in the imperfect\nperceptions of our infancy, is now, when those perceptions are mature,\nso completely beyond the power of argument to overcome, that it exists,\nas strongly, in those who reason against it, as in those who reason\nfor it;--that the reference to a direct external cause, however,\ndoes not accompany _every_ feeling of our mind, but is confined to a\ncertain number of that long succession of feelings, which forms the\nvaried consciousness of our life,--and that the feelings, with respect\nto which this reference is made, are the class of sensations, which,\nwhen combined with this reference, have commonly been distinguished\nby the name of perceptions. That we have no perfect evidence of the\nexternal existence thus ascribed by us,--independently of our own\nirresistible belief of it, may be allowed to the sceptic; and the\nreasoning of Doctor Reid on the subject, as far as he proceeds beyond\nthe assertion of this irresistible belief, and attempts, what has been\ncommonly regarded as a confutation of the scepticism on this point,--by\nrepresenting it as proceeding on a mistake, with respect to the nature\nof our ideas,--is _itself_, as we shall afterwards find, nugatory and\nfallacious. But still, notwithstanding the errors of philosophers with\nrespect to it, the belief itself is, in the circumstances in which we\nnow exist, so truly a part of our constitution, that to contend against\nit in argument would be to admit its validity, since it would be to\nsuppose the existence of some one whom we are fairly undertaking to\ninstruct or to confute.\n\nIn what circumstance the intuitive belief,--if, as I have said, the\nbelief be in any case intuitive,--arises; or rather, in how large\na proportion of cases, in which the reference seems primary and\nimmediate, it is, more probably, the effect of secondary associations\ntransferred from sense to sense, will appear better after the minute\nanalysis on which we are to enter, of the different tribes of our\nsensations.\n\nIn referring to the particular class of sensations, and consequently\nto an _external cause_, a certain number only of the affections of our\nmind, there can be no doubt, that we proceed _now_, in the mature state\nof our knowledge, with more accuracy, than we could have attained, in\nthat early period of life, when our original feelings were more recent.\nWe have now a clearer and more definite belief of an external world,\nand of objects of sensations separate from our sensations themselves;\nwithout which general belief, previously obtained, we should as little\nhave ascribed to an external organic cause many of our feelings,\nwhich we now ascribe to one--our sensations of sound and fragrance,\nfor example,--as we now ascribe to such an immediate external cause,\nour emotions of joy or sorrow. A still more important acquisition, is\nour knowledge of our own organic frame, by which we are enabled, in a\ngreat measure, to verify our sensations,--to produce them, as it were\nat pleasure, when their external objects are before us, and in this\nway to correct the feelings, which have risen spontaneously, by those,\nwhich we ourselves produce. Thus, when, _in reverie_, our conceptions\nbecome peculiarly vivid, and the objects of our thought seem almost to\nexist in our presence; if only we stretch out our hand, or fix our eyes\non the forms that are permanently before us, the illusion vanishes.\nOur organ of touch or of sight, is not affected in the same manner,\nas if the object that charms us in our musing dream, were really\npresent; and we class the feeling, therefore, as a conception,--not as\na sensation,--which, but for the opportunity of this correction, we\nshould unquestionably, in many instances, have done.\n\nBut though, in forming the class of our sensations, we derive many\nadvantages from that full knowledge which the experience of many years\nhas given, we purchase these by disadvantages which are perhaps as\ngreat, and which are greater, from the very circumstance, that it is\nabsolutely out of our power to estimate their amount. What we consider\nas the _immediate_ sensation, is not the simple mental state, as it\noriginally followed that corporeal change, which now precedes it; but,\nat least in the most striking of all the tribes of our sensations, is\na very different one. We have the authority of reason, _a priori_, as\nshewing no peculiar connexion of the points of the retina with one\nplace of bodies more than with another; and we have the authority\nalso of observation, in the celebrated case of the young man who was\ncouched by Cheselden, and in other cases of the same peculiar species\nof blindness, in which the eyes, by a surgical operation, have been\nrendered for the first time capable of distinct vision, that if we had\nhad no organ of sense but that of sight, and no instinctive judgment\nhad been superadded to mere vision, we should not have had the power\nof distinguishing the magnitude and distant place of objects;--a mere\nexpanse of colour being all which we should have perceived, if even\ncolour itself could in these circumstances, have been perceived by us\nas expanded. Yet it is sufficient now, that rays of light, precisely\nthe same in number, and in precisely the same direction, as those\nwhich at one period of our life, exhibited to us colour, and colour\nalone, should fall once more on the same small expanse of nerve, to\ngive us instantly that boundlessness of vision, which, almost as if the\nfetters of our mortal frame were shaken off, lifts us from our dungeon,\nand makes us truly citizens, not of the _earth_ only, but of the\n_universe_. Simple as the principle may now seem, which distinguishes\nour secondary or acquired perceptions of vision from those which were\nprimary and immediate, it was long before the distinction was made; and\ntill a period which--if we consider it in relation to those long ages\nof philosophic inquiry, or, rather, most unphilosophic argumentation,\nwhich had gone before--may be considered almost as in our own time,\nlongitudinal distance was conceived to be as completely an original\nobject of sight as the varieties of mere colour and brilliancy. There\nmay, therefore--though we have not yet been able, and may never be\nable, to discover it,--be a corresponding difference in our other\nsensations, which now seem to us simple and immediate. In the case of\nsound, indeed, there is a very evident analogy to these visual acquired\nperceptions; since a constant reference to _place_ mingles with our\nsensations of this class, in the same manner, though not so distinctly,\nas in our perceptions of sight. We perceive the sound, as it were near\nor at a distance, in one direction rather than in another; as, in\nthe case of longitudinal distance in vision, we perceive _colour_ at\none distance rather than at another. Yet there is as little reason,\nfrom the nature of the organic changes themselves, to suppose, that\ndifferent affections of our auditory nerves should _originally_ give us\ndifferent notions of distance, as that such notions should originally\nbe produced by different affections of the retina: and, as in sight\nand hearing, so it is far from improbable, that, in all our senses,\nthere may, by the reciprocal influence of these upon each other, or by\nthe repeated lessons of individual experience in each, be a similar\nmodification of the original simple feelings, which, in that first\nstage of existence that opened to us the world and its phenomena,\neach individual organ separately afforded. Our reasoning with respect\nto them, therefore, as original organs of sense, may, perhaps, be as\nfalse, as our chemical reasoning would be, were we to attempt to infer\nthe properties of an uncombined acid, or alkali, from our observation\nof the very different properties of a neutral salt, into the\ncomposition of which we know that the acid or the alkali has entered.\n\nIf, indeed, it were in our power to be introduced to a society, like\nthat of which Diderot speaks, in his Letter on the Deaf and Dumb, and\nto hold communication with them, all our doubts on this subject would\nbe removed. \u201cWhat a strange society,\u201d says he, \u201cwould five persons\nmake, each of them endowed with one only of our five different senses;\nand no two of the party with the same sense! There can be no doubt,\nthat, differing, as they must differ, in all their views of nature,\nthey would treat each other as madmen, and that each would look upon\nthe others with all due contempt. It is, indeed, only an image of what\nis happening every moment in the world; we have but one sense, and we\njudge of every thing.\u201d[63]--\u201cThere is, however,\u201d he justly remarks,\n\u201c_one_ science, though but one science, in which the whole society of\nthe different senses might agree,--the science which has relation to\nthe _properties of number_. They might each arrive, by their separate\nabstractions, at the sublimest speculations of arithmetic and algebra;\nthey might fathom the depths of analysis, and propose and resolve\nproblems of the most complicated equations, as if they were all so many\nDiophantuses. It is perhaps,\u201d he adds, \u201cwhat the oyster is doing in its\nshell.\u201d[64]\n\nFrom such a society,--if, indeed, we could hold any communication\nwith these profound algebraists, except in their common science of\nnumbers,--we might undoubtedly learn, what are the direct immediate\naffections of mind, to which our senses individually give rise, and\nconsequently, how much, while feeling has blended with feeling,\nthey have reciprocally operated on each other. But, in our present\ncircumstances, unaided by intercourse with such living abstractions,\nit is impossible for us to remove wholly this uncertainty, as to\nthe kind and degree of influence, which experience may have had, in\nmodifying our primary sensations. We may wish, indeed, to be able\nto distinguish our _present_ feelings, from those which the same\nobjects _originally_ excited; but, since no memory can go back to\nthe period, at which we did not perceive longitudinal distance, as\nit were, immediately by the eye, as little, we may suppose, can any\nmemory go back to the period, when other sensations, less interesting\nthan those of vision, were first excited. Could we trace the series of\nfeelings, in a single mind,--as variously modified, in the progress\nfrom infancy to maturity,--we should know more of the intellectual\nand moral nature of man, than is probably ever to be revealed to his\ninquiry,--when in ages, as remote from that in which we live, and\nperhaps as much more enlightened, as our own age may be said to be\nin relation to the period of original darkness and barbarism, he is\nstill to be searching into his own nature, with the same avidity as\nnow, He must, indeed be a very dull observer, who has not felt, on\nlooking at an infant, some desire to know the little processes of\nthought, that are going on in his curious and active mind; and who, on\nreflecting on the value, as an attainment in science, which the sagest\nphilosopher would set on the consciousness of those acquisitions which\ninfancy has already made, is not struck with that nearness, in which,\nin some points, extreme knowledge and extreme ignorance may almost\nbe said to meet. What metaphysician is there, however subtile and\nprofound in his analytical inquiries, and however successful in the\nanalyses which he has made, who would not give all his past discovery,\nand all his hopes of future discovery, for the certainty of knowing\nwith exactness what every infant feels? The full instruction, which\nsuch a view of our progressive feelings, from their very origin, in\nthe first sensations of life, would afford, Nature, in her wisdom,\nhowever, has not communicated to us,--more than she has communicated\nto us the nature of that state of being, which awaits the soul after\nit has finished its career of mortality. Our existence seems, in our\nconception of it, never to have had a beginning. As far back as we can\nremember any event, there is always a period, that appears to us still\nfarther back, the events of which we cannot distinguish; as, when we\nlook toward the distant horizon, we see, less and less distinctly, in\nthe long line which the sunshine of evening still illuminates, plains,\nand woods, and streams, and hills, more distant, half melting into air,\nbeyond which our eye can find nothing,--though we are still certain,\nthat other woods, and streams, and plains are there, and that it is\nonly the imperfection of our sight, which seems to bound them as in\nanother world. It is to man, when he thinks upon his own beginning,\nas if he felt himself in a world of enchantment, amid the shades and\nflowers of which he had been wandering, unconscious of the time at\nwhich he entered it, or of the objects that are awaiting him, when he\nshall have arrived at the close of that path, whose windings still lead\nhim forward,--and knowing little more, than that he is himself happy,\nand that the unknown Being, who has raised this magnificent scene\naround him, must be the Friend of the mortal, whom he has deigned to\nadmit into it.\n\n \u201cWell pleased he scans\n The goodly prospect,--and, with inward smiles,\n Treads the gay verdure of the painted plain,--\n Beholds the azure canopy of heaven,\n And living lamps, that over-arch his head,\n With more than regal splendour,--bends his ear\n To the full choir of water, air, and earth;\n Nor heeds the pleasing error of his thought,\n Nor doubts the painted green or azure arch,\n Nor questions more the music's mingling sounds,\n Than space, or motion, or eternal time;\n So sweet he feels their influence to attract\n His fixed soul, to brighten the dull glooms\n Of care, and make the destined road of life\n Delightful to his feet. So, fables tell,\n The adventurous hero, bound on hard exploit,\n Beholds with glad surprise, by secret spell\n Of some kind sage, the patron of his toils,\n A visionary paradise disclosed,\n Amid the dubious wild;--With streams, and shades,\n And airy songs, the enchanted landscape smiles,\n Cheers his long labours, and renews his frame.\u201d[65]\n\n\nThe philosophic use of the term _sensation_ does not necessarily\nimply, what, in its popular use, is considered almost as involved\nin it; and perhaps, therefore, it may not be superfluous to warn\nyou, that it is not confined to feelings, which are pleasurable or\npainful, but extends to every mental affection, that is the immediate\nconsequence of impression on our organs of sense,--of which mental\nstates or affections, many, and, as I am inclined to think, by far the\ngreater number, are of a kind, that cannot be termed either agreeable\nor disagreeable. Of the objects of sight, for example, which are\nof such very frequent occurrence, how _few_ are there, at which we\nlook, either with pleasure or with pain,--if we except that indirect\npleasure, which, in particular cases, they may afford, as communicating\nto us information, that is valuable in itself, or as gratifying even\nour idlest curiosity. To take one of the most striking cases of this\nsort,--though we may derive, from the perusal of a work that interests\nus, the purest delight, it is a delight, resulting only from the\nconceptions, which the author, in consequence of the happy contrivance\nof symbolic characters, has been able to transfuse, as it were, from\nhis own mind into ours; but, during all the time of the perusal,\nsensations, almost innumerable, have been excited in us, by the\nseparate characters, with which the pages are covered, that have never\nmingled even the faintest direct pleasure, with the general emotion,\nwhich they, and they alone, have indirectly produced.\n\n\u201cI apprehend,\u201d says Dr Reid, \u201cthat, besides the sensations, that are\neither agreeable or disagreeable, there is still a greater number that\nare indifferent. To these we give so little attention, that they have\nno name, and are immediately forgot, as if they had never been; and it\nrequires attention to the operations of our minds, to be convinced of\ntheir existence. For this end, we may observe, that, to a good ear,\nevery human voice is distinguishable from all others. Some voices are\npleasant, some disagreeable; but the far greater part can neither\nbe said to be one or the other. The same thing may be said of other\nsounds, and no less of tastes, smells, and colours; and if we consider,\nthat our senses are in continual exercise while we are awake, that some\nsensation attends every object they present to us, and that familiar\nobjects seldom raise any emotion, pleasant or painful,--we shall see\nreason, besides the agreeable and disagreeable, to admit a third class\nof sensations, that may be called indifferent. The sensations that\nare indifferent, are far from being useless. They serve as signs, to\ndistinguish things that differ; and the information we have concerning\nthings external, comes by their means. Thus, if a man had no ear to\nreceive pleasure from the harmony or melody of sounds, he would still\nfind the sense of hearing of great utility; though sounds gave him\nneither pleasure nor pain, of themselves, they would give him much\nuseful information; and the like may be said of the sensations we have\nby all the other senses.\u201d[66]\n\nIt is as _signs_, indeed, far more than as mere pleasures in\nthemselves, that our sensations are to us of such inestimable value.\nEven in the case to which I before alluded, of the symbolic or\narbitrary characters of a language, when we consider all the important\npurposes to which these are subservient, as raising us originally from\nabsolute barbarism, and saving us from relapsing into it, there might\nbe an appearance of paradox, indeed, but there would be perfect truth\nin asserting, that the sensations which are themselves indifferent,\nare more precious, even in relation to happiness itself, than the\nsensations which are themselves accompanied with lively delight, or\nrather, of which it is the very essence to be delightful. Happiness,\nthough necessarily involving present pleasure, is the direct or\nindirect, and often the very distant result of feelings of every\nkind, pleasurable, painful, and indifferent. It is like the beautiful\nprofusion of flowers, which adorn our summer fields. In our admiration\nof the foliage, and the blossoms, and the pure airs and sunshine, in\nwhich they seem to live, we almost forget the darkness of the soil in\nwhich their roots are spread. Yet how much should we err, if we were\nto consider them as deriving their chief nutriment from the beams that\nshine around them, in the warmth and light of which we have wandered\nwith joy. That delightful radiance alone would have been of little\nefficacy, without the showers, from which, in those very wanderings, we\nhave often sought shelter at noon; or at least without the dews, which\nwere unheeded by us, as they fell silently and almost insensibly on our\nevening walk.\n\nWith the common division of our sensations into five classes,--those\nof smell, taste, hearing, sight, touch, we have been familiar, almost\nfrom our childhood; and though the classification may be far from\nperfect, in reference to our sensations themselves, considered simply\nas affections of the mind, it is sufficiently accurate, in reference\nto the mere organs of sense; for, though our sensations of _heat_\nand _cold_, in one very important respect, which is afterwards to be\nconsidered by us, have much less resemblance to the other sensations\nwhich we acquire by our organs of touch, or at least to sensations,\nwhich we are generally supposed to derive from that organ, than to\nsensations, which we receive by the medium of other organs, our\nsensations of smell and sound for example--still, as they arise from an\naffection of the same organ, they may be more conveniently referred to\nthe same, than to any other class; since, if we quit that obvious line\nof distinction, which the difference of organs affords, we shall not\nfind it easy to define them by other lines as precise.\n\nBut whatever may be the arbitrary division or arrangement which we\nmay form either of our sensations themselves, or of the organs that\nare previously affected, the susceptibility of the mind, by which\nit is capable of being affected by the changes of state in our mere\nbodily organs, must be regarded as, in every sense of the word, of\nprimary value in our mental constitution. To the individual, indeed,\nit may be said to be in itself all the things which are around him,\nhowever near or afar; because it is truly that, by which alone all\nthings near or afar become known to him. It constitutes by this mutual\nrelation, which it establishes, a power of more than magic agency,\nbefore which the great gulf, that appeared to separate forever the\nworlds of matter and of spirit, disappears,--which thus links together\nsubstances, that seemed, in their nature, incapable of any common bond\nof union,--and which, bringing the whole infinity of things, within the\nsphere of our own mind, communicates to it some faint semblance of the\nomnipresence of its Author. \u201cWhat is that organ,\u201d--says an eloquent\nFrench writer, speaking of the eye,--\u201cwhat is that astonishing organ,\nin which all objects acquire, by turns, a successive existence,--where\nthe spaces, the figures, and the motions, that surround me, are as\nit were _created_,--where the stars, that exist at the distance of a\nhundred millions of leagues, become a part of myself,--and where in a\nsingle half inch of diameter, is contained the universe?\u201d This power\nof external sense, which first awakes us into life, continues, ever\nafter, to watch, as it were, round the life which it awoke, lavishing\non us perpetual varieties of instruction and delight; and if, from the\nsimple pleasures, and simple elementary knowledge which it immediately\naffords, we trace its influence, through all the successive feelings\nto which it indirectly gives rise, it may be said to exist, by a sort\nof intellectual and moral transmutation, in the most refined and\netherial of all our thoughts and emotions. What Grey says of it,--in\nthe commencement of his beautiful fragment De Principiis Cogitandi,\naddressed to his friend West, is not too high a panegyric,--that every\nthing delightful and amiable, friendship and fancy, and wisdom itself,\nhave their primary source in it.\n\n \u201cNon illa leves primordia motus\n Quanquam parva, dabunt. L\u00e6tum vel amabile quicquid\n Usquam oritur, trahit hinc ortum; nec surgit ad auras,\n Quin ea conspirent simul, eventusque secundent.\n Hinc vari\u00e6 vitai artes, ac mollior usus,\n Dulce et amiciti\u00e6 vinclum: Sapientia dia\n Hinc roseum accendit lumen, vultuque sereno,\n Humanas aperit mentes, nova gaudia monstrans.\n Illa etiam, qu\u00e6 te (mirum) noctesque diesque\n Assidue fovit inspirans, linguamque sequentem\n Temperat in numeros, atque horas mulcet inertes,\n Aurea non alia si jactat origine Musa.\u201d[67]\n\nSo much, indeed, of human knowledge, and of all that is valuable and\ndelightful in human feeling, involves these elementary sensations, as\nit were in the very essence of the thoughts and feelings themselves,\nthat one of the most acute of modern French metaphysicians, and, with\nscarcely an exception, all the philosophers of the French metaphysical\nschool, who are his followers, have considered the whole variety of\nhuman consciousness, as mere sensation variously transformed; though,\nin stating the nature of this transformation, and the difference of\nthe sensations as transformed from the primary forms of mere external\nfeeling, they have not been so explicit, as the assertors of a system\nso paradoxical ought assuredly to have been. On the fallacies of this\nvery prevalent theory of mind, however, which is afterwards to be\nexamined by us fully, I need not at present make any remarks.\n\nThough this excessive simplification of the phenomena of human thought\nand feeling is, however, far more than the phenomena truly allow, it\nis not the less certain, that all the varieties of our consciousness,\nthough not mere _transformations_ of external sense, are, when traced\nto their source, the _results_ of sensation, in its various original\nforms. In inquiring into the phenomena of our senses, then, we begin\nour inquiry, where knowledge itself begins, and though the twilight,\nwhich hangs over this first opening of intellectual life, is perhaps\nonly a presage, or a part of that obscurity which is to attend the\nwhole track of human investigation, it still is twilight only, not\nabsolute darkness. We can discover _much_, though we cannot discover\n_all_; and where absolute _discovery_ is _not_ allowed, there is still\nleft to us a probability of conjecture, of which, in such limited\ncircumstances, even philosophy may justly avail herself, without\ndeparting from her legitimate province.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[63] \u0152uvres, tom. ii. p. 12.\n\n[64] P. 131.\n\n[65] Pleasures of Imagination, Book III. v. 493--514. The fixed soul,\nv. 505. Exploits, v. 508; and Spells, v. 509. _Orig._\n\n[66] On the Intellectual powers, Essay II. c. 16.\n\n[67] Lib. I. v. 18-25. and 28-31.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XIX.\n\nBRIEF NOTICE OF THE CORPOREAL PART OF THE PROCESS, IN SENSATION.\n\n\nThe mental phenomena, of the class which is at present under our\nconsideration, being those, which arise, in consequence of certain\nprevious affections of our organs of sense, it is necessary, that we\nshould take some notice of the corporeal part of the process; though\nit must always be remembered, that it is the last part of the process,\n_the mental affection only_, which truly belongs to our science,--and\nthat, if this, in all its varieties, had been the result of any other\nspecies of affections of organs constituted in any other manner,--as\nlong as there was the regular correspondence of certain mental\naffections with certain organic affections,--the philosophy of mind\nwould have continued precisely the same as now. Our systems of anatomy,\nand of the physiology of our mere bodily frame, would indeed have been\ndifferent,--but not that more intimate physiology, which relates to the\nfunctions of the animating spirit, whose presence is life, and without\nwhich our bodily frame, in all its beautiful adaptation of parts to\nparts, is a machine, as inert and powerless, as the separate atoms that\ncompose it.\n\nThe great essential organ of all sensation is the _brain_, with its\nappendages, particularly the _nerves_ that issue from it to certain\norgans, which are more strictly termed the organs of sense; as it\nis there the immediate objects, or external causes of sensation,\nthe particles of light, for example, in vision, or of odour in\nsmell, arrive, and come, as it were, into contact with the sensorial\nsubstance. Each organ, as you well know, has objects peculiar to\nitself, which it would be superfluous to enumerate; and since the\nblind are still sensible of sound, the deaf of colour, and both of\nsmell, and taste, and touch, there must evidently be some difference,\neither in the sensorial substance itself which is diffused over the\ndifferent organs, or in the mode of its diffusion and exposure in\nthe different organs, from which this striking diversity of their\nrelative sensibilities proceeds. The nervous matter however, considered\nseparately from the coats in which it is enveloped, is of the same\nhalf-fibrous, but soft and pulpy texture, as the substance of the brain\nitself, and is in perfect continuity with that substance, forming,\ntherefore, with it, what may be considered as one mass, as much as the\nwhole brain itself may be considered as one mass; which has, indeed,\nfor its chief seat the great cavity of the head; the\n\n \u201cSuperas hominis sedes, arcemque cerebri;\n Namque illic posuit solium, et sua templa sacravit,\n Mens animi;--\u201d[68]\n\nbut which extends, by innumerable ramifications, over the whole\nsurface, and through the internal parts of the body. The mind, in that\ncentral brain in which it is supposed to reside, communicating with\nall these extreme branches, has been compared, by a very obvious,\nbut a very beautiful similitude, to the parent Ocean, receiving from\ninnumerable distances the waters of its filial streams:\n\n \u201cAc uti longinquis descendunt montibus amnes,\n Velivolus Tamisis, flaventisque Indus aren\u00e6,\n Euphratesque, Tagusque, et opimo flumine Ganges,\n Undas quisque suas volvens,--cursuque sonoro\n In mare prorumpunt; hos magno acclinis in antro\n Excipit Oceanus, natorumque ordine longo\n Dona recognoscit venientum, ultroque serenat\n Coeruleam faciem, et diffuso marmore ridet.\n Haud aliter species properant se inferre novell\u00e6\n Certatim menti.\u201d[69]\n\nIn the brain itself, the anatomist is able to shew us, with perfect\nclearness, many complicated parts, which we must believe to be\nadapted for answering particular purposes in the economy of life;\nbut when we have gazed with admiration on all the wonders which his\ndissecting hand has revealed to us, and have listened to the names\nwith which he most accurately distinguishes the little cavities or\nprotuberances which his knife has thus laid open to our view, we are\nstill as ignorant as before of the particular purposes to which such\nvarieties of form are subservient; and our only consolation is,--for\nthere is surely some comfort in being only as ignorant as the _most\nlearned_,--that we know as much of the distinct uses of the parts as\nthe anatomist himself, who exhibits them to us, and teaches us how to\nname them. A structure, in every respect different, though assuredly\nless fit than the present which has been chosen by infinite wisdom,\nmight, as far as we know, have answered exactly the same end; which\nis as much as to say, that our ignorance on the subject is complete.\nThe only physiological facts of importance, in reference to sensation,\nare, that if the nerves, which terminate in particular organs, be\ngreatly diseased, the sensations which we ascribe to those particular\norgans cease; and cease, in like manner, if the continuity of the\nnerves be destroyed, by cutting them in any part of their course, or\nif, without loss of absolute continuity, their structure, in any part\nof their course be impaired by pressure, whether from tight ligatures\ndrawn around them for the purpose of experiment, or from natural\nmorbid causes. In short, if the brain and nerves be in a sound state,\nand certain substances be applied to certain parts of the nervous\nsystem,--as, for instance, sapid bodies to the extremities of the\nnerves of taste, or light to that expansion of the optic nerve, which\nforms what is termed the retina,--there is then instant sensation; and\nwhen the brain itself is not in a sound state to a certain extent, or\nwhen the nerve which is diffused on a particular organ is, either at\nthis extremity of it, or in any part of its course, to a certain degree\nimpaired, then there is no sensation, though the same external causes\nbe applied. This very slight general knowledge of the circumstances\nin which sensation takes place, and of the circumstances in which it\ndoes NOT take place, is all the knowledge which physiology affords us\nof the corporeal part of the process;--and it is likely to continue\nso forever,--at least in all the more important respects of our\nignorance,--since any changes which occur in the corpuscular motion,\nand consequent new arrangement of the particles of the substance of the\nbrain and nerves, corresponding with the diversities of feeling during\nthose particular states,--if such corpuscular motions or changes do\nreally take place,--are probably far too minute to be observable by our\norgans; even though we could lay open all the internal parts of the\nbrain to complete observation, without destroying, or at all affecting,\nthe usual phenomena of life:--\n\n In \u201cfollowing life through creatures we dissect,\n We loose it, in the moment we detect.\u201d\n\nIndeed, we are not able to do even so much as this; for life has\nalready vanished, long before we have come upon the verge of its secret\nprecincts. It is like a Magician, that operates at a distance on every\nside, but still keeps himself apart, within a narrow circle. If we\nremain _without_ the circle, we may gaze with never-ceasing admiration,\non the wonders that play in rapid succession before our eyes. But, if\nwe rush within, to force an avowal, of the secret energy that produces\nthem, the enchanter and the enchantments alike are fled.\n\nThe brain, then, and the various nerves of sense in continuity with\nit, may, when taken together, be considered as forming one great\norgan, which I would term briefly the _sensorial_ organ, essential\nto life, and to the immediate production of those mental phenomena\nwhich constitute our sensations, and, perhaps, too, modifying in some\nmeasure, directly or indirectly, all the other phenomena of the mind.\n\n \u201cDum mens alma caput cerebrique palatia celsa\n Occupat, et famulos sublimis dirigit artus,\n Et facili imperio nervorum flectit habenas,\n Illius ad nutum sensus extranea rerum\n Explorant signa, et studio exemplaria fido\n Ad dominam adducunt; vel qui statione locantur\n Vicina, capitisque tuentur limina, ocelli,\n Naresque, auricul\u00e6que, et vis arguta palati;\n Vel qui per totam currit sparso agmine molem\n Tactus, ad extremas speculator corporis aras.\n His sensim auxiliis instructa fidelibus, olim\n Mens humilis nulloque jacens ingloria cultu\n Carceris in tenebris mox sese attolit in auras\n Dives opum variarum, et sidera scandit Olympi.\u201d\n\nOf the nature of the connexion of this great sensorial organ with the\nsentient mind, we never shall be able to understand more than is\ninvolved in the simple fact, that a certain affection of the nervous\nsystem precedes immediately a certain affection of the mind. But,\nthough we are accustomed to regard this species of mutual succession of\nbodily and mental changes, as peculiarly inexplicable, from the very\ndifferent nature of the substances which are reciprocally affected,\nit is truly not more so than any other case of succession of events,\nwhere the phenomena occur in substances that are not different in their\nproperties, but analogous, or even absolutely similar; since, in no\none instance of this kind, can we perceive more than the uniform order\nof the succession itself; and of changes, the successions of which are\nall absolutely inexplicable, or, in other words, absolutely simple, and\nunsusceptible, therefore, of further analysis, none can be justly said\nto be more or less so than another. That a peculiar state of the mere\nparticles of the brain, should be followed by a change of state of the\nsentient mind, is truly wonderful; but if we consider it strictly, we\nshall find it to be by no means more wonderful, than that the arrival\nof the moon, at a certain point of the heavens, should render the\nstate of a body on the surface of our earth, different from what it\notherwise would naturally be or that the state of every particle of our\nglobe, in its relative tendencies of gravitation, should be instantly\nchanged, as it unquestionably would be, by the destruction of the most\ndistant satellite of the most distant planet of our system, or probably\ntoo, by the destruction even of one of those remotest of stars, which\nare illuminating their own system of planets, so far in the depth of\ninfinity, that their light,--to borrow a well-known illustration of\nsidereal distance,--may never yet have reached our earth, since the\nmoment at which they darted forth their first beams, in the creation\nof the universe. We believe, indeed, with as much confidence, that one\nevent will uniformly have for its consequent another event, which we\nhave observed to follow it, as we believe the simple fact that it _has_\npreceded it, in the particular case observed. But the knowledge of the\npresent sequence, as a mere fact, to be remembered, and the expectation\nof future similar sequences, as the result of an original law of our\nbelief, are precisely of the same kind, whether the sequence of changes\nbe in mind, or in matter singly, or reciprocally in both.\n\n_What_ the nature of the change is, that is produced at the extremity\nof the nerve, it is beyond our power to state, or even to guess; and\nwe are equally ignorant of the manner in which this affection of the\nnerve is communicated, or is supposed to be communicated, to the brain.\nBut that some affection is gradually propagated, from the one to the\nother, so as to render the change in the state of the brain subsequent,\nby a certain interval, to the change in the state of the nerve, is\nuniversally believed. In applying to this change the term _impression_,\na term indeed which had been in common use before, Dr Reid is careful\nto point out the reason for which this term appears to him preferable\nto others; and though I confess that the word seems to me to convey too\nmuch the notion of a peculiar well known species of action; that which\nconsists in producing a certain configuration of the object impressed,\ncorresponding with the figure of the impressing object, the very notion\nthat has had so pernicious an effect in the theory of perception; and\nthough I conceive the simple term _change_ or _affection_ to be all\nwhich is safely admissible, as long as the nature of the particular\nchange is absolutely unknown; still it must be confessed that\n_impression_ is a term a little more general than the other names of\naction, to which Dr Reid alludes, and therefore preferable to them, in\nthe present case.\n\n\u201cThere is sufficient reason,\u201d he says, \u201cto conclude, that, in\nperception, the object produces some change in the organ; that the\norgan produces some change upon the nerve; and that the nerve produces\nsome change in the brain. And we give the name of an _impression_ to\nthose changes, because we have not a name more proper to express, in a\ngeneral manner, any change produced in a body, by an external cause,\nwithout specifying the nature of that change. Whether it be pressure,\nor attraction, or repulsion, or vibration, or something unknown, for\nwhich we have no name, still it may be called an impression. But\nwith regard to the particular kind of this change or impression,\nphilosophers have never been able to discover any thing at all.\u201d[70]\n\nThat the word _impression_ is not so free, as Dr Reid supposes, from\nthat hypothetical meaning which he wished to avoid, I have already\nremarked. But the reason assigned by him for his preference of it, is\nunquestionably a just one; since a phrase which expresses the least\npossible knowledge, must be allowed to be the best suited to human\nignorance,--that ignorance, which, not in the philosophy of intellect\nonly, but in whatever track of science we may proceed, and whatever\ntruths we may proudly discover in our way, still meets us at the end\nof every path, as if to mock at once our weakness and our pride,--and\nwhich seems to us to be every where, because it is, wherever we are\nourselves. The splendour of nature, as it exists in itself, is, if I\nmay speak figuratively, like sunshine on a boundless plain, on the\nflowers and herbage of which, though there be innumerable varieties of\ncolour, there is brilliancy in all. But the misfortune is, that, as\nsoon as we have approached near enough to distinguish the diversity of\ntints, their brilliancy is so obscured by our very approach to them,\nthat their nice diversities are no longer distinguishable; as if man\ncould not move along, without throwing his own shadow on every thing\nbefore him.\n\nWhen I say, that we are ignorant of the nature of that change, which\nis propagated along the nerve to the brain, I speak in reference to\nan opinion that is universal. But, though it may be _improbable_,\nit is certainly far from _impossible_, that there is really no such\nprogressive communication, as this which is supposed. The brain and\nnerves, though, from the difference of names, you might be led,\nperhaps, to consider them as distinct, I have already said, are not\nseparate organs, but are in continuity with each other, at least as\nmuch as various parts of the brain itself, which are comprehended under\nthat single term, can be said to be continuous. When taken together,\nthey form what is truly one complicated sensorial organ,--the organ\nof all our sensations, according to the different states in which the\norgan exists, or the different parts of it which are chiefly affected.\nIn _hearing_, for example, a certain state of that part of the\nsensorial organ, which constitutes the auditory nerves,--in vision, a\ncertain state of that part of it, which constitutes the optic nerves,\nis necessary to sensation,--and, in both cases, according to the\nuniversal supposition on the subject, all or part of the brain likewise\nmust exist in a certain state, of which we know nothing more, than that\nit is followed, in the one case, by the sensation of sound, in the\nother case by that of sight. The connexion of the mind with the bodily\nframe,--which must be equally inexplicable on every supposition that\ncan be formed,--is not supposed, by any philosopher, to depend on the\nstate of a single physical point of the brain alone; and, if it extend\nto more than _one_ such point, there is nothing,--in the nature of\nthe connexion itself, independently of experience,--which necessarily\nlimits it to one portion of the complex sensorial organ, more than to\n_another_,--to the particles of the central mass of the brain, for\nexample, more than to those of the nerve itself. It is experience,\nthen, to which we are referred; and experience, though it shows that\ncertain nerves are not essential to _life_, since life continues\nequally, after they may have been impaired, or even destroyed, is far\nfrom showing that an affection of them is not essential to _sensation_,\nat the very moment of the particular sensation; nor does it afford\neven the slightest evidence, to justify the belief, that the _only_\nuse of the nerve is to communicate a certain affection to the brain,\nwhich affection of the mere central part of the sensorial organ,\nwould, of itself, immediately induce sensation, though the nerves\nwere annihilated in the preceding instant. The sensation may be the\nimmediate effect, not of the state of the brain only, but of the state\nof the brain, and of any particular nerve, considered as existing\ntogether at the moment; in the same manner, as, by those who ascribe\nthe immediate origin of sensation to the mere brain, exclusive of its\nnervous appendages, it is supposed to depend on the state, not of\n_one_ physical point of the central brain, but on the state of many\nsuch co-existing points. We know not, to what extent, in the great\nsensorial organ, this change is necessary; but we believe, that, to\n_some extent_, it is necessary; and the question is, whether, in the\nwhole portion so affected, the affection be produced by a succession of\nchanges, propagated from part to part? This may, perhaps, be the more\nprobable supposition:--but, whatever may be the comparative probability\nor improbability, it certainly has not been demonstrated by observation\nor experiment; nor can there be said to be, _a priori_, any absurdity\nin the opposite supposition, that the sensorial affection, to whatever\nextent it may be necessary, is not progressive, but immediate,--that,\nas long as the sensorial organ, (under which term I comprehend, as\nI have already frequently repeated, not the brain merely, but also\nits nervous appendages, that exist in apparent continuity with the\nbrain,) is unimpaired, by accident or disease, the presence of the\nimmediate object of sense, at the external organ, which on every\nsupposition, must be followed by some sensorial change of state, is\ninstantly followed by that general change of state of the internal\norgan, whatever it may be, which is necessary to sensation, in the\nparticular case; in the same manner, as the presence of a celestial\nbody, at a certain point in the heavens, is immediately followed by\na change of state, in the whole gravitating particles of our globe;\nthe change in any long line of these gravitating particles being not\ncommunicated from each to each, but depending only on the presence of\nthe distant sun or planet; and beginning in the most remote particles\nof the line, at the very same instant, as in that which is nearest,\non the surface of the earth. An instant change, in the long line\nof sensorial particles,--if the affection of a long line of these\nparticles be necessary,--on the presence of a particular object, is not\nmore improbable in itself, than this instant and universal influence of\ngravitation, that varies with all the varying positions of a distant\nobject.\n\nBut is it, indeed, certain, that, in sensation, there is an affection\nof the central brain, whether immediate or progressive? Is it not\npossible, at least, or more than possible, that the state of the mind,\nwhen we perceive colours and sounds, may be the immediate consequent\nof the altered state of that part of the sensorial organ, which forms\nthe expansion of the nerve in the eye or ear? The sensations must be\nsupposed, in every theory, to be the consequents of states induced in\nsome sensorial particles, and there is nothing but the mere names of\nbrain and nerve, invented by ourselves, and the notions which we have\nchosen, without evidence, to attach to these mere names, which would\nmark the sensorial particles in the nervous expanse itself, as less\nfitted to be the immediate antecedents of sight and hearing, than the\nsimilar sensorial particles in any portion of the central mass of the\nbrain. There is no reason, in short _a priori_, for supposing that a\nstate of the sensorial particles of the nerves cannot be the cause\nof sensation, and that the sensation must be the effect of a state\nequally unknown, of apparently similar particles, in that other part\nof the general sensorial organ, which we have denominated the brain.\nSensation, indeed, is prevented by decay, or general disease of the\nbrain, or by separation of the nerve, or pressure on it, in any part of\nits course. But it is far from improbable, that these causes, which\nmust evidently be injurious to the organ, may act, merely by preventing\nthat sound state of the nerve, which is necessary for sensation, and\nwhich, in an organ so very delicate, may be affected by the slightest\ninfluences,--by influences far slighter, than may naturally be expected\nto result from such an injury of such a part. The nerves and brain,\ntogether, form one great organ; and a sound state of the whole organ,\neven from the analogy of other grosser organs, may well be supposed\nto be necessary for the healthy state and perfect function of each\nseparate part.\n\nIf, indeed, the appearance of the brain and nerves were such, as marked\nthem to be peculiarly fitted for the communication of motion of any\nsort, there might be some presumption, from this very circumstance,\nin favour of the opinion, that sensation takes place, only after a\nprogressive series of affections of some sort, propagated along the\nnerve to the interior brain. But it must be remembered, that the\nnature, both of the substance of the nerves themselves, and of the\nsoft and lax substance, in which they are loosely embedded, renders\nthem very ill adapted for the communication of nice varieties of\nmotion, and gives some additional likelihood, therefore, to the\nsupposition, that affections of the sensorial organ, so distinct as\nour sensations are from each other, and so exactly corresponding\nwith the slightest changes of external objects, do _not_ depend on\nthe progressive communication of faint and imperceptible motion, in\ncircumstances so unfavourable to the uninterrupted progress even of\nthat more powerful motion, which can be measured by the eye. In a\ncase so doubtful as this, however, in which the intervening changes\nsupposed by philosophers,--if such a progressive series of motions do\nreally take place,--are confessed to be beyond our observation, it\nis impossible for any one, who has a just sense of the limits, which\nnature has opposed to our search, to pronounce with certainty, or\neven perhaps with that faint species of belief, which we give to mere\nprobability. My conjectures on the subject, therefore, I state simply\nas conjectures, and nothing more.\n\nIf, indeed, what is but a mere conjecture could be shown to be well\nfounded, it would add another case to the innumerable instances, in\nwhich philosophers have laboured, for ages, to explain what did not\nexist,--contenting themselves, after their long toil, with the skill\nand industry which they have exhibited, in removing difficulties,\nwhich they had before, with great skill and industry, placed in their\nown way. \u201cI am not so much convinced of our radical ignorance,\u201d says an\ningenious writer, \u201cby the things that _are_, of which the nature is hid\nfrom us, as by the things that _are_ not, of which notwithstanding we\ncontrive to give a very tolerable account; for this shews that we are\nnot merely without the principles which lead to truth, but that there\nare other principles in our nature, which can accommodate themselves\nvery well, and form a close connexion, with what is positively false.\u201d\n\nBut whatever reason there may be for removing this supposed link of\nthe corporeal part of the process of sensation, there is another prior\nlink, which it appears to me of great importance to separate from the\nchain. I allude to the distinction, which is commonly made, of the\nobjects of sense, as acting themselves on our organs, or as acting\nthrough what is termed a _medium_.\n\n\u201cA second law of our nature,\u201d says Dr Reid, \u201cregarding perception is,\nthat we perceive no object, unless some impression is made upon the\norgan of sense, either by the immediate application of the object, or\nby some medium which passes between the object and the organ. In two\nof our senses, to wit, _touch_ and _taste_, there must be an immediate\napplication of the object to the organ. In the other three, the object\nis perceived at a distance, but still by means of a medium, by which\nsome impression is made upon the organ. The effluvia of bodies drawn\ninto the nostrils, with the breath, are the medium of smell; the\nundulations of the air, are the medium of hearing; and the rays of\nlight passing from visible objects to the eye, are the medium of sight.\nWe see no object, unless rays of light come from it to the eye. We\nhear not the sound of any body, unless the vibrations of some elastic\nmedium, occasioned by the tremulous motion of the sounding body, reach\nour ear. We perceive no smell, unless the effluvia of the smelling body\nenter into the nostrils. We perceive no taste, unless the sapid body be\napplied to the tongue, or some part of the organ of taste. Nor do we\nperceive any tangible quality of a body, unless it touch the hands, or\nsome part of our body.\u201d[71]\n\nIt is evident, that, in these cases of a supposed medium, which Dr Reid\nconsiders as forming so important a distinction of our sensations,\nthe real object of _sense_ is not the _distant_ object, but that\nwhich acts immediately upon the organs,--the _light_ itself, not the\n_sun_ which beams it on us,--the odorous particles, which the wind has\nwafted to us from the rose, not the rose itself upon its stem,--the\nvibrations of the air, within our ear, not the cannon that is fired\nat the distance of miles. The light, the odour, the vibrating air,\nby which alone our senses are affected, act on our nerves of sight,\nof smell, and hearing, with an influence as direct, and as little\nlimited in the kind of action, as that with which the fruit, which we\neat or handle, acts on our nerves of taste or touch. This influence\nof the objects immediately external is all, in which our organs of\nsense, and consequently the mind as the principle of mere sensation,\nis concerned. The reference to the distant sun, or rose, or cannon,\nwhich alone leads us to speak of a medium in any of these cases, is\nthe effect of _another_ principle of our intellectual nature,--the\nprinciple of association, or suggestion,--that is afterwards to be\nconsidered by us, without which, indeed, our mere transient sensations\nwould be comparatively of little value; but which, as a quality or\nsusceptibility of the mind, is not to be confounded with that, by which\nthe mind becomes, instantly sentient, in consequence of a certain\nchange produced in the state of its sensorial organ.\n\nSince, however, precisely the same series of changes must take place\nin nature, whether we class the sun, the flower, the cannon, as the\nobjects of sense, or merely the light, the odorous particles, and the\nvibrating air, it may perhaps be thought, that the distinction now\nmade is only a _verbal_ one, of no real importance. But it will not\nappear such to those who are conversant with the different theories\nof perception which we are afterwards to review; many of which, that\nhave had the greatest sway, and a sway the most fatal to the progress\nof intellectual philosophy, appear, to me, to have arisen entirely, or\nat least chiefly, from this very misconception as to the real external\nobject of sense. It is sufficient at present to allude to the effect,\nwhich the mere _distance_ of the supposed object must have had, in\ngiving room to all the follies of imagination to fill up the interval.\n\nIt may be necessary, however, to remark by the way, that though I do\nnot conceive the bodies which act through a medium, as it is said to\nbe the real objects of the particular sense;--the immense orb of the\nsun, for example, in all its magnitude, to be the object of that\nsmall organ by which we are sensible of light; or the cannon, which\nexists we know not where, to be the object of that organ by which we\nare sensible of sound;--I am still far from objecting to the popular\nand very convenient phraseology, by which we speak of seeing the\nsun, and hearing the cannon--a phraseology that expresses briefly a\nreference, which could not otherwise be expressed but by a very awkward\ncircumlocution, and to make any innovation in which would be as absurd,\nas to reject the popular phrases of the sun's rising and setting merely\nbecause they are inconsistent with our astronomical belief. The most\nrigid philosophy can require no more, than that, when we talk of the\nsun's actual setting, we should mean by it, only a certain position\nrelative to that great luminary at which the earth arrives in its\ndiurnal revolution,--and that, when we talk of seeing it descend,\nwe should mean nothing more, than that we see light of a certain\nbrilliancy, from which we infer the existence and relative position of\nthe orb that has projected it.\n\nI have been led into these observations, on the various parts of the\ncorporeal process which precedes sensation, by the desire of removing,\nas much as possible, any obscurity in which your notions on the subject\nmight be involved,--as I know well the influence which even a slight\nconfusion in our notion of any _part_ of a complicated process has,\nin spreading, as it were, its own darkness and perplexity over parts\nof the process, which otherwise we should have found no difficulty\nin comprehending. You might think, that you knew less distinctly the\nmental sensation itself, because you knew only obscurely the series of\nbodily changes that precede sensation; but still it must be remembered,\nthat it is only the _last_ link of the corporeal chain,--the ultimate\naffection of the sensorial organ, in whatever manner and to whatever\nextent it may be affected,--immediately antecedent to the affection\nof the mind, which is to be considered as that with which nature has\nunited the corresponding change in our mental frame. This mysterious\ninfluence of our _bodily_ on our _mental_ part has been poetically\ncompared to that which the sun was supposed to exercise on a lyre,\nthat formed part of a celebrated Egyptian statue of Memnon, which was\nsaid to become musical when struck with its beams; and though the poet\nhas extended the similitude, beyond our mere elementary sensations,\nto the complex perception of beauty, it is still a very happy\nillustration--as far as a mere poetic image can be an illustration--of\nthe power which matter exercises over the harmonies of mind:--\n\n \u201cFor as old Memnon's image, long renown\n By fabling Nilus, to the quivering touch\n Of Titan's ray with each repulsive string\n Consenting, sounded through the warbling air\n Unbidden strains,--even so did Nature's hand,\n To certain species of external things\n Attune the finer organs of the mind.\n So the glad impulse of congenial powers,\n Or of sweet sound, or fair proportion'd form,\n The grace of motion, or the bloom of light,\n Thrills through Imagination's tender frame,\n From nerve to nerve. All naked and alive,\n They catch the spreading rays; till now the soul\n At length discloses every tuneful spring,\n To that harmonious movement from without.\n Responsive. Then the charm, by Fate prepar'd\n Diffuses its enchantment.[72] Fancy dreams\n Of sacred fountains, and Elysian groves,\n And vales of bliss! the Intellectual Power\n Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear,\n And smiles; the Passions, gently soothed away,\n Sink to divine repose; and Love and Joy\n Alone are waking.\u201d[73]\n\nWhen we consider the variety of our feelings thus wonderfully\nproduced,--the _pleasures_, and, still more, the inexhaustible\n_knowledge_, which arise, by this mysterious harmony, from the\nimperceptible affection of a few particles of nervous matter, it is\nimpossible for us not to be impressed with more than admiration of that\nPower, which even our ignorance, that is scarcely capable of seeing\nany thing, is yet, by the greatest of all the bounties of heaven,\nable to perceive and admire. In the creation of this internal world\nof thought, the Divine Author of our being has known how to combine\n_infinity itself_ with that which may almost be considered as the most\nfinite of things; and has repeated, as it were, in every mind, by the\nalmost creative sensibilities with which He has endowed it, that simple\nbut majestic act of omnipotence, by which, originally, He called from\nthe rude elements of chaos, or rather from nothing, all the splendid\nglories of the universe.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[68] Gray de Princip, Cogit. lib. i. v. 48-50.\n\n[69] Gray de Princip. Cogit. lib. i. v. 54-63.\n\n[70] On the Intellectual Powers, Essay II. chap. ii.\n\n[71] On the Intellectual Powers, Essay II. chap. ii.\n\n[72] \u201cThen the charm,\u201d &c. to \u201cenchantment,\u201d from the second form of\nthe Poem. The corresponding clause, in the first form, from which all\nthe rest of the quotation is taken, is this,\n\n \u201cThen the inexpressive strain\n Diffuses its enchantment.\u201d\n\n[73] Pleasures of Imagination, Book I. v. 109--131.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XX.\n\nPARTICULAR CONSIDERATION OF OUR SENSATIONS.--NAMELESS TRIBES OF\nSENSATIONS--SENSATIONS OF SMELL--OF TASTE--OF HEARING.\n\n\nA considerable portion of my last Lecture, Gentlemen, was employed in\nillustrating the _corporeal_ part of the process of perception, which,\nthough less immediately connected with our Science than the _mental_\npart of the process, is still, from its intimate connexion with this\nmental part, not to be altogether neglected by the intellectual\ninquirer. The importance of clear notions of the mere _organic changes_\nis, indeed, most strikingly exemplified in the very false theories of\nperception which have prevailed, and in some measure still prevail; and\nwhich evidently, in part at least, owe their origin to those confused\nnotions, to which I alluded in my last Lecture, of the objects of\nperception, as supposed to operate at a distance through a medium, and\nof complicated series of changes supposed to take place in the nerves\nand brain.\n\nIn considering the Phenomena of our Mind, as they exist when we are\ncapable of making them subjects of reflection, I mentioned to you, in\na former Lecture, that although we have to encounter many additional\ndifficulties, in consequence of early associations, that modify forever\nafter our original elementary feelings, with an influence that is\ninappreciable by us, because it is truly unperceived, there are yet\nsome advantages, which though they do not fully compensate this evil,\nat least enable us to make some deduction from its amount. The benefit\nto which I allude, is found chiefly in the class of phenomena which we\nare now considering,--a class, indeed, which otherwise we should not\nhave regarded as half so comprehensive as it truly is, since, but for\nour previous belief of the existence of a permanent and independent\nsystem of external things acquired from other sources, we should have\nclassed by far the greater number of the feelings, which we now refer\nto _sense_, among those which arise spontaneously in the mind, without\nany cause external to the mind itself.\n\nThough the sensations, which arise from affections of the same\norgan--as those of warmth and extension for example, or at least the\nfeeling of warmth and a tactual feeling, that is commonly supposed to\ninvolve extension, from affections of the same nerves of touch,--are\nnot, in every case, more analogous to each other, than the sensations\nwhich arise from affections of different organs,--and though, if we\nwere to consider the sensations alone, therefore, without reference to\ntheir organs, we might not form precisely the same classification as at\npresent,--the division, according to the organs affected, in most cases\ncorresponds, so exactly, with that which we should make, in considering\nthe mere sensations as affections of the mind, and affords in itself a\nprinciple of classification, so obvious and definite, that we cannot\nhesitate, in preferring it to any other which we might attempt to form.\nIn the arrangements of every science, it is of essential consequence,\nthat the lines of difference, which distinguish one class from another,\nshould be well marked; and this advantage is peculiarly important in\nthe science of mind, the objects of which do not, as in the other great\ndepartment of nature outlast inquiry, but are, in every case, so very\nshadowy and fugitive, as to flit from us, in the very glance, that\nendeavours to catch their almost imperceptible outline.\n\nIn examining, then, according to their organs, our classes of\nsensation; and considering what feelings the organic affections\nexcite _at present_, and what we may suppose them to have excited\n_originally_,--I shall begin with those which are most simple, taking\nthem in the order of smell, taste, hearing,--not so much, from any\nhope, that the information, which these afford will throw any great\nlight on the more complex phenomena of sight and touch, as because the\nconsideration of them is easier, and may prepare you gradually for this\ndifficult analysis, which awaits us afterwards, in the examination of\nthose more perplexing phenomena.\n\nI begin, then, with the consideration of that very simple order of our\nsensations which we ascribe to our organ of\n\n\nSMELL.\n\nThe organ of smell, as you well know, is principally in the\nnostrils,--and partly also in some continuous cavities on which a\nportion of the olfactory nerves is diffused.\n\n Naribus interea consedit odora hominum vis\n Docta leves captare auras, Panchaia quales\n Vere novo exhalat, Flor\u00e6ve quod oscula fragrant\n Roscida, cum Zephyri furtim sub vesperis hora\n Respondet votis, mollemque aspirat amorem.[74]\n\nWhen the particles of odour affect our nerves of smell, a certain state\nof mind is produced, varying with the nature of the odoriferous body.\nThe mere existence of this state, is all the information which we could\noriginally have received from it, if it had been excited previously to\nour sensations of a different class. But, with our present knowledge,\nit seems immediately to communicate to us much more important\ninformation. We are not merely sensible of the particular feeling, but\nwe refer it, in the instant,--almost in the same manner, as if the\nreference itself were involved in the sensation,--to a rose, hemlock,\nhoneysuckle, or any other substance, agreeable or disagreeable; the\nimmediate presence, or vicinity of which we have formerly found to\nbe attended with this particular sensation. The power of making the\nreference, however, is unquestionably derived from a source different\nfrom that, from which the mere sensation is immediately derived. We\nmust previously have seen, or handled, the rose, the hemlock, the\nhoneysuckle; or if, without making this particular reference, we\nmerely consider our sensation of smell as caused by some unknown\nobject external to our mind, we must at least have previously seen or\nhandled some other bodies, which excited, at the same time, sensations\nanalogous to the present. If we had been endowed with the sense of\nsmell, and with no other sense whatever, the sensations of this class\nwould have been simple feelings of pleasure or pain, which we should as\nlittle have ascribed to an external cause, as any of our spontaneous\nfeelings of joy or sorrow, that are equally lasting or equally\ntransient. Even at present, after the connexion of our sensations of a\nfragrance with the bodies which we term fragrant, has been, in a great\nmeasure, fixed in our mind, by innumerable reflections, we still, if\nwe attend to the process of the reference itself, are conscious of a\nsuggestion of remembrance, and can separate the sensation, as a mere\nfeeling of the mind, from the knowledge of the object or external\ncause of the sensation, which seems to us a subsequent state of the\nmind, however close the succession may be. Indeed, what is there which\nwe can discover, in the mere sensation of fragrance, that is itself\nsignificant of solidity, extension, or what ever we may regard as\nessential to the existence of things without? As a mere change in the\nform of our being, it may suggest to us the necessity of some cause or\nantecedent of the change. But it is far from implying the necessity\nof a corporeal cause;--any more than such a direct corporeal cause\nis implied in any other modification of our being, intellectual or\nmoral,--in our belief, for example, of the most abstract truth, at\nwhich we may have arrived by a slow developement of proposition after\nproposition, in a process of internal reflective analysis,--or in the\nmost refined and sublime of our emotions, when, without thinking of any\none of the objects around, we have been meditating on the Divinity who\nformed them--himself the purest of spiritual existences. Our belief of\na system of external things, then, does not, as far as we can judge\nfrom the nature of the feelings, arise from our sensations of smell,\nmore than from any of our internal pleasures or pains; but we class our\nsensations of smell as sensations, because we have previously believed\nin a system of external things, and have found, by uniform experience,\nthat the introduction of some new external body, either felt or seen\nby us, was the antecedent, of those states of mind which we denominate\nsensations of smell, and not of those internal pains or pleasures,\nwhich we therefore distinguish from them, as the spontaneous affections\nof our own independent mind.\n\n\nON TASTE.\n\nWith the organ of _taste_ you are all sufficiently acquainted.\nIn considering the phenomena, which it presents, in the peculiar\nsensations that directly flow from it, it is necessary to make some\nlittle abstraction from the sensation of _touch_, which accompanies\nthem, in consequence of the immediate application of the tangible\nsapid body to the organ; but the sensations, thus co-existing, are so\nvery different in themselves, as to be easily distinguishable. When\nthe organ of taste is in a sound state, the application of certain\nsubstances produces, immediately, that change or affection of the\nsensorial organs, which is attended with a corresponding change or\naffection of the sentient mind. In our present state of knowledge,\nwe immediately refer this simple sensation, to something, which is\nbitter, or sweet, or acrid, or of some other denomination of sapid\nquality; and we have no hesitation, in classing the sensations _as\nsensations_,--effects of laws of action that belong jointly to matter\nand mind,--not as feelings that arise in the mind, from its own\nindependent constitution. But, if we attend sufficiently to the feeling\nthat arises in the case of taste, we shall find, however immediate the\nreference to a sapid body may seem to be, that it is truly successive\nto the simple sensation, and is the mere suggestion of former\nexperience, when a body previously recognized by us as an external\nsubstance, was applied to our organ of taste;--in the same manner, as,\nwhen we see ashes and dying embers, we immediately infer some previous\ncombustion, which we could not have inferred, if combustion itself had\nbeen a phenomenon altogether unknown to us. In the simple sensation\nwhich precedes the reference,--the mere pleasure of sweetness or the\nmere pain of bitterness--there is nothing which seems to mark more\ndistinctly the presence of honey or wormwood, or any similar external\nsubstance, than in any of our joys or sorrows, to which we have not\ngiven a name; and there can be no doubt, that, if the particular\nfeeling which we now term _joy_, and the particular feeling which we\nnow term _sorrow_, had been excited, whenever we knew, from other\nsources, that certain bodies were applied to the tongue, we should\nhave considered these internal feelings as sensations, in the strict\nsense of the word, precisely in the same manner, as we now regard, as\nsensations, the feeling which we term sweetness, and the feeling which\nwe term bitterness, because, like these sensations, they could not\nhave failed to suggest to us, by the common influence of association,\nthe presence and direct coincidence of the object without. In the case\nof _taste_, therefore, as in the case of smell, we could not, from\nthe simple sensations,--if these alone had been given to us,--have\nderived any knowledge of an external world, of substances extended\nand resisting; but we consider them as sensations, in the strict\nphilosophic meaning of the term, because we have previously acquired\nour belief of an external world.\n\nIt may be remarked of these two classes of sensations, now considered,\nthat they have a greater mutual resemblance, than our sensations of any\nother kind. It is only a _blind_ man who thinks, that what is called\n_scarlet_ is like the sound of a trumpet; but there are _tastes_ which\nwe consider as like _smells_, in the same manner as we consider them to\nbe like other tastes; and, if we had not acquired a distinct knowledge\nof the seats of our different organs, and had yet known that smells\nand tastes arose from external causes acting upon some one or other of\nthese, we should probably have been greatly puzzled, in many cases, in\nour attempt to refer the particular sensation to its particular organ.\n\nIn considering the advantages which we derive from our organs of\n_smell_ and _taste_, the mere pleasures which they directly afford, as\na part of the general happiness of life, are to be regarded, from their\nfrequent occurrence, as of no considerable amount. The fragrance of the\nfields enters largely into that obscure but delightful group of images,\nwhich rise in our minds on the mere names of _spring_, _summer_, the\n_country_, and seems to represent the very form of ethereal purity, as\nif it were the breath of heaven itself.\n\nIf we imagine all the innumerable flowers which nature pours out,\nlike a tribute of incense to the God who is adorning her, again to\nbe stripped, in a single moment, of their odour, though they were to\nretain all their bright diversities of colouring, it would seem as\nif they were deprived of a spirit which animates them,--how cold and\ndead would they instantly become,--and how much should we lose of that\nvernal joy, which renders the season of blossoms almost a new life to\nourselves.\n\n \u201cIn vain the golden Morn aloft\n Waves her dew-bespangled wing;\n With vermeil cheek and whisper soft\n She woos the tardy Spring;\n Till April starts, and calls around\n The sleeping fragrance from the ground,\u201d[75]\n\n\nIt is by this delightful quality that the tribes of vegetable life seem\nto hold a sort of social and spiritual communion with us. It is, as it\nwere, the voice with which they address us, and a voice which speaks\nonly of happiness. To him who walks among the flowers which he has\ntended,\n\n \u201cEach odoriferous leaf,\n Each opening blossom, freely breathes abroad\n Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets.\u201d\n\nThe pleasures of the sense of _taste_, in the moderate enjoyment of\nwhich there is nothing reprehensible, are, in a peculiar manner,\nassociated with family happiness. To have met frequently at the same\nboard, is no small part of many of the delightful remembrances of\nfriendship; and to meet _again_ at the same board, after years of\nabsence, is a pleasure that almost makes atonement for the long and\ndreary interval between. In some half-civilized countries, in which the\ninfluence of simple feelings of this kind is at once more forcible in\nitself, and less obscured in the confusion of ever varying frivolities\nand passions, this hospitable bond forms, as you well know, one of the\nstrongest ties of mutual obligation, sufficient often to check the\nimpetuosity of vindictive passions which no other remembrance could, in\nthe moment of fury, restrain. Had there been no _pleasure_ attached to\na repast, independent of the mere relief from the pain of hunger, the\ncoarse and equal food would probably have been taken by each individual\n_apart_, and might even, like our other animal necessities, have been\nassociated with feelings which would have rendered solitude a duty of\nexternal decorum. It would not be easy, even for those who have been\naccustomed to trace a simple cause through all its remotest operations,\nto say, how much of happiness, and how much even of the warm tenderness\nof virtue, would be destroyed, by the change of manners, which should\nsimply put an end to the _social meal_; that meal which now calls all\nthe members of a family to suspend their cares for a while, and to\nenjoy that cheerfulness, which is best reflected from others, and which\ncan be permanent only when it is so reflected, from _soul_ to _soul_,\nand from _eye_ to _eye_.\n\nOne very important advantage, more directly obvious than this, and\nof a kind which every one may be disposed more readily to admit, is\nafforded by our senses of smell and taste, in guiding our _selection_\nof the substances which we take as alimentary. To the other animals,\nwhose senses of this order are so much quicker, and whose instincts,\nin accommodation to their want of general language, and consequent\ndifficulty of acquiring knowledge by mutual communication, are\nprovidentially allotted to them, in a degree, and of a kind, far\nsurpassing the instincts of the slow but noble reflector _man_, these\nsenses seem to furnish _immediate_ instruction as, to the substances\nproper for nourishment, to the exclusion of those which would be\nnoxious. To _man_, however, who is under the guardianship of affections\nmore beneficial to him than any instinct of his own could be, there is\nno reason to believe, that they do this _primarily_, and of themselves,\nthough, in the state in which he is brought up, instructed with respect\nto every thing noxious or salutary, by those who watch constantly\nover him in the early period of his life, and having, therefore, no\nnecessity to appeal to the mere discrimination of his own independent\norgans, and, still more, as in the artificial state of things, in which\nhe lives, his senses are at once perplexed and palled, by the variety\nand confusion of luxurious preparation, it is not easy to say, how far\nhis primary instincts,--if it had not been the high and inevitable\ndignity of his nature to rise above these,--might, of themselves, have\noperated as directors. But, whatever their _primary_ influence may be,\nthe _secondary_ influence of his organs of taste and smell is not the\nless important. When we have once completely learned what substances\nare noxious, and what are salutary, we then, however similar they may\nbe in their other sensible qualities, discriminate these as often as\nthey are again presented to us, by that _taste_ or _smell_, which they\naffect with different sensations; and our acquired knowledge has thus\nultimately, in guiding our choice, the force and the vivacity of an\noriginal instinct.\n\n\nHEARING.\n\nIn considering the phenomena of the sense of hearing, to which I now\nproceed, I may apply to them the same remark, which has been already\napplied to the phenomena of the senses before considered. They are\nclassed by us, as sensations, merely in consequence of our previous\nbelief in the existence of those external bodies, the motion of which\nwe have known to be followed by similar feelings. Our mind begins\nsuddenly to exist in a certain state; and we call this state joy or\nsorrow, without supposing that it depends on the immediate presence of\nany external object. It begins again to exist, in a different state,\nand we say, that we _hear a flute_, referring the feeling immediately\nto an external cause. But there can be no doubt, that, in making this\nreference, in the one case, and not in the other, we are influenced by\nexperience, and by experience alone. If we suppose ourselves endowed\nwith the single sense of hearing, and incapable therefore of having\npreviously seen or felt the flute, which is breathed before us, or\nany other extended and resisting object whatever, we may imagine the\nmere sound to recur, innumerable times, without discovering any mode\nby which it can give us _more_ knowledge, than we should receive from\na similar recurrence of any internal joy or sorrow. That we should\nbe able to refer it to a body, such as we now mean, when we speak of\na flute, is manifestly impossible; since this implies knowledge of\n_solidity_, and _form_, and _colour_, which could not be acquired\nwithout touch and sight. But there seems even no reason to think, that\nwe should refer it to any external cause whatever, unless, indeed, such\na reference necessarily accompanied every feeling, which we know is far\nfrom being the case, since we have many internal pleasures, not more\nlike to each other, than they are to the sound of a flute, which we do\nnot refer to any thing, separate or separable, from the constitution\nof our own mind. In _hearing_, therefore, as in taste and smell, we do\nnot derive from its sensations our knowledge of things external, but,\nin consequence of our knowledge of things external, we regard these\nfeelings, as sensations, in the common philosophic meaning of that term.\n\nSimple as our sense of hearing may seem, it affords a striking\nspecimen of that almost infinite variety, which is not inconsistent\nwith the closest resemblance; and the notion which we may form of the\ninnumerable varieties of sound, is perhaps not more vast, when we\nattempt to wander over its boundless discrepancies, than when we limit\nourselves to its greatest similarities, in a single word of a language,\nor, in that which we might be inclined at first to regard as simplicity\nitself, a single _musical tone_.\n\n\u201cA flute, a violin, a hautboy, and a French horn,\u201d it has been truly\nremarked, \u201cmay all sound the same tone, and be easily distinguishable.\nNay, if twenty _human voices_ sound the same note, and with equal\nstrength, there will still be some difference. The _same_ voice,\nwhile it retains its proper distinctions, may be varied many ways,\nby sickness or health, youth or age, leanness or fatness, good or\nbad humour. The _same words_, spoken by foreigners and natives,\nnay, by different provinces of the same nation, may be very easily\ndistinguished.\u201d[76]\n\nWhen we speak of the value of this sense as a part of our mental\nconstitution, it is enough to say, that it is to it we are indirectly\nindebted for the use of verbal language,--that power so peculiarly\n_distinctive of man_, that, in the poetical phraseology of one\ncelebrated country, it gave him his name as a _divider of the voice_,\nor, in other words, an utterer of articulate sounds. If we consider\nspeech simply as a medium of the reciprocal expression of present\nfeelings to the little society of citizens and friends of which we\nare a part, even in this limited view, of what inestimable value does\nit appear! To communicate to every one around us, in a single moment,\nthe happiness which we feel ourselves,--to express the want, which we\nhave full confidence, will be relieved as soon as it is known,--or to\nhave the still greater privilege of being ourselves the ministers of\ncomfort to wants, which otherwise could not have been relieved by us,\nbecause they could not have been discovered,--when the heart which we\nlove is weighed down with imaginary grief, to have it in our power, by\na few simple sounds, to convert anguish itself into rapture,--these\nare surely no slight advantages; and yet compared with the benefit\nwhich it affords to man as an _intellectual_ being, even these are in\nconsiderable. To be without language, spoken or written, is almost to\nbe without thought; and if, not an individual only, living among his\nfellows whose light may be reflected upon him, but our whole race had\nbeen so constituted, it is scarcely possible to conceive that beings,\nwhose instincts are so much less various and powerful than those of\nthe other animals, could have held over them that dominion, which they\nnow so easily exercise. Wherever two human beings, therefore, are\nto be found, there language is. We must not think, in a speculative\ncomparison of this sort, of mere savage life; for the rudest savages\nwould be as much superior to a race of beings without speech, as\nthe most civilized nations at this moment are, compared with the\nhalf-brutal wanderers of forests and deserts, whose ferocious ignorance\nseems to know little more than how to destroy and be destroyed. Even\nthese are still associated in tribes, that concert together verbally\ntheir schemes of havoc and defence; and employ, in deliberating on the\nmassacre of beings as little human as themselves, or the plunder of a\nfew huts, that seem to contain nothing but misery and the miserable,\nthe same glorious instrument with which Socrates brought wisdom down\nfrom heaven to earth, and Newton made the heavens themselves, and all\nthe wonders which they contain, descend, as it were to be grasped and\nmeasured by the feeble arm of man.\n\nSuch are the benefits of language, even in its fugitive state; but the\nnoblest of all the benefits which it confers, is in that permanent\ntransmission of thought, which gives to each individual the powers\nand the wisdom of his species; or, rather,--for the united powers and\nwisdom of his species, as they exist in myriads, at the same moment\nwith himself, upon the globe, would be comparatively a trifling\nendowment,--it gives him the rich inheritance of the accumulated\nacquisitions of all the multitudes, who, like himself, in every\npreceding age, have inquired, and meditated, and patiently discovered,\nor by the happy inspiration of genius, have found truths which they\nscarcely sought, and penetrated, with the rapidity of a single glance,\nthose depths of nature, which the weak steps and dim torch-light of\ngenerations after generations had vainly laboured to explore. By that\nhappy invention, which we owe indirectly to the ear, the boundaries of\ntime seem to be at once removed. Nothing is _past_; for every thing\nlives, as it were, before us. The thoughts of beings who had trod the\nmost distant soil, in the most distant period, arise again in our mind,\nwith the same warmth and freshness as when they first awoke to life in\nthe bosom of their author. That system of perpetual transmigration,\nwhich was but a fable, as believed by Pythagoras,--becomes reality when\nit is applied, not to the _soul_ itself, but to its feelings. There\nis then a _true metempsychosis_, by which the poet and the sage, in\nspreading their conceptions and emotions from breast to breast, may be\nsaid to extend their existence through an ever-changing immortality.\nWho does not feel the justness of what Lucan says, when he speaks\nof the events of Pharsalia, and predicts the lively feelings with\nwhich they are afterwards to be regarded, not as past, and therefore\nindifferent, but as present, and almost future:\n\n \u201cH\u00e6c et apud seras gentes, populosque nepotum,\n Sive sua tantum venient in secula fama,--\n Sive aliquid magnis nostri quoque cura laboris\n Nominibus prodesse potest,--cum bella legentur,\n Spesque metusque simul, perituraque vota movebunt;\n Attonitique omnes, veluti _venientia_ fata\n Non _transmissa_ legent, et _adhuc_ tibi magni favebunt.\u201d[77]\n\n\u201cThere is without all doubt,\u201d as has been justly observed, \u201ca chain of\nthe thoughts of human kind, from the origin of the world down to the\nmoment at which we exist,--a chain not less universal than that of the\ngeneration of every being that lives. Ages have exerted their influence\non ages; nations on nations; truths on errors; errors on truths.\u201d In\nconformity with this idea of the generation of thought, I may remark,\nthat we are in possession of opinions,--which, perhaps, regulate our\nlife in its most important moral concerns, or in all its intellectual\npursuits,--with respect to which, we are as ignorant of the original\nauthors, by whom they have been silently and imperceptibly transmitted\nto us from mind to mind, as we are ignorant of those ancestors, on\nwhose existence in the thousands of years which preceded our entrance\ninto the world, our life itself has depended, and without whom,\ntherefore, _we_ should not have been.\n\nThe unlimited transmission of thought, which the invention of language\nallows, brings the universe of _mind_ into that point of view, in\nwhich an eloquent living French author has considered the _physical_\nuniverse,--as exhibiting, at once, all its splendid varieties of\nevents, and uniting, as it were, in a single moment the wonders of\neternity. \u201cCombine,\u201d says he, \u201cby your imagination, all the fairest\nappearances of things. Suppose that you see, at once, all the hours\nof the day, and all the seasons of the year,--a morning of spring\nand of autumn,--a night brilliant with stars, and a night obscure\nwith clouds,--meadows, enamelled with flowers,--fields, waving with\nharvest,--woods, heavy with the frosts of winter,--you will then have a\njust notion of the spectacle of the universe. Is it not wondrous, that\nwhile _you_ are admiring the sun, who is plunging beneath the vault of\nthe west, _another_ observer is beholding him as he quits the regions\nof the east,--in the same instant reposing, weary, from the dust of the\nevening, and awaking, fresh and youthful, in the dews of morn! there is\nnot a moment of the day, in which the same sun is not rising, shining\nin his zenith, and setting on the world! or, rather, our senses abuse\nus, and there is no rising, nor setting, nor zenith, nor east, nor\nwest; but all is one fixed point, at which every species of light is\nbeaming at once from the unalterable orb of day.\u201d\n\nIn like manner,--If I may venture to consider the phenomena of the\nmind in the same fanciful point of view,--every moment may be said\nto be exhibiting the birth, and progress, and decay of thought.\nInfancy, maturity, old age, death, are mingled, as it were, in one\nuniversal scene. The opinions which are perishing in one mind, are\nrising in another; and often, perhaps, at the last fading ray of the\nflame of genius, that may have almost dazzled the world with excess\nof brilliancy, some star may be kindling, which is to shine upon the\nintellectual universe with equal light and glory:--[78]\n\n \u201cFlowers of the sky! ye, too, to age must yield,\n Frail, as your silken sisters of the field!\n Star after star from Heaven's high arch shall rush;\n Suns sink on suns, and systems systems crush;\n Headlong, extinct, to one dark centre fall,\n And Death, and Night, and Chaos, mingle all!\n ----Till, o'er the wreck, emerging from the storm,\n Immortal Nature lifts her changeful form;\n Mounts from her funeral pyre on wings of flame,\n And soars, and shines,--another, and the same.\u201d\n\nSuch are the benefits resulting from that happiest of all inventions,\nwhich we may be said to owe to our sense of Hearing,--if, indeed, it be\nan _invention_ of man, and not rather, as many have thought, a _coeval\npower_, bestowed on him by his provident Creator at the very moment\nwhich gave him life. But still, whether original or invented, the ear\nmust equally have been its primary recipient. We have seen, in the\nview which we have taken of it, that of our more social intercourse\nit constitutes the chief delight,--giving happiness to hours, the\nwearying heaviness of which must otherwise have rendered existence\nan insupportable burthen; and that, in its more important character,\nas fixed, in the imperishable records which are transmitted, in\nuninterrupted progression, from the generation which passes away to\nthe generation that succeeds, it gives to the individual _man_, the\nproduct of all the creative energies of _mankind_; extending, even to\nthe humblest intellect, which can still mix itself with the illustrious\ndead, that privilege, which has been poetically allotted to the\nimmortality of genius, of being \u201cthe citizen of every country, and the\ncontemporary of every age.\u201d\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[74] Gray de Principiis Cogitandi, Lib. I. v. 130-134.\n\n[75] Gray on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude, Stanza I.--In v. i.\nthe original has, instead of \u201cin vain,\u201d \u201cnow.\u201d\n\n[76] Reid's Inquiry into the Human Mind, c. iv. sect. 1.\n\n[77] Pharsalia, lib. vii. v. 207--213.\n\n[78] Darwin's Botanic Garden, Canto IV. v. 371--380.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XXI.\n\nON HEARING--CONTINUED.\n\n\nGentlemen, after considering, in a former Lecture, some states of mind,\nwhich arise immediately from affections of our nerves, and which,\ntherefore, I can see no reason for classing apart from our other\nsensations, I proceeded, in my last Lecture, to consider the feelings,\nwhich are more commonly termed sensations, beginning with the most\nsimple of these, in the order of _smell_, _taste_, and _hearing_.\n\nIn the elucidation of these, my great object was to show, that there is\nnothing, in the mere states of mind, that constitutes the sensations of\nfragrance, sweetness, sound, which could have led us to ascribe them to\ncorporeal objects as their causes,--more than in any of our internal\njoys or sorrows,--if we had had no other means of acquiring knowledge\nof those causes, than are afforded by the sensations themselves,--that,\nin short, we consider them as sensations, or external affections of the\nmind, because we have previously believed in an external world,--not\nthat we believe in an external world, merely because we have had those\nparticular sensations.\n\nThe various advantages, which these three senses afford, I endeavoured\nto point out to you; and, in particular occupied a great part of my\nLecture, in illustrating the advantages for which we are indebted to\nour organ of _hearing_, as the medium of _language_, and by it, more or\nless directly, not of the high acquisitions of science and civilization\nonly, but of the rudest forms of social communication, and almost of\nsocial existence.\n\nAfter the remarks on this advantage received from _language_, which\nis unquestionably, and beyond all comparison, the most inestimable\nbenefit which the sense of hearing affords,--it would be improper to\nomit wholly the mention of the pleasure, which we receive from it, as\na source of _musical_ delight,--of that expression of feeling, which\nitself, almost like verbal discourse, may be said to be a language,\nsince it is the utterance of thought and emotion from heart to\nheart,--but which has a voice, as independent of the mere arbitrary\n_forms of speech_, as the tears of gratitude, or the smiles of love,\nthat may indeed, give eloquence to _words_, but require no _words_ to\nrender _them_ eloquent. Though, when very strictly considered, even the\npure, and almost spiritual delight of music, may perhaps be counted\nonly a pleasure of sense, it yet approaches, by so many striking\nanalogies, to the nature of our intellectual enjoyments, that it may\nalmost be said to belong to that class; and though,--relatively to\nminds that are capable of enjoyments more truly intellectual,--it is to\nbe considered as a mere pastime or relaxation, it assumes a far higher\ncharacter, in its relation to the general pleasures of common minds,\nand may be said, at least, to be the _intellectual luxury_ of those,\nwho are incapable of any other luxury, that deserves so honourable a\nname. And it is well, that there should be some intermediate pleasure\nof this sort, to withdraw for a while the dull and the sensual, from\nthe grosser existence in which they may be sunk, and to give them some\nglimpses, at least, of a state of purer enjoyment, than that which is\nto be derived from the sordid gains, and sordid luxuries, of common\nlife.\n\nOf the influence,--whether salutary or injurious,--which music has\nupon the general character,--when cultivated, to great refinement,\nand so universally as almost to become a part of the habit of daily\nsocial life,--it is not, at present, the place to speak. But of its\n_temporary_ influence, as a source of tranquillizing delight, there\ncan be no doubt,--nor, perhaps too, of its occasional efficacy, in\nexciting emotions of a stronger kind, when peculiar circumstances may\nhave predisposed to them in a very high degree. But there can be as\nlittle doubt, that by far the greater number of anecdotes of this kind,\nwhich have been handed down in ancient history, are as fabulous, as the\nexistence of that _god of music_, to whose miraculous influence alone,\nthey could, with any decent appearance of epic or dramatic truth, have\nbeen ascribed.\n\n \u201cHear, how Timotheus' varied lays surprise,\n And bid alternate passions fall and rise;\n While at each change, the son of Lybian Jove\n Now burns with glory, and then melts with love,--\n Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow,\n Now, sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow;\n Persians and Greeks like turns of nature found,\n And the world's victor stood subdued--by sound!\u201d[79]\n\nOn these lines, which allude to the celebrated ode of Dryden,--who\nadapted, with most happy application, to the burning of the Persian\npalace, an anecdote recorded of the power of Timotheus over the\nsame great warrior, on another occasion,--I may remark, by the way,\nwhat influence the accidental composition of this ode has had, in\ngiving almost a sort of dignity to the very madness of the act which\nit records. It is impossible for us,--even though we knew well how\nfictitious is the circumstance attached to it,--not to look upon the\naction, in a different light, from that in which we should have viewed\nit, if we had read only the historical account of it, as originating in\na drunken debauch, at the instigation of a drunken prostitute.\n\nSuch is the influence of genius. Its power extends not over the present\nand the future merely, but, in some measure, also over the past, which\nmight have seemed fixed forever. In spite of our conviction, we look\nupon an action of Alexander differently, because an individual existed,\nmany centuries after him, and in a country which would then have been\njustly counted barbarous, by the very barbarians whom he overcame.\n\n\u201cEbrio scorto de tanta re ferente sententiam, unus et alter, et ipsi\nmero onerati, assentiunt: Rex quoque fuit avidior quam patientior.\n\u2018Quin igitur ulcisimur Gr\u00e6ciam, et urbi faces subdimus?\u2019 Omnes\nincaluerant mero; itaque surgunt temulenti ad incendendam urbem, cui\narmati, pepercerant.\u201d[80]\n\nOf the wonders, which were said, in ancient times, to have been\nperformed, on the mind and body, by a judicious adaptation of musical\nsounds, to the nature of the particular case, intellectual, moral,\nor corporeal, I might read many histories to you, from the original\nauthors, which would perhaps not be less truly ludicrous in the serious\ngravity of their narration, than in the affected solemnity of the\nfictitious personage whose speech I am about to quote. The experiment\nwith which the quotation closes is, it must be allowed, a very powerful\none, and certainly could not have been more successful, in the hands of\nTimotheus himself.\n\n\u201cThe bare mention of _music_ threw Cornelius into a passion. \u2018How can\nyou dignify,\u2019 quoth he, \u2018this modern fiddling with the name of music?\nWill any of your best hautboys encounter a wolf now-a-days with no\nother arms but their instruments, as did that ancient piper Pythocaris?\nHave ever wild boars, elephants, deer, dolphins, whales, or turbots,\nshewed the least emotion at the most elaborate strains of your modern\nscrapers, all which have been, as it were tamed and humanized by\nancient musicians? Whence proceeds the degenerancy of our morals? Is\nit not from the loss of ancient music, by which (says Aristotle) they\ntaught all the virtues? Else might we turn Newgate into a college of\nDorian musicians, who should teach moral virtues to those people.\nWhence comes it that our present diseases are so stubborn? whence is\nit that I daily deplore my sciatical pains? Alas! because we have lost\ntheir true cure, by the melody of the pipe. All this was well known\nto the ancients, as Theophrastus assures us, (whence C\u00e6lius calls it\n_loca dolentia decantare_) only indeed some small remains of this skill\nare preserved in the cure of the Tarantula. Did not Pythagoras stop a\ncompany of drunken bullies from storming a civil house, by changing\nthe strain of the pipe to the sober spondaeus? and yet your modern\nmusicians want art to defend their windows from common nickers. It is\nwell known that when the Lacedaemonian mob were up, they commonly sent\nfor a Lesbian musician to appease them, and they immediately grew calm\nas soon as they heard Terpander sing: Yet I don't believe that the\nPope's whole band of music, though the best of this age, could keep his\nholiness's image from being burnt on a fifth of November.\u2019 \u2018Nor would\nTerpander himself,\u2019 replied Albertus, \u2018at Billingsgate, nor Timotheus\nat Hockley in the Hole, have any manner of effect, nor both of them\ntogether bring Horneck to common civility.\u2019 \u2018That's a gross mistake,\u2019\nsaid Cornelius, very warmly, \u2018and to prove it so, I have here a small\nlyra of my own, framed, strung, and tuned after the ancient manner.\nI can play some fragments of Lesbian tunes, and I wish I were to try\nthem upon the most passionate creatures alive.\u2019--\u2018You never had a\nbetter opportunity,\u2019 says Albertus, \u2018for yonder are two apple-women\nscolding, and just ready to uncoif one another.\u2019 With that Cornelius,\nundressed as he was, jumps out into his balcony, his lyra in hand,\nin his slippers,--with a stocking upon his head, and waist-coat of\nmurrey-coloured satin upon his body: He touched his lyra with a very\nunusual sort of an harpegiatura, nor were his hopes frustrated. The odd\nequipage, the uncouth instrument, the strangeness of the man and of the\nmusic, drew the ears and eyes of the whole mob that were got about the\ntwo female champions, and at last of the combatants themselves. They\nall approached the balcony, in as close attention as Orpheus's first\naudience of cattle, or that of an Italian opera, when some favourite\nair is just awakened. This sudden effect of his music encouraged him\nmightily, and it was observed he never touched his lyre in such a truly\nchromatic and enharmonic manner as upon that occasion. The mob laughed,\nsung, jumped, danced, and used many odd gestures, all which he judged\nto be caused by the various strains and modulations. \u2018Mark,\u2019 quoth he,\n\u2018in this, the power of the Ionian, in that, you see the effect of the\n\u00c6olian.\u2019 But in a little time they began to grow riotous, and threw\nstones; Cornelius then withdrew. \u2018Brother,\u2019 said he, \u2018do you observe I\nhave mixed unawares too much of the Phrygian? I might change it to the\nLydian, and soften their riotous tempers: But it is enough: learn from\nthis sample to speak with veneration of ancient music. If this lyre in\nmy unskilful hands can perform such wonders, what must it not have done\nin those of a Timotheus or a Terpander?\u2019 Having said this he retired\nwith the utmost exultation in himself, and contempt of his brother;\nand, it is said, behaved that night with such unusual haughtiness to\nhis family, that they all had reason to wish for some ancient Tibicen\nto calm his temper.\u201d[81]\n\nThat, in enlightened countries, so many wonders should have been\nrelated and credited,--if no phenomena that could justify them\nwere truly observed,--may perhaps on first reflection, appear so\nunaccountable, as almost to induce belief of the wonders themselves,\nas less inexplicable than the very credit which was given to them.\nBut it must be remembered, that, in all ages, and even in countries\nof philosophers, there is a very large fund of credulity in\nman,--which yields, very readily, to every thing that is not absolutely\nimpossible, and which is even not very nice, in estimating what is\nimpossible,--leaning always, whenever there is the slightest doubt\non this point, with a very favourable inclination to the side of the\n_possibility_;--and, in the second place, that the phenomena of music\nare precisely of a kind, which gives this credulity the widest scope.\nThey are pleasing in themselves, and of a kind therefore, on which it\nis gratifying to the imagination to dwell--their influence on the mind\nis felt in a very high and wonderful degree, even without any fabulous\naddition;--they are produced by instruments, which seem, in their\nsensible appearance, so little adequate to the production of them, that\nthe result is almost like the effect of supernatural agency, to which\nwe know not how to give any limits;--and, when a little mystery is once\nadmitted, the imagination, which has fairly got over the difficulty of\nthis first admission, is not very scrupulous afterwards as to degrees,\nbut is sufficiently ready of itself to admit a great deal more, without\npausing to consider its exact amount.\n\nThe phenomena of music, in addition to their general interest, are\ntruly worthy, in another respect, of our astonishment, from that\nstriking diversity of organic power in the perception of _melody_ and\nstill more of _harmony_ which they exhibit in different individuals,\nin whom all other circumstances are apparently the same,--a diversity\nwhich has often attracted the attention of philosophers, and has led\neven those who have no great tendency to speculation of any kind, to\nwonder at least, which is the first step of all philosophizing. In the\npresent instance, however, unfortunately, this first step is the only\nstep which philosophers have been able to take. They have been obliged\nto desist, after all their efforts to proceed farther, and to submit\nto share, and even to acknowledge that they share, the ignorance of\nthe vulgar. If, indeed, the want of musical ear had involved either\na general defect of hearing, or a general slowness of discrimination\nin other cases of nice diversity, the wonder would not have been\ngreat. But those, who are without ear for music, perceive as readily\nas others, the faintest whisper;--they distinguish like them, the\nfaintest shades of difference in the mere articulations of sound which\nconstitute the varieties of language, nor the articulations only, but\nthe differences also of the mere tones of affection or displeasure,\ngrief or gaiety, which are so strikingly analogous to the varied\nexpression of musical feeling;--and their power of discrimination\nin every other case, in which the judgment can be exercised, is not\nless perfect. Nay,--to increase still more the difficulty,--they are\noften as sensible, as others, of the beauty of series of tones of a\ndifferent kind; and some of our best poets and declaimers,--who of\ncourse must have had a quick discernment of metrical rhythm, and of\nthe melody of elocution,--have yet been incapable of distinguishing\nthe _musical_ relations of sounds, as reciprocally high or low,--the\nmelody that results from them in certain successions, and the harmony\nor the discord of their union. That it depends, chiefly, or perhaps\nentirely, on the structure or state of the mere corporeal organ of\nhearing,--which is of a kind, it must be remembered, peculiarly\ncomplicated, and therefore susceptible of great original diversity in\nthe parts, and relations of the parts that form it, is very probable;\nthough the difference of the separate parts themselves, or of their\nrelations to each other, may, to the mere eye, be so minute, as never\nto be discovered by dissection,--thus leaving, to every future race\nof inquirers, the same difficulty which has perplexed ourselves, and\nthe same impossibility of overcoming it. In the sense of vision, I may\nremark, there is a species of defect, very analogous to the want of\nmusical ear,--a defect, which consists in the difficulty, or rather the\nincapacity, of distinguishing some colours from each other--and colours\nwhich, to general observers, seem of a very opposite kind. As the want\nof musical ear implies no general defect of mere quickness of hearing,\nthis visual defect, in like manner, is to be found in persons, who are\nyet capable of distinguishing, with perfect accuracy, the form, and the\ngreater or less brilliancy of the coloured object;--and I may remark\ntoo, in confirmation of the opinion, that the want of musical ear\ndepends on causes not _mental_ but _organic_; that, in this analogous\ncase, some attempts, not absolutely unsuccessful, have been made, to\nexplain the apparent confusion of colours, by certain peculiarities\nof the external organ of sight. Though the one case, however, were to\nthrow no light upon the other, it is still gratifying to philosophers,\nto have a case at all analogous, to which, when they are weary of\nconsidering what has baffled all their endeavours to explain it,\nthey may have the comfort of turning away their attention, without\nthe mortification of seeming absolutely to fly from the subject.\nSuch is the strange constitution of our nature, that merely to have\nanother difficulty presented to us, though it may yet be absolutely\nunsurmountable in itself,--if only it have some slight resemblance\nto a former difficulty,--seems to us almost as if we had succeeded\nin explaining the first;--and each difficulty, by a very convenient\ntransposition, which our pride knows well how to make, supplies,\naccording as we may have been considering the one rather than the\nother, the place of explanation to that which is afterwards to explain\nit, no less clearly, in its turn.\n\nIn considering sound relatively to its external cause, we give the name\nof vibration to the successive pulses, or alternate approaches and\nrecessions of the particles of the elastic sounding body; and the word\nis a very convenient one for expressing this series. But still it may\nbe necessary to warn you, that the word, though single, is not the less\nexpressive of a plurality of states, which have no other unity, than\nas they are comprehended in this single word,--a word, like many other\nsingle words, by which we express the combination of various objects,\nor invented by us, merely to aid our weakness, that is incapable,\nwithout such helps, of conceiving or remembering even a small part of\nthat wide series of physical changes, which we are able to discover\nin the universe, if each event of the series were to be distinguished\nby a peculiar name. This mere aid of our weakness, however, we are\napt, by a very absurd, but a very general fallacy, to consider as\nsomething, much more dignified in its nature than a mere arbitrary\nverbal abbreviation,--as truly an explanation of the very phenomena, or\nseries of phenomena, which it simply designates. You must not flatter\nyourselves, however, that you have advanced the slightest step, in\nexplaining the connexion of sound with the pulses of air, when you have\nmerely invented a brief term for those successive pulses, and ascribed\nthe sound to vibration; you have, indeed, given a name to a series of\ncorpuscular phenomena, but you have not discovered any thing additional\nto the phenomena themselves, which can be considered as explanatory to\nthe changes produced.\n\n_What_, then, is truly meant, when it is said, that, for producing the\nmental affection, which constitutes hearing, some previous vibration\nis necessary? It certainly cannot mean, as I have already remarked,\nthat the vibration is any thing in itself different from the series\nof physical events which it expresses, however few or numerous these\nmay be, since it is only the name which we give to them, when we\nconsider them together; nor can it mean that the direct cause of the\nsensation is any thing different from the one organic state immediately\npreceding the sensation,--a state which may, indeed, have resulted from\na long sequence of prior organic states, produced during the continued\nvibratory motion of the air, but which is itself, in its relation to\nthe phenomenon which succeeds it,--that affection of the sentient\nmind which constitutes _hearing_,--to be considered independently of\nthese prior states, that have no other relation to the mind, than as\ngradually inducing that ultimate organic state, which is the state that\nis followed by sensation. There is a part, less or greater, of the\nsensorial organ, which must be affected, in a certain manner, before\nthe sensation of hearing can take place; and, in _vibration_, there\nis nothing but a repeated approach and secession of the vibrating\nparticles. If _vibration_, then, or a series of pulses, be necessary,\nit is evident that a corresponding series of changes in the organ\nis necessary; that is to say, there is no one instant, at which the\nvibrating particles are in such a state relatively to the sensorial\norgan, that if no previous change had been excited in the organ itself,\nthey could have produced in it immediately, the precise state, which\nis instantly followed by the mental affection of hearing. There must,\ntherefore, be a _series_ of changes, in the sensorial organ itself,\nthe last of which only is followed by sensation. The particles of the\nair, or any other elastic medium, for example, must, in their _first_\nappulse, produce a certain state of the sensorial organ; in their\n_second_ appulse, a different state, by acting on an organ, already\naffected in a certain manner; in their _third_ appulse, a still\ndifferent state; and thus successively, till, _at last_, they produce\nthat particular definite state of the sensorial organ, in consequence\nof which, the _mind_ becomes instantly _sentient_,--a state which could\nnot have been produced by any single impulse of the particles on the\nunaffected organ, because then vibration, or a series of pulses, would\nnot have been necessary.\n\nTo this successive modification of states of an organ, terminating\nin a particular result, different from each of the prior states,\nthere are abundant analogies in the history of the mind, and many\nin the phenomena of sensation itself. One of the most remarkable of\nthese is the production of the sensation of _whiteness_, by the rapid\nrevolution of a cylinder, on which the separate prismatic colours, and\nthe separate colours only, are painted, in certain proportions; _each\ncolour_, in this case, acting on the organ already affected by a former\ncolour, till a sensation altogether different from the result of each\nof them when separate, is their joint ultimate result, the sensation of\n_whiteness_, without any external object that is white.\n\nIn this way only, by a series of progressive organic affections, and\nnot by any single affection, can the vibration of an elastic medium,\nas different from one simple unrepeated impulse, terminate in the\nproduction of sound. It is, in short, a name for this series of\nchanges, and nothing more.\n\nIf, in a case so very obscure as that of _musical ear_, in which all\nthat is truly evident, is, that in different individuals, there is\na diversity of some kind or other--I could permit myself to indulge\nany conjecture with respect to this diversity,--I might perhaps,\nbe inclined to look to the view now given of the real nature of\n_vibration_, and its progressive effects on the auditory part of our\nnervous system, as furnishing some slight ground, not, indeed, for any\ntheory, which is far too presumptuous a word, but for the preference of\none mere possibility, to other mere possibilities, which is all that\ncan be hoped in any conjecture, on so very dim and impalpable a subject.\n\nWe have seen that the series of pulses of the vibrating air,--if\nvibration, or a series of pulses be necessary to sound,--must\nproduce a series of changes in the sensorial organ, which produce\nno corresponding affection of the mind, till, at last, a state of\nthe organ is produced, which _is_ attended with sensation. This, and\nthis only, can be meant, when we speak of vibration as the antecedent\nof sound,--a series of organic changes, and, after this series, an\naffection of the mind. In such circumstances, it is certainly more\nprobable, that the organ thus affected with a series of progressive\nchanges, does not pass instantly from the greatest change to the state\nin which it was originally, before the first pulse, but that it retains\nthis state, for a time, however, short, or, at least, passes through\nsome series of states, in its gradual return, so that, if a _new_\nvibration be excited by the pulse of any sounding body, before the\norgan of hearing have returned to its original state, the effect may\nbe supposed to be different from that which it would have been, if the\nsame vibration had been primarily communicated to the organ, in its\nstate of rest, or in that state, which, from our want of a better word,\nmay be termed its state of rest.\n\nThe phenomena most analogous to these vibratory affections of the ear,\nas depending on successive impulses, are unquestionably the phenomena\nof _titillation_, or rather, to express what is so familiar and simple,\nby a more homely and appropriate word, the phenomena of _tickling_.\nIn this, the great circumstance distinguishing musical feeling, is to\nbe found, that the feeling arises not from the separate impressions,\nbut from their successions or co-existence. When the palm of the hand\nis gently tickled, as the finger passes rapidly and repeatedly over\nthe palm, the parts first affected are again affected with various\ndegrees of pressure, as the ear, in melody, is successively affected\nby repeated varieties of vibration; and various parts of the organ of\ntouch exist, at the same moment, in various states, forming one joint\nresult of sensation, as, in harmony, various vibrations of the organ\nof hearing _co-exist_, and blend together in one mingled delight. To\nproduce tickling, a certain rapidity of succession is necessary; for,\nif the parts, first affected, have returned to their original state,\nbefore other parts begin to be affected, or themselves to be affected\nagain, the slow motion, it is evident, may be continued, for any length\nof time, without any effect, different from that of simple pressure.\nThe quicker, then, the return of the parts may be to their original\nstate, the less will be the titillation; and, it is very probably,\na difference in this quickness of return, which constitutes the\ndifference of ticklishness, so remarkable in different individuals, who\nfeel, equally, the light pressure of each separate touch. That there is\na difference of ticklishness, in different persons, you all know; some\nbeing easily excited even to convulsive laughter, by slight motions,\nthat scarcely produce any effect in others, beyond that of the simple\nprimary sensation of touch. A person who is ticklish, and a person who\nis not ticklish, agree in receiving this first tactual sensation; but\nthey differ afterwards, in this respect, that when the same slight\nimpulse is rapidly repeated, on the same surface, it produces a\nlivelier effect than before, in the _one_, but not in the _other_. The\norgan of the one who is not ticklish is in the same state, or nearly\nin the same state, when it receives the second, third, and fourth\nimpression, as when it received the first, and no peculiar excitement,\ntherefore, is produced. The organ of the other, more susceptible,\nor more tenacious of the affection produced, has not returned to\nits original state, when the rapid impression is repeated, and is,\ntherefore, at every new impression, affected in a different manner.\n\nProceeding on the analogy of these phenomena,--of mere _tickling_,\nwith which I may suppose you to be all acquainted,--an analogy\nwhich, striking as it is in many circumstances, I readily own, does\nnot justify more than conjecture in the case to which I would apply\nit,--I conceive it to be, at least, not absolutely impossible, since\na diversity of some kind, there must be, that in those who receive\nno pleasure from music, as in those who are not ticklish, there is\na rapid return of the nervous organ, after each separate affection,\nto its original state; that each separate touch or pressure in the\none case, and each separate tone in the other case, produces its\nparticular effect,--that effect which it would have produced in all,\nif unaccompanied by any other tone in music, or slight pressure in\ntickling,--but that a succession of these produces no effect different\nfrom that which each would have produced singly. A certain interval is\nnecessary for distinct hearing in every case; and, before this interval\nhas passed, the auditory nerves, in this case, may be imagined to be\nagain quiescent, or nearly quiescent.\n\nI need not add, that, in an inquiry of this sort, all which is\nnecessary, is to account for the mere original defect of pleasure;\nsince, if the relations of notes, as reciprocally high or low, never\ngave any delight, the ear, having no object of interest in these\nsuccessions, would soon habitually neglect them, and at length\ncease altogether to distinguish them, attending only to the verbal\nmeaning of sounds, and not to their tone; in the same manner, as we\npay little attention to another relative difference of voices as\nmore or less loud, unless when the difference is very considerable,\nand not in those common differences of intensity which distinguish\nevery voice in conversation from every other voice,--or as, after\nliving long in a province, the dialect of which is distinguished by\nany accentual peculiarities, we at last become unconscious of these,\nand hear the words, as it were, stripped of their peculiarity of\ntone. In what is termed the cultivation of a musical ear, however,\nwe have not an analogy merely, but a direct proof of this influence\nof habit. That the ear may be improved by cultivation, or, in other\nwords, by nice attention to the differences of musical sound, every\none knows; and if this attention can enable us, even in mature life,\nto distinguish sounds as different in themselves, which, but for the\nhabitual attention, we should have regarded as the same, it may well\nbe supposed, that continued inattention, from earliest infancy, may\nrender us insensible of musical relations still more obvious and\nprecise, than those which we have thus only learned to distinguish;\nor, which is the same thing, that continued attention from infancy\nto slight musical differences of sound,--an attention which may be\nregarded as the natural effect of pleasure received,--may render us\ncapable of distinguishing tones as very dissimilar, the differences of\nwhich, however obvious at present, we should scarcely, but for such\noriginal attentive discrimination, have been able to detect. What, in\ncomparison, the refined musical ear of a performer,--almost every hour,\nand every moment, of whose life has been spent amid sounds,\n\n \u201cUntwisting all the chains, that tie\n The hidden soul of harmony,\u201d--\n\nis to a common musical ear, that common musical ear may be to those\nin whom this discriminating skill seems to be wholly or nearly\ndefective. The refined musician,--who, but for the long practice of\nhis art, would have shared that incapacity which now excites his\nwonder,--is astonished, that persons of common ear do not distinguish\nthe nice differences which appear to him almost as remarkable as those\ndifferences which they are capable of perceiving; and the person of\ncommon musical ear only does the same thing, when he is astonished that\nthe less refined differences, remarked by himself, are not obviously\ndistinguishable by all mankind, or, at least, by all who have no\ndeafness to incapacitate them from hearing the separate sounds. The\ndiscrimination in both has depended on previous attention, which has\nnecessarily been greater in one case than in the other; and what\nattention can we suppose to have been originally given, if from the\ncause which I have ventured to state as a possible one in persons\nwithout musical ear, no pleasure had originally been felt by them in\nany sequence of notes as successive, and the whole value of sound\nbeen to them the meaning of which it was symbolically representative,\nwhich, accordingly, they have learned to discriminate in every case, as\naccurately as others.\n\nI might follow out this speculation at much greater length; but I have\nalready dwelt too long on what is at best a conjecture, and what,\nperhaps, even as a mere conjecture, is founded only on a slight analogy.\n\nAfter the examination of the phenomena of _Smell_, _Taste_, and\n_Hearing_, which are peculiarly simple, I proceed to the consideration\nof Senses, which afford phenomena that are more complicated, or, at\nleast, which seem more complicated, as considered in the mature state\nof the mind; when the sensations that arise from one set of organs,\nby frequent co-existence with sensations that arise from affections\nof other sets of organs, are, as it were, blended with them in one\ncompound perception, and so permanently modified forever after, that\nit is difficult in all cases, and in many cases perhaps impossible, to\nform any accurate notion of the sensations as they existed in their\noriginal elementary state.\n\nSince, of the two senses of _Sight_ and _Touch_, that of _Sight_,--as\nfar, at least, as we are able, by intellectual analysis at present to\ndiscover its original sensations,--is more simple, and more analogous\nto the senses before considered, I should be inclined, on these\naccounts, to proceed to the consideration of it, previously to any\ninquiry into the sense of Touch. But this order, though unquestionably\nthe more regular, if we had to consider only the original sensations of\neach organ, would be attended with great inconvenience in considering\ntheir subsequent modified sensations; since those of Vision depend, in\na very great degree, on the _prior_ affections of _Touch_, with the\nnature of which, therefore, it is necessary for you to be acquainted in\nthe first place. I am aware, indeed, that, in considering even _Touch_,\nI may sometimes find it necessary to refer, for illustration to the\nphenomena of _Vision_, though these have not been considered by us, and\nmust, therefore, for the time, be taken upon trust. But when phenomena\nare at all complicated, such occasional anticipations are absolutely\nunavoidable. Sensation, indeed, says Aristotle, is a _straight line_,\nwhile intellect is a _circle_,--\u0391\u1f34\u03c3\u03b8\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9\u03c2 \u03b3\u03c1\u03b1\u03bc\u03bc\u1f74, \u03bd\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c2 \u03ba\u03cd\u03ba\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2,--or\nto use the paraphrastic translation of Cudworth, in his treatise on\nImmutable Morality, \u201cSense is of that which is without. Sense wholly\ngazes and gads abroad; and, therefore, doth not know and comprehend\nits object, because it is different from it. Sense is a line, the\nmind is a circle. Sense is like a line, which is the flux of a point\nrunning out from itself; but intellect like a circle, that keeps within\nitself.\u201d[82] That sense is not a circle is, indeed, true, since it\nterminates in a point; but far from being a _straight_ line, it is\none of the most perplexing of _curves_, and is crossed and cut by so\nmany other curves,--into many of which it flows, and unites with them\ncompletely,--that when we arrive at the extremity of the line, it is\nalmost impossible for us to determine with accuracy what _curve_ it is,\nwhich, in the strange confusion of our diagram, we have been attempting\nto trace from its initial point.\n\nI proceed, then, to the consideration of the phenomena of the sense of\n\n\nTOUCH.\n\nIf priority of sensation alone were to be regarded, the sense of\n_touch_ might deserve to be considered in the first place; as it must\nhave been exercised long before birth, and is probably the very feeling\nwith which sentient life commences. The act of _birth_, in relation to\nthe mind of the little stranger, who is thus painfully ushered into the\nwide scene of the world, is a series of feelings, of this class; and\nthe first feeling which awaits him, on his entrance,--in the change of\ntemperature to which he is exposed,--is still to be referred to the\nsame organ. It is at this most important moment of existence, when one\ndark and solitary life of _months_, of which no vestige is afterwards\nto remain in the memory, is finished, and a new life of _many\nyears_,--a life of sunshine and society,--is just beginning, that, in\nthe figurative language of the author, whom I am about to quote to you,\n_Pain_, the companion of human life, receives him on the first step of\nhis journey, and embraces him in his iron arms.\n\n \u201cPrimas tactus agit partes, primusque minut\u00e6\n Laxat iter c\u00e6cum turb\u00e6, recipitque ruentem.\n Non idem huic modus est qui fratribus; amplius ille\n Imperium affectat senior, penitusque medullis,\n Viceribusque habitat totis, pellisque recentem\n Funditur in telam, et late per stamina vivit.\n Necdum etiam matris puer eluctatus ab alvo\n Multiplices solvit tunicas, et vincula rupit;\n Sopitus molli somno, tepidoque liquore\n Circumfusus adhuc; tactus tamen aura lacessit\n Jamdudum levior sensus, animamque reclusit.\n Idque magis, simul ac solitum blandamque calorem\n Frigore mutavit c\u0153li, quod verberat acri\n Impete inassuetos artus; tum s\u00e6vior adstat,\n Human\u00e6que comes vit\u00e6 Dolor excipit; ille\n Cunctantem frustra et tremulo multa ore querentem\n Corripit invadens, ferreisque amplectitur ulnis.\u201d[83]\n\nIt is at this moment, so painful to himself, that he is affording to\n_another_ bosom, perhaps the purest delight of which our nature is\ncapable, and has already kindled, in a heart, of the existence of which\nhe is as ignorant, as of the love which he excites in it, that warmth\nof affection, which is never, but in the grave, to be cold to _him_,\nand to which, in the many miseries that may await him,--in sorrow,\nin sickness, in poverty,--and perhaps too in the penitence of guilt\nitself,--when there is no other eye, to whose kindness he can venture\nto look, he is still to turn with the confidence, that he has yet, even\non earth, _one friend_, who will not abandon him,--and who will still\nthink of that innocent being, whose eye, before it was conscious of\nlight, seemed to look to her for the love and protection, which were\nready to receive him.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[79] Pope's Essay on Criticism, v. 374--381.\n\n[80] Quintus Curtius, lib. v. cap. 7.\n\n[81] Mart. Scrib. Book I. c. 7. with some exclusions.\n\n[82] Page 98, 99.\n\n[83] Gray de Princip. Cogit. lib. i. v. 64-80.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XXII.\n\nON THE FEELINGS ASCRIBED TO THE SENSE OF TOUCH,--AND ANALYSIS OF THESE\nFEELINGS.\n\n\nIn my Last Lecture, Gentlemen, I finished the remarks which I had to\noffer, on our sense of _hearing_; and in the conclusion of it, had\nbegun the consideration of a very important order of our feelings,\nthose which belong to the sense of _touch_.\n\nOf these, I may mention, in the first place, the sensations of _heat_\nand _cold_,--sensations that arise from affections of our nerves\nof touch, or at least from affections of nerves, which, as equally\ndiffused and intermingled with them, it is impossible to distinguish\nfrom those which constitute our organ of touch, the same wide surface\nrendering us sensible, as it were, at every point of warmth as of\npressure.\n\nI have also remarked to you, how little analogy there is of our\nsensations of warmth, to the other sensations commonly ascribed to\nthis organ; and the great difference of the feelings, has led some\nphysiologists to believe, that the organs of sensations so different,\nmust themselves be different. But even though the sensations were\nas dissimilar as is supposed, there is no reason _a priori_ to\nbelieve,--and to experience, it is evident, that, in this case, we\ncannot appeal, so as to derive from it any ground for believing,--that\nsensations, which are very different, must arise from affections\nof different organs. As far, indeed, as we can safely appeal to\nexperience, in this very case, there are sensations which we never\nhesitate in referring to our tactual nerves, as different from the more\ncommon sensations ascribed to touch, as the sensation of warmth itself.\nI allude to the pain of puncture or laceration of the skin. Indeed, if\nthe brain be ultimately the great organ of all our sensations, it is\nevident that we must refer to affections of _one_ sensorial organ, not\nthe various feelings of touch only, but, with them the still greater\nvariety of feelings, that constitute our sensations of smell, taste,\nsound, and colour.\n\nBut are we indeed sure, that there truly is that great dissimilarity\nsupposed, or may not our belief of it arise from our reference to touch\nof sensations that truly do not belong to it? Such, at least, is the\nopinion, to which, I think, a nicer analysis will lead us. The primary\noriginal feelings, which we owe to our mere organ of touch, I consider\nas of a kind, all of which are far more analogous to the sensations of\nwarmth, or of pain on puncture, than to the perceptions of form and\nhardness, which are generally regarded as tangible. Before entering on\nthe analysis, however, it will be necessary to consider, what are the\nsensations which we are supposed to owe to this organ.\n\nThe sensations of _heat_ and _cold_,--as received from our organ of\ntouch,--we may almost lay out of account in our analytical inquiry.\nIt is unnecessary to dwell on them, or even to repeat, in application\nto them, the argument, which has been already applied more than once\nto the sensations before considered. It is quite evident, that, in\nclassing our warmth or chillness, as a sensation,--and not as a feeling\nthat has arisen spontaneously in the mind,--we are influenced by\nthat experience, which has previously given us the belief of objects\nexternal,--at least, of our own corporeal frame,--and that, if we\nhad been unsusceptible of any other sensations, than those of heat\nand cold, we should as little have believed these to arise directly\nfrom a corporeal cause, as any of our feelings of joy or sorrow. The\nsame remark may be applied to the painful sensations of puncture and\nlaceration.\n\nIt is only to the other more important information ascribed to the\nsense of touch, therefore, that our attention is to be directed.\n\nBy _touch_, we are commonly said to be made acquainted with extension,\nmagnitude, divisibility, figure, motion, solidity, liquidity,\nviscidity, hardness, softness, roughness, smoothness. These terms, I\nreadily allow, are very convenient for expressing notions of certain\nforms or states of bodies, that are easily distinguishable. But,\nthough specifically distinguishable, they admit generically of very\nconsiderable reduction and simplification. Hardness and softness, for\nexample, are expressive only of greater or less resistance,--roughness\nis irregularity of resistance, when there are intervals between the\npoints that resist, or when some of these points project beyond\nothers,--smoothness is complete uniformity of resistance,--liquidity,\nviscidity, are expressive of certain degrees of yieldingness to our\neffort, which solidity excludes, unless when the effort employed\nis violent. All, in short, I repeat, are only different species or\ndegrees of that which we term _resistance_, whatever it may be,\nwhich impedes our continued effort, and impedes it variously as the\nsubstances without are themselves various. Such is one order, then, of\nthe feelings commonly ascribed to the sense which we are at present\nconsidering.\n\nTo proceed to the other supposed tangible qualities, before included in\nour enumeration,--_figure_ is the boundary of extension, as _magnitude_\nis that which it comprehends; and _divisibility_, if we consider the\napparent continuity of the parts which we divide, is only extension\nunder another name. If we except motion, therefore, which is not\npermanent, but accidental,--and the knowledge of which is evidently\nsecondary to the knowledge which we acquire of our organs of sense,\nbefore which the objects are said to move, and secondary in a much more\nimportant sense, as resulting not from any direct immediate organic\nstate of one particular moment, but from a comparison of sensations\npast and present,--all the information, which we are supposed to\nreceive primarily and directly from touch, relates to modifications of\n_resistance_ and _extension_.\n\nThough it is to the sense of _touch_, however, that the origin of the\nknowledge of these is generally ascribed, I am inclined to think,\nin opposition to this opinion, that in both cases, the reference is\nwrongly made,--that if we had the sense of touch only, we should not\nbe sensible of resistance, nor, I conceive, even of extension,--and\nthat we seem to perceive the varieties of extension and resistance\nimmediately by touch only, because the simple original tactual feeling\nhas become representative of these, in the same manner, and for\nthe same reason, as we seem to perceive the varieties of distance\nimmediately by the eye. The sense of touch has unquestionably, like all\nour other senses, its own peculiar feelings, though, for the simple\noriginal feelings, attached to the affections of this most extensive\nof organs, we have unfortunately no name, but that which is applied in\npopular, and even in philosophic language, to all the affections of the\nmind. Our joy or grief, hope or fear, love or hate, I before remarked,\nwe term _feelings_, as readily and frequently, as we use this term to\nexpress our sensations of _touch_; and that, which, however restricted\nin its original meaning, is now the common name of our mental\naffections of every class, has, by this extension, unfortunately,\nbecome a very unfit one, for distinguishing a limited order of those\naffections.\n\nWhatever be the term, which we may use, however, there _is_, and _must_\nbe, a sensation peculiar to touch, without regard to the extent or\nquantity of the surface impressed,--as there is, in colour, a sensation\npeculiar to vision, without regard to the extent of the portion of the\n_retina_ on which the light may have fallen. Every physical point of\nour organ of touch, when existing in a certain state, is capable of\ninducing in the mind a peculiar feeling, though no other physical point\nof the organ were affected,--as every physical point of the _retina_,\nthough but a single ray of light were admitted to the eye, is capable\nof inducing in the mind a peculiar affection of vision; and when many\nsuch physical points are affected together, by some impressing surface,\nthe form of which we think that we discover immediately by touch, it\nis from experience only that we can learn the vicinity of the physical\npoints of our own tactual surface thus impressed, and consequently the\ncontinued extension of the object which impresses them. Before we have\nso much knowledge of external things, as to know even that we have any\nbodily organs whatever,--and it is of this state of absolute ignorance\nalone that we must think, as often as we speculate on the information\nwhich our senses separately afford,--when we know as little of our\nbodily frame, as of that material universe, of which we know nothing,\nwe cannot, by the very terms of this supposition, know that different\npoints of our organ of touch are affected in a certain manner,--that\nthese points are contiguous to each other--and that the mass affecting\nthese contiguous points must consequently itself be composed of points,\nthat are, in like manner, contiguous. We know nothing of our organs--we\nknow nothing of any external masses--but a certain feeling is excited\nin our mind; and it is this simple feeling alone, whatever it may be,\nwhich constitutes the direct elementary sensation of touch, though this\nsimple elementary sensation, like many other sensations, may afterwards\nbe so blended with other feelings, as to become significant of them,\nand even to seem to involve them, as if originally and necessarily\ncoexisting.\n\nIt is impossible for us at present, indeed, to have a body impressed\non us, without the immediate notion of something external and\nextended,--as it is impossible for one, whose sight is perfect, to\nopen his eyes, in the light of day, without perceiving, as it were\nimmediately, the long line of variegated landscape, in the scenery\nbefore him:--the one impossibility is exactly equal to the other; yet\nwe know, in the case of vision, that all which we immediately perceive,\nat the very moment, when our eyes seem to comprehend the worlds of half\ninfinity, in the hemisphere on Which we gaze, is a small expanse of\nlight,--if even, which I greatly doubt, there truly be, in our original\nperceptions of this sense, so much of extension, as is implied in the\nsmallest possible expanse. In _touch_, in like manner, I conceive,\nthat the immediate sensation, though, like colour, it may now seem\ninseparable from _extension_ and _outness_,--if, on the authority\nof Berkeley, I may venture to use that barbarous but expressive\nterm,--was, like colour, originally distinct from them,--that, by the\nmere original sensations of this organ, in short, we could as little\nknow the existence of an impressing body, as, by the mere original\nsensations of vision, we could learn that such a body existed at the\nextremity of the room in which we sit.\n\nIn defining sensation, when we began our inquiry into its nature,\nI stated it to be that affection of the mind, which is immediately\nsubsequent to the affection of certain organs, induced by the action\nof external bodies; and I admitted, that, in this definition two\nassumptions were made,--the existence of foreign changeable external\nbodies, as separate from the mind,--and the existence of organs, also\nseparate from the mind, and in relation to it truly external, like\nother bodies, but forming a permanent part of our corporeal frame, and\ncapable of being affected, in a certain manner, by the other bodies,\nof which the existence was assumed. As far as our analytical inquiry\nhas yet proceeded, these assumptions are assumptions still. We have not\nbeen able to detect, in the sensations considered by us, more than in\nany of our internal pleasures or pains, any circumstances that seem to\nbe indicative of a material world without.\n\nOur analytical inquiry itself, however, even in attempting to trace\nthe circumstances, in which the belief originates, must proceed on\nthat very belief. Accordingly, in examining our senses of smell,\ntaste, and hearing, I uniformly took for granted the existence of\nodoriferous, sapid, and vibrating bodies, and considered merely,\nwhether the sensations, excited by these, were, of themselves, capable\nof communicating to us any knowledge of the external and independent\nexistence of the bodies which excited them.\n\nIn the present stage of our inquiry, I must, in like manner, take\nfor granted the existence of bodies, which act, by their contiguity\nor pressure, on our organ of _touch_, as the odoriferous or sapid\nparticles, act on our nerves of smell and taste--not that I assume\nthis belief, as existing in the mind whose intellectual acquisitions\nare the subject of inquiry,--for, in that case, the inquiry itself\nwould be superfluous. I assume it, merely as existing in the mind\nof us the inquirers,--and only, because it is impossible, without\nsuch an assumption to make the suppositions that are necessary for\nthe inquiry. All our language is at present adapted to a system of\nexternal things. There is no direct vocabulary of scepticism; and even\nthe most cautious and philosophic inquirer, therefore, must often be\nobliged to express his doubt, or his dissent, in language that implies\naffirmation. In the present case, when we attempt to analyse our\nsensations, it is impossible to speak of the circumstances in which the\ninfant is placed, or, I may say even, to speak of the infant himself,\nwithout that assumption which we have been obliged to make. The real\nexistence of an external universe, and the belief of that existence,\nare, however, in themselves, perfectly separate and distinct; and it is\nnot the existence of an external world, which we are now endeavouring\nto establish as an object of belief. We are only endeavouring, in\nour analysis of the sensations afforded by our different organs, to\nascertain in what circumstance the belief arises. There might be a\nworld of suns and planets, though there were no human being, whose\nmind could be affected with belief of it; and even the most zealous\ndefenders of the reality of external nature must admit, that, though\nno created thing but ourselves were in existence, our mind might still\nhave been so constituted, as to have the very series of feelings, which\nform at present its successive phenomena, and which are ascribed in no\nsmall number to the action of external things.\n\nAre the _primary_ sensations derived from the organ of touch, then, of\nsuch a kind as to afford us that knowledge, which they are supposed to\ngive of things without?\n\nLet us imagine a being, endowed with the sense of _touch_, and with\nevery other sense and faculty of our mind, but _not_ with any previous\nknowledge of his own corporeal frame, or of other things external,--and\nlet us suppose a small body, of any shape, to be pressed, for the first\ntime, on his open hand. Whatever feelings mere touch can give, directly\nof itself, would of course be the same in this case, as _now_, when our\nknowledge is increased, and complicated, from many other sources.\n\nLet the body, thus impressed, be supposed to be a small _cube_, of\nthe same temperature with the hand itself, that all consideration of\nheat or cold may be excluded, and the feeling produced be as simple as\npossible.\n\nWhat, then, may we suppose the consequent feeling to be?\n\nIt will, I conceive, be a simple feeling of the kind of which I have\nalready spoken, as capable of arising from the affection of a single\npoint of our organ of touch,--a feeling that varies indeed with the\nquantity of pressure, as the sensation of fragrance varies with the\nnumber of the odorous particles, but involves as little the notion of\nextension, as that notion is involved in the mere fragrance of a violet\nor a rose. The connection of this original tactual feeling, however,\nwith that of extension, is, _now_, so indissoluble, as, indeed, it\ncould not fail to become, in the circumstance in which it has uniformly\narisen, that it is almost impossible to conceive it as separate. We\nmay perhaps, however, make a near approach to the conception of it,\nby using the gentle gradual pressure of a small pointed body, which,\nin the various slight feelings, excited by it,--before it penetrate\nthe cuticle, or cause any considerable pain,--may represent, in some\nmeasure, the simple and immediate effect, which pressure in any case\nproduces,--exclusively of the associate feelings which it indirectly\nsuggests.\n\nSuch of you, as have the curiosity to try the experiment, with any\nsmall bodies, not absolutely pointed,--such as the head of a pin,\nor any body of similar dimensions,--will be astonished to feel, how\nvery slightly, if at all, the notion of _extension_ or _figure_ is\ninvolved in the feeling, even after all the intimate associations of\nour experience;--certainly far less than the notion of longitudinal\ndistance seems to us to be involved in the immediate affections of our\nsense of sight. It is an experiment, therefore, which I must request\nyou not to neglect to make.\n\nBut the pressure of such a large body, as the cube, which we have\nsupposed to be pressed against our organ of touch, _now_ awakens very\ndifferent feelings. We perceive, as it were immediately, _form_ and\n_hardness_. May not, then, the knowledge of resistance and extension,\nand consequently the belief of the essential qualities of matter,--be\noriginally communicated by the affections of this organ?\n\nThe feeling of _resistance_,--to begin with this,--is, I conceive, to\nbe ascribed, not to our organ of touch, but to our muscular frame,\nto which I have already more than once directed your attention,\nas forming a distinct organ of sense; the affections of which,\nparticularly as existing in combination with other feelings, and\nmodifying our judgments concerning these, (as in the case of distant\nvision, for example,) are not less important than those of our other\nsensitive organs. The sensations of this class, are, indeed, in common\ncircumstances, so obscure, as to be scarcely heeded or remembered by\nus; but there is probably no contraction, even of a single muscle,\nwhich is not attended with some faint degree of sensation, that\ndistinguishes it from the contractions of other muscles, or from other\ndegrees of contraction of the same muscle. I must not be understood,\nhowever, as meaning that we are able, in this manner, by a sort of\ninstinctive anatomy, to perceive and number our own muscles, and when\nmany of them are acting together, as they usually do, to distinguish\n_each_ from _each_; for, till we study the internal structure of our\nframe, we scarcely know more, than that we have limbs which move at\nour will, and we are altogether ignorant of the complicated machinery\nwhich is subservient to the volition. But each motion of the visible\nlimb, whether produced by one or more of the invisible muscles, is\naccompanied with a certain feeling, that may be _complex_, indeed, as\narising from various muscles, but which is considered by the mind as\n_one_; and it is this particular feeling, accompanying the particular\nvisible motion,--whether the feeling and the invisible parts contracted\nbe truly simple or compound,--which we distinguish from every other\nfeeling accompanying every other quantity of contraction. It is as if a\nman, born blind, were to walk, for the first time, in a flower garden.\nHe would distinguish the fragrance of one parterre from the fragrance\nof another, though he might be altogether ignorant of the separate\nodours united in each; and might even consider as one simple perfume,\nwhat was, in truth, the mingled product of a thousand.\n\nObscure as our muscular sensations are in common circumstances, there\nare other circumstances,--which I pointed out to you in treating before\nof this subject,--in which they make themselves abundantly manifest.\nI need not refer to the diseased state of the muscles, in which they\nbecome painfully sensible; and I will admit, that the reference to such\na morbid state, in which the structure may be supposed to be altered\nby the disease, would perhaps scarcely be a fair one. It is sufficient\nto refer to phenomena of which every one must have been conscious\ninnumerable times, and which imply no disease nor lasting difference\nof state. What is the feeling of fatigue, for example, but a muscular\nfeeling? that is to say, a feeling of which our muscles are as truly\nthe organ, as our eye or ear is the organ of sight or hearing. When a\nlimb has been long exercised, without sufficient intervals of rest,\nthe repetition of the contraction of its muscles is accompanied, not\nwith a slight and obscure sensation, but with one which amounts, if it\nbe gradually increased, to severe pain, and which before it arrives at\nthis, has passed progressively through various stages of uneasiness.\nEven when there has been no previous fatigue, we cannot make a single\npowerful effort at any time, without being sensible of the muscular\nfeeling connected with this effort. Of the pleasure which attends more\nmoderate exercise, every one must have been conscious in himself, even\nin his years of maturity, when he seldom has recourse to it for the\npleasure alone; and must remember, still more the happiness which it\nafforded him in other years, when happiness was of less costly and\nlaborious production than at present. By that admirable provision,\nwith which nature accommodates the blessings which she gives, to the\nwants that stand in need of them, she has, in that early period,--when\nthe pleasure of mental freedom, and the ambitions of busy life, are\nnecessarily excluded,--made ample amends to the little slave of\naffection, in that disposition to spontaneous pleasure, which renders\nit almost an effort to be sad, as if existence itself were delight;\ngiving him a fund of independent happiness in the very air which\nshe has poured around him, and the ready limbs which move through\nit, almost without his bidding. In that beautiful passage, in which\nGoldsmith describes the sounds that come in one mingled murmur from\nthe village, who does not feel the force of the happiness which is\ncomprised in the single line, that speaks of\n\n \u201cThe playful children, just let loose from school?\u201d[84]\n\nIt is not the mere freedom from the intellectual task of which we\nthink; it is much more, that burst of animal pleasure, which is felt in\nevery limb, when the long constraint that has repressed it is removed,\nand the whole frame is given once more to all the freedom of nature.\nIt is by the pleasure of exertion, and the pain of inexertion, that\nwe are roused from that indolence, into which, with great injury to\nsociety, that requires our contribution of active aid, we otherwise\nmight sink;--as we are roused, in like manner, by the pleasure of food,\nand the pain of hunger, to take the aliment that is necessary for our\nindividual sustenance; and though the mere aliment is, indeed, more\nimportant for life, it is not more important for happiness than that\npleasure of activity which calls and forces us from our slothful repose.\n\n \u201cThee, too, My Paridel,--I saw thee there,\n Stretch'd on the rack of a too easy chair.\u201d\n\nWith the same happy provision with which she has considered the young\nof our own species, Nature has, in the other animals, whose sources of\ngeneral pleasure are still more limited than in the child, converted\ntheir muscular frame into an organ of delight. It is not in search of\nricher pasture that the horse gallops over his field, or the goat leaps\nfrom rock to rock; it is for the luxury of the exercise itself. \u201cIf the\nshell-fish on the shore,\u201d says Dr Ferguson, \u201cperform no visible action\nbut that of opening and closing his shell, to receive the brine that\naccommodates, or to exclude the foul matter that annoys him, there are\nother animals that, in the opposite extreme, are _active_; and for whom\nNature seems to administer the means of supply, merely as a restorative\nof that strength which they are so freely to waste in the seemingly\nsportive or violent exercises to which they are disposed.\u201d[85]\n\n \u201cThe bounding fawn, that darts across the glade,\n When none pursues, through mere delight of heart,\n And spirits buoyant, with excess of glee;\n The horse as wanton, and almost as fleet,\n That skims the spacious meadow at full speed,\n Then stops, and snorts, and, throwing high his heels,\n Starts to the voluntary race again;\n The very kine, that gambol at high noon,--\n The total herd,--receiving first from one,\n That leads the dance, a summons to be gay;\n Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouth\n Their efforts, yet resolved, with one consent,\n To give such act and utterance as they may\n To ecstacy, too big to be suppress'd.\u201d[86]\n\nIt is this appearance of _happy life_ which spreads a charm over every\nlittle group, with which Nature animates her scenery; and he who can\nlook without interest on the young lamb, as it frolics around the bush,\nmay gaze, indeed, on the magnificent landscape as it opens before\nhim,--but it will be with an eye which looks languidly, and in vain,\nfor pleasure which it cannot find.\n\nThese observations, on our muscular pains and pleasures, in conformity\nwith that view of them which I endeavoured to give you, in a former\nlecture, are not digressive now, nor uselessly repeated. It is of great\nimportance for the applications which we have to make, that you should\nbe fully aware that our muscular frame, is not merely a part of the\nliving machinery of motion, but is also truly an organ of sense. When I\nmove my arm, without resistance, I am conscious of a certain feeling;\nwhen the motion is impeded, by the presence of an external body, I am\nconscious of a different feeling, arising partly, indeed, from the\nmere sense of touch, in the moving limb compressed, but not consisting\nmerely in this compression, since, when the same pressure is made by\na foreign force, without any muscular effort on my part, my general\nfeeling is very different. It is the feeling of this resistance to our\nprogressive effort, (combined, perhaps, with the mere tactual feeling)\nwhich forms what we term, our feeling of solidity or hardness; and,\nwithout it, the tactual feeling would be nothing more, than a sensation\nindifferent or agreeable, or disagreeable or severely painful,\naccording to the force of the pressure, in the particular case; in\nthe same way, as the matter of heat, acting, in different degrees, on\nthis very organ of touch, and on different portions of its surface, at\ndifferent times, produces all the intermediate sensations, agreeable,\ndisagreeable, or indifferent, from the pain of excessive cold, to the\npain of burning; and produces them in like manner, without suggesting\nthe presence of any solid body, external to ourselves.\n\nWere the _cube_, therefore, in the case supposed, pressed, for the\nfirst time, on the hand, it would excite a certain sensation, indeed,\nbut not that of resistance, which always implies a muscular effort\nthat is resisted, and consequently not that of hardness, which is a\nmode of resistance. It would be very different, however, if we fairly\nmade the attempt to press against it; for, then, our effort would be\nimpeded, and the consequent feeling of resistance would arise; which,\nas co-existing in this case, and in every case of effort, with the\nparticular sensation of touch, might afterwards be suggested by it, on\nthe simple recurrence of the same sensation of touch, so as to excite\nthe notion of hardness, in the body touched, without the renewal of any\nmuscular effort on our part, in the same manner as the angular surfaces\nof the cube, if we chance to turn our eye on it, are suggested by the\nmere _plane_ of _colour_, which it presents to our immediate vision,\nand which is all that our immediate vision would, of itself, have\nmade known to us. The feeling of resistance, then, I trust, it will\nbe admitted, and consequently of hardness, and all the other modes of\nresistance, is a muscular, not a tactual feeling.\n\nBut though the resistance or hardness of the cube, as implying some\ncounter effort, may not be immediately sensible to our superficial\norgan of touch, are not its dimensions so perceived? Its cubical form,\nit will be allowed, cannot be felt, as only one of its surfaces is\nsupposed to be pressed upon the hand; but, is not at least this square\nsurface perceived immediately? In short, does not touch, originally and\nimmediately, convey to us the knowledge of extension?\n\nWith our present complete belief of external things, indeed, and\nespecially of our organs of sense, the most important of these,\nthe origin of our knowledge of extension, seems to us a matter of\nvery easy explanation. The square surface presses on our organ of\ntouch,--it affects not a single physical point merely, but a portion\nof the organ, corresponding exactly, in surface with itself; and the\nperception of the similar square, it will be said, thus immediately\narises. But, in all this easy explanation, it is very strangely\nforgotten, that the _feeling_, whatever it may be, which the impression\nof the square surface produces, is not itself the square configuration\nof our tactual organ, corresponding with that surface, but the state\nof a very different substance, which is as little square, as it\nis round or elliptical,--which is, indeed, from its own absolute\nsimplicity, incapable of resemblance in shape to any thing; and the\nresemblance of which, therefore, to the shape of the mere organ, is\nas little to be expected in the sensations of touch,--as that other\nstate of mind, which constitutes the sensation of the fragrance of a\nrose, can be expected to resemble the shape of the odorous particles\nthemselves, or of the organ of smell, which is affected by them. The\nvery knowledge which touch is supposed to give, is, in this case, most\ninconsistently, assumed, as existing in the mind, before the very touch\nwhich is supposed to give it. If, indeed, the mind could know, that a\npart of its external corporeal organ is compressed into the form of a\nsquare, or that another square surface is compressing that organ, the\ndifficulty would be at an end; for it would, then, most undoubtedly,\nhave that very knowledge of extension, the origin of which we seek. But\nit is not explained, _how_ the mind, which alone can have sensation\nor knowledge, and which certainly is not square itself, is to be made\nacquainted with the squareness of its own corporeal organ, or of the\nforeign body; nor, indeed, how the squareness of the mere external\norgan should produce this particular affection of the mind, more\nthan if the organ were compressed into the shape of a polygon of one\nthousand sides.\n\nLet it be supposed, that, when a small cube is pressed on the hand,\none hundred physical points of the organ of touch are affected in a\ncertain manner. We have, it is said, an immediate perception of a\nsquare surface. Let it next be supposed, that, instead of one hundred\nof these continuous points of the organ, an equal number of points,\nat various distances in the surface of the body, are affected in the\nsame manner. On this supposition it will scarcely be said, that the\nperception of a square would arise, when there is no square, more\nthan any other imaginable form, in the space comprehended in the\npressure. Yet what difference is there, in these two cases, to a\nmind that is, by supposition, absolutely ignorant of every bodily\norgan, and consequently alike ignorant of the nearness or distance of\nthe points of the organ of touch? In both cases, one hundred points,\nequally sensible, are affected, and are affected precisely in the same\nmanner;--and there is truly no difference, unless we tacitly suppose\nthe mind to be conscious of the bodily frame, and, therefore, of the\ncontinuity of certain points of the organ of touch, with the other\npoints that are proximate to them,--a sort of knowledge, for which it\nwould not be easy to account, and which it is impossible to conceive,\nwithout conceding the very point in question. A little attentive\nreflection on the circumstances of these two cases, will, perhaps, aid\nyou in freeing your minds from the illusive belief, of which it may not\nbe easy for you at first to divest yourselves,--that the continuity and\nsimilarity of shape, which are known to _us_ the inquirers, are known\nalso to that little sentient being, whose first elements of knowledge\nwe are endeavouring to trace.\n\nWe are too apt to forget, in inquiries of this sort, that it is not\nin our organ of touch merely, that a certain extent of the nervous\nextremity of our sensorial organ is affected. This occurs, equally,\nin every other organ. In the superficial expansion of the nerves of\nhearing, smell, taste, for example, it is not a point merely that is\naffected, but a number of continuous points, precisely, as in the\nsuperficial organ of touch; and if, therefore, the notion of extension\nin general, or of figure, which is limited extension, arose whenever a\npart of the nervous expansion was affected in any way, we should derive\nthese notions as much from a taste, or a smell, or a sound, as from any\nof the configurations or affections of our organ of touch.\n\nIt is not, therefore, merely because a certain limited part of the\nsensorial organ is affected, that we have the notion of the square\nsurface, in the case supposed by us: for, if this alone were necessary,\nwe should have square inches, and half inches, and various other forms,\nrectilinear or curvilinear, of _fragrance_ and _sound_.\n\nBut, it may perhaps be urged, though all our organs must, indeed, exist\nequally with our organ of touch of a certain shape when affected,--and\nthough the sensorial figure of our other organs, is not accompanied\nwith any of those mental affections, which constitute the perception\nof angular or curvilinear figure, there is something, in the nature\nof that part of the sensorial organ, which terminates on the general\nsurface of the body, that impresses the mind, immediately, with a\nsensation, corresponding with the exact figure, in which the organ may\nitself exist. When the _square_, therefore, in the case imagined by us,\nis impressed upon the organ, the mental affection which constitutes our\nnotion of a square may immediately arise, though it would not arise\nfrom the similar squareness of our organs of smell or hearing.\n\nIn answer to this mere supposition, I may remark, that the sensorial\norgan of touch exists, at every moment, of a certain shape, and that\nwe yet have no perception of this shape, so as to be able to delineate\nthe whole extent of our _tactual_ organ, in the same manner as we could\ndelineate the impressing square, in the case supposed: or, if it be\nsaid, that the configuration of the organ does not excite this mental\naffection, in the quiescent state of the part, but only when it is\nitself affected, I may remark, that we are as little able to delineate\nits figure, when we are exposed to the action of heat, which yet acts\nmost powerfully upon this very organ, inducing sensations, at least as\nvivid as those of hardness or figure.\n\nIt may still, however, be contended, for in a question of this sort\nI wish fairly to imagine every possible argument--it may still be\ncontended, that, though the organ of touch has no effect, in this way\nmerely as configured, and might, in any other configuration operate,\nprecisely in the same manner, on the sentient mind,--still the harmony\nof the bodily and mental changes is so arranged by nature, that the\norganic state in touch, whatever it may be, is immediately followed\nby the knowledge of the extension of the impressing body,--in the\nsame manner as a certain state of the organ of _smell_, whatever that\nstate may be, is immediately followed by that affection of the mind,\nwhich constitutes our sensation of the fragrance of a rose. Though\nthis argument, in truth, rather begs the question, than attempts to\nmeet it, let us give to it all the force which it may claim. The\naccurate determination of the point may, indeed, seem, at first almost\nimpossible; since in whatever manner the seeming perception may arise,\nit must be admitted, that we now seem to perceive extension, as it were\nimmediately, by touch; though not more immediately than in vision we\nseem to perceive the positions of objects in different distances before\nour eyes.--But there is, fortunately, at least one test, which the\npoint in question still admits. If the apparent perception of extension\nby touch, be truly and originally immediate, and not acquired, like the\napparent perception of distance in vision, so as to involve a sort of\nintellectual measurement or suggestion of some sort, after the primary\nsensation,--the perception must be constant and universal, not confined\nto a few simple and familiar forms, which, if we can distinguish\nthese alone, we may be supposed to have learned from experience,\nbut extending to forms of every kind; for it would certainly be a\nvery strange abuse of the license of supposition, to imagine that we\nperceive a square immediately, but not a circle, or a circle but not a\nsquare, or indeed any other figure. Even at present, then--though the\ncircumstances of the trial,--when the experience of many years must\nhave exhausted so many varieties of form, associating the notion of\nthese with the particular tactual feeling whatever that may be--are\nsurely very unfavourable to the opinion which I maintain,--even at\npresent, I may safely trust to experiment, the determination of\nthe question. When a body which we do not see, is pressed on any\npart of our tactual organ, do we immediately discover its form,--as\nimmediately, as we are sensible of fragrance, when our organ of smell\nis in a healthy state, and an odoriferous body is presented to it, or\nof sound, when a cannon is fired beside us? This we certainly should\ndo, if figure were as direct an object of the sense of touch, as\nfragrance and sound are of the senses of smell and hearing. Even though\nit be a form of the simplest kind, square, round, triangular, that is\nthus pressed upon our palm, we scarcely distinguish the precise species\nof figure for a moment, and are long before we can convince ourselves,\nthat we have perceived its exact magnitude, in the determination of\nwhich, after all, we shall very probably be mistaken, if we confine\nourselves to the mere intellectual measurement; though we should even\nadd to the immediate sensation of touch, all the discriminating skill\nof our judgment and reflection. But, if the body be irregular in\nform,--however slight the irregularity may be, and of a species that\nwould not perplex in the slightest degree our sense of sight, and which\ncertainly, therefore, should perplex as little our sense of touch,\nwhich is supposed to be still more immediately perceptive of form,--we\nare incapable for some time, and I may even say are incapable\naltogether, of fixing, with precision, its magnitude and figure--that\nvery magnitude and figure which are yet said to be the direct objects\nof touch. Of this a single trial may convince any one; it is a trial\nwhich as it seems to me decisive, I must request you to make. Are we\nthen entitled to say, in the case of the square surface of the cube\npressed upon our hand, that though we cannot discover other forms and\nmagnitudes, we yet discover its extension, and consequently its figure,\nby the immediate sense of touch?--or may we not rather conclude with\nconfidence, that what is true of other forms is true of this also,\nthat it is only in consequence of more frequent experience we have\nlearned as it were to distinguish, with some degree of certainty, the\nsimpler forms, which, as mere forms, are not more direct objects of\nthe sense of touch than forms the most irregular, and that without\nsuch experience, therefore, our mere sense of touch is incapable of\ninforming us of the figure of bodies, immediately and originally.\n\nIf then the knowledge of extension be not derived from our immediate\nsense of touch, it must be derived from some other source, which\nallows it to be associated with the feelings of touch, and afterwards\nsuggested by these, in the same manner as distant extent, in the case\nof vision, is suggested by a few slight varieties of colour. Let us\nendeavour, then, since some such source there must be, to discover what\nthe source is.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[84] Deserted Village, v. 120.\n\n[85] Principles of Moral and Political Science, Part I. c. i. sect. i.\n\n[86] Cowper's Task, Book IV.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XXIII.\n\nANALYSIS OF THE FEELINGS USUALLY ASCRIBED TO THE SENSE OF TOUCH,\nCONTINUED.\n\n\nMy last Lecture, Gentlemen, was employed in considering the information\nwhich we receive from the sense of _touch_, or rather the information\nwhich we are commonly supposed to receive from that sense,--but which,\nin a great part at least, I am inclined to ascribe to another source.\n\nThe qualities of bodies, supposed to be made known to us by touch, I\nreduced to _two_, of which all--whatever be the variety of names that\nexpress them,--are mere varieties, RESISTANCE and EXTENSION:--solidity,\nliquidity, viscidity, hardness, softness, roughness, smoothness,\nbeing modes of RESISTANCE, and nothing more;--figure, magnitude,\ndivisibility, as evidently nothing more than modes of EXTENSION: and I\nstated reasons, which induce me to believe, that neither our feeling of\nresistance nor that of extension, has its direct origin in the sense of\ntouch; though the original simple feeling, which this organ affords, is\n_now_, from constant association, almost indiscriminately combined with\nboth, in some one or other of their varieties.\n\nThe first of these classes,--that which includes the various\nmodifications of _resistance_,--I examined at great length, and\nshowed, I trust, that it is not to our organ of touch we are indebted\nfor these, but that they are feelings of another sense, of which our\nmuscular frame is the organ,--the feelings, in short, of which every\none must have been conscious, who has attempted to grasp any body, or\nto press against it, when the full contraction of the muscles must,\nof course, have been impeded. According as the body is hard or soft,\nrough or smooth,--that is to say, according as it resists, in various\ndegrees, the progress of our effort of contraction,--the muscular\nfeeling, which arises from the variously impeded effort, will vary\nin proportion; and we call hard, soft, rough, smooth, that which\nproduces one or other of the varieties of these muscular feelings of\nresistance,--as we term sweet or bitter, blue or yellow, that which\nproduces either of these sensations of taste or vision. With the\nfeeling of resistance, there is, indeed, in every case, combined, a\ncertain tactual feeling, because we must touch whatever we attempt to\ngrasp; but it is not of this mere tactual feeling we think, when we\nterm bodies hard or soft,--it is of the greater or less resistance\nwhich they afford to our muscular contraction.\n\nI next proceeded to consider the other class of supposed tangible\nqualities, which includes the various modifications of _extension_,\nand urged many arguments to show, in like manner, that,--however\nindissolubly these may seem at present to be connected with the simple\nfeelings of our organ of touch,--it is not to our simple original\nfeelings of this sense, that we owe our knowledge of them, as qualities\nof things without.\n\nThough the notion of _extension_, however, may arise in the manner\nwhich I have supposed, this, it may be said, is not the notion of\nexternal existence. To what, then, are we to ascribe the belief of\nexternal reality, which now accompanies our sensations of touch? It\nappears to me to depend on the feeling of resistance,--the organ\nof which, as a muscular feeling, I before explained to you, which\nbreaking in, without any known cause of difference, on an accustomed\nseries, and combining with the notion of extension, and consequently\nof divisibility, previously acquired, furnishes the elements of that\ncompound notion, which we term the notion of _matter_. _Extension_,\n_resistance_;--to combine these simple notions in something which is\nnot ourselves, and to have the notion of matter, are precisely the\nsame thing; as it is the same thing to have combined the head and neck\nof a man with the body and legs of a horse, and to have the notion of\nthat fabulous being, which the ancients denominated a _centaur_. It\ncertainly, at least, would not be easy for any one to define matter\nmore simply, than as that which has parts, and that which resists our\neffort to grasp it; and, in our analysis of the feelings of infancy,\nwe have been able to discover how both these notions may have arisen\nin the mind, and arisen too, in circumstances, which must lead to the\ncombination of them in one complex notion.\n\nThe infant stretches out his arm for the first time, by that volition\nwithout a known object, which is either a mere instinct, or very near\nakin to one,--this motion is accompanied with a certain feeling,--he\nrepeats the volition which moves his arm fifty or one thousand times,\nand the same progress of feeling takes place during the muscular\naction. In this repeated progress, he feels the truth of that intuitive\nproposition, which, in the whole course of the life that awaits him,\nis to be the source of all his expectations, and the guide of all\nhis actions,--the simple proposition, that _what has been_ as an\nantecedent, will be followed by what has been as a consequent. At\nlength he stretches out his arm again, and instead of the accustomed\nprogression, there arises, in the resistance of some object opposed\nto him, a feeling of a very different kind which, if he persevere\nin his voluntary effort, increases gradually to severe pain, before\nhe has half completed the usual progress. There is a difference,\ntherefore, which we may, without any absurdity, suppose to astonish\nthe little reasoner; for the expectation of similar consequents, from\nsimilar antecedents, is observable even in his earliest actions, and\nis probably the result of an original law of mind, as universal, as\nthat which renders certain sensations of sight and sound the immediate\nresult of certain affections of our eye or ear. To any being, who is\nthus impressed with belief of similarities of sequence, a different\nconsequent necessarily implies a difference of the antecedent. In the\ncase at present supposed, however, the infant, who as yet knows nothing\nbut himself, is conscious of no previous difference; and the feeling of\nresistance seems to him, therefore, something unknown, which has its\ncause in something that is not himself.\n\nI am aware, that the application to an infant, of a process of\nreasoning expressed in terms of such grave and formal philosophic\nnomenclature, has some chance of appearing ridiculous. But the\n_reasoning_ itself is very different from the _terms_ employed to\nexpress it, and is truly as simple and natural, as the terms, which\nour language obliges us to employ in expressing it, are abstract and\nartificial. The infant, however, in his feeling of similarity of\nantecedents and consequents, and of the necessity, therefore, of a new\nantecedent, where the consequent is difficult, has the _reasoning_,\nbut not the _terms_. He does not form the proposition as universal, and\napplicable to cases that have not yet existed; but he _feels_ it in\nevery particular case, as it occurs. That he does truly reason, with at\nleast as much subtility, as is involved in the process now supposed,\ncannot be doubted by those who attend to the manifest results of his\nlittle inductions, in those acquisitions of knowledge, which show\nthemselves in the actions, and, I may say, almost in the very looks of\nthe little reasoner,--at a period long before that to which his own\nremembrance is afterwards to extend, when, in the maturer progress of\nhis intellectual powers, the darkness of eternity will meet his eye\nalike, whether he attempt to gaze on the past, or on the future; and\nthe wish to know the events, with which he is afterwards to be occupied\nand interested, will not be more unavailing, than the wish to retrace\nevents, that were the occupation and interest of the most important\nyears of his existence.\n\nThen,\n\n \u201cSo--when the mother, bending o'er his charms,\n Clasps her fair nurseling in delighted arms;--\n With sparkling eye the blameless plunderer owns\n Her soft embraces and endearing tones,\n Seeks the salubrious fount with opening lips,\n Spreads his inquiring hands, and smiles and sips.\u201d[87]\n\nEven then, many a process of ratiocination is going on, which might\nhave served as an example of _strict logic_ to Aristotle himself, and\nwhich affords results, far more valuable to the individual reasoner,\nthan all the contents of all the folios of the crowd of that great\nlogician's scholastic commentators.\n\nThat the notions of extension and external resistance, which are thus\nsupposed to be acquired from the progressive contraction of muscles,\nand the difficulty opposed to their accustomed contraction, which\nintroduces suddenly a new feeling, when all the antecedent feelings had\nbeen the same, should be directly combined, only with the sensations\nof touch, cannot appear wonderful, when we reflect, that it is only in\nthe case of touch, there is that frequent _coexistence_ or immediate\nsuccession, which is necessary to the subsequent union. In the case\nof the acquired perceptions of vision, it might, in like manner, be\nasked, why is it that we do not smell the exact distance of a rose,\nas we see its exact distance, as soon as we have turned our eye on\nthe bush on which the rose is growing? And the only answer which can\nbe given, is that there has not been in smell that exact and frequent\ncoexistence of feelings which has occurred in vision. It surely is\nnot more wonderful, therefore, that the same argument should hold in\nthe acquired perceptions of touch, in which the coexistence is still\nmore frequent and exact. When we listen to a flute, our muscles may\nbe contracted as before, or quiescent as before; when the odour of a\nrose is wafted to us, not a single muscle may be more or less affected.\nBut, without the action of muscles, we cannot grasp a ball, nor press\nagainst a resisting body, nor move our hand along its surface. Whatever\nfeelings, therefore, are involved in muscular contraction, may be,\nor rather I may say, if the common laws of association operate, must\nbe associated with the simple feelings thus constantly coexisting,\nwhatever they may be, which the organ of touch originally affords. To\nsuppose, that, in a case of such frequent coexistence or succession, no\nassociation takes place, and that our feelings of touch, are, at this\nmoment, as simple as they were originally, would surely be to suppose\nthe universal influence of the associating principle to be suspended in\nthis particular case.\n\nI have already explained the manner, in which, I suppose, the infant,\nto obtain the notion of something external and separate from himself,\nby the interruption of the usual train of antecedents and consequents,\nwhen the painful feeling of resistance has arisen, without any change\nof circumstances, of which the mind is conscious in itself; and the\nprocess by which he acquires this notion, is only another form of the\nvery process, which, during the whole course of his life, is involved\nin all his reasonings, and regulates, therefore, all his conclusions,\nwith respect to every physical truth. In the view which I take of the\nsubject, accordingly, I do not conceive that it is by any peculiar\nintuition, we are led to believe in the existence of things without. I\nconsider this belief as the effect of that more general intuition, by\nwhich we consider a new consequent, in any series of accustomed events,\nas the sign of a new antecedent, and of that equally general principle\nof association, by which feelings that have frequently coexisted,\nflow together, and constitute afterwards one complex whole. There is\nsomething which is not ourself, something which is representative\nof length--something which excites the feeling of resistance to our\neffort; and these elements combined, are _matter_. But, whether the\nnotion arise in the manner I have supposed, or differently, there\ncan be no doubt that it has arisen, long before the period to which\nour memory reaches; and the belief of an external world, therefore,\nwhether founded directly on an intuitive principle of belief, or,\nas I rather think, on associations as powerful as intuition in the\nperiod which alone we know, may be said to be an essential part of our\nmental constitution, at least as far back as that constitution can be\nmade the subject of philosophic inquiry. Whatever it may have been\noriginally, it is now as impossible for us to disbelieve the reality of\nsome external cause of our sensations, as it is impossible for us to\ndisbelieve the existence of the sensations themselves. On this subject,\nscepticism may be ingenious in vain; and equally vain, I may say, would\nbe the attempted confutation of scepticism; since it cannot affect the\nserious internal belief of the sceptic, which is the same before as\nafter argument; unshaken by the ingenuity of his own reasonings, or\nrather, as I have before remarked, tacitly assumed and affirmed in that\nvery combat of argument, which professes to deny it.\n\nIt is in vain, that Berkeley asserts his system, with a zeal and\nacuteness, which might, perhaps, have succeeded in convincing others,\nif they could only have previously succeeded in convincing himself, not\nas a speculative philosopher merely, but as a human being, conversant\nwith his kind, acting, and suffering, and remembering, and hoping,\nand fearing. This, however, was more than mere ingenuity of argument\ncould perform. Even in publishing his work with the sincere desire of\ninstructing and converting others, the great and primary convert was\nyet to be made, in the converter himself.\n\nIn the Life of Berkeley, prefixed to the edition of his collected\nworks, an account is given of a visit which he paid, at Paris, to\nMalebranche, the celebrated author of a system, in many respects\nsimilar to his own. He found him in a weak state of health, but\nabundantly eager to enter into disputation, on a science which he\nloved, and especially on his own doctrines, which he loved still more;\nbut the discussion was at last carried on with more vehemence than\nthe feeble bodily frame of Malebranche could bear; and his death\nwas said to be occasioned, or at least hastened, by this unfortunate\nintellectual combat. When we consider this interview of two illustrious\nmen, each of whom, in accordance with his own system, must have been\nincapable of any direct knowledge of the existence of the other, the\nviolent reciprocal action of these mutual nonentities, might seem\nludicrous, if there were not, in the death of any one, and especially\nof a philosopher so estimable in every respect as the author of The\nSearch of Truth, something too serious to be consistent with any\nfeeling of levity. It is more suitable, both to the occasion itself,\nand to our own intellectual weakness, to regard this accidental\ninterview of two philosophers, contending so strenuously against each\nother, for the truth of doctrines, which rendered the real existence of\neach, at best, very problematical, as only a striking instance of the\nreadiness with which all the pride of human reason yields itself, as\nit were, spontaneously and humbly, to the sway of those more powerful\nprinciples, which He, who has arranged our mutual constitution, has so\ngraciously accommodated to the circumstances in which He has placed us.\nThe gift of reason itself, that most inestimable of our intellectual\ngifts, would have been truly, if nothing more had been added to it,\na perilous acquisition, to beings not absolutely incapable of error;\nsince these are points on which a single mistake, if there had been\nno opportunity of repairing it, might have been fatal, not to our\nhappiness merely, but to our very existence. On these points, however,\nNature has not left us to a power so fallible, and to indolence, which\nmight forget to exercise even this feeble power. She has given us\nprinciples which do not err, and which operate without the necessity\nof any effort on our part. In the wildest speculative errors, into\nwhich we may be led, there is a voice within, which speaks, indeed,\nonly in a whisper, but in a whisper of omnipotence, at which the loud\nvoice that led us astray, is still,--thus operating on our _mind_,\nas the secret irresistible influence of gravitation operates on our\n_body_, preserving it, amid all the disorder and irregularity of its\nspontaneous motions, still attached to that earthly home which has been\nprepared with every bountiful provision for our temporary residence.\n\nIf there were, indeed, any sceptic as to the existence of an external\nworld, who could seriously profess that his practical conduct was\nin accordance with his speculative disbelief, we might very justly\nexercise, with respect to his own profession, that philosophic doubt\nor disbelief, which he recommends. Pyrrho, the great founder of this\nphilosophy, is, indeed, said to have acted so truly on his principles,\nthat if a cart ran against him, or a dog attacked him, or if he came\nupon a precipice he would not stir a foot to avoid the danger. \u201cBut\nhis attendants,\u201d says Dr Reid, \u201cwho happily for him, were not so\ngreat sceptics, took care to keep him out of harm's way, so that he\nlived till he was ninety years of age.\u201d[88] In all these cases, we\nmay safely take for granted, that this venerable sceptic, when he\nexhibited himself with his domestics knew, at least as well as the\nspectator, the nature of the comedy which he was acting, for their\nentertainment, and his own imagined glory;--that he could discriminate,\nwith perfect accuracy, the times when it would be _safe_, and the\ntimes when it would be _unsafe_, for him to be consistent;--and that\nhe would never feel, in so strong and lively a manner, the force of\nhis own principles, as when he was either absolutely alone, or with\nattendants within a very few inches of the ground on which he was\nphilosophizing. We are told, accordingly, that when his passions were\ntoo strongly roused, to allow him to remember the part which he was\nacting, he entered with sufficient readiness into his native character\nof a mere human being. Of this, one ludicrous instance is recorded,\nin which his anger against his cook so completely got the better,\nboth of his moral and physical philosophy, that, with the spit in his\nhand, and the meat on it, which had been roasting, he pursued him to\nthe very market-place. Many stories of this sort, however, we may well\nsuppose, would be invented against philosophers, of a class, that\nat once challenged the opposition of the whole mob of mankind, and\nafforded subjects of that obvious and easy ridicule, which the mob of\nmankind, even without the provocation of such a challenge, are always\nsufficiently ready to seize.\n\nInto a detail of the sceptical system of Berkeley, it is unnecessary\nto enter at any length; since, notwithstanding the general acuteness\nwhich its truly illustrious author has displayed in this, and in all\nhis works, I cannot but consider his _ideal system_, as presenting a\nvery imperfect and inaccurate view, not merely of the real phenomena\nof the mind, but even of the sceptical argument against the existence\nof matter. It was not as a sceptic, however, that this most devout\nand amiable of philosophers, to whom Pope scarcely paid a higher\ncompliment than was strictly due, in ascribing to him \u201cevery virtue\nunder heaven,\u201d[89]--it was not as a sceptic that he was desirous of\nbeing ranked. On the contrary, I have no doubt that his system seemed\nto him valuable, chiefly for being, as he conceived, an antidote to\nscepticism, and that he was far less anxious to display acuteness, than\nto expose the sophistry of materialism, and to present as he thought,\nan additional argument for the existence of a divine omnipresent mind,\nwhich unquestionably it would have afforded, and an argument too, it\nmust be owned, completely irresistible, if our mere ideas were what he\nconceived them to be. These, he evidently considered, not as _states_\nof the individual mind, but as _separate things_ existing in it, and\ncapable of existing in other minds, but in them alone; and it is in\nconsequence of these assumptions, that his system, if it were to be\nconsidered as a system of scepticism, is chiefly defective. But having,\nas he supposed, these ideas, and conceiving that they did not perish,\nwhen they ceased to exist in his mind, since the same ideas recurred at\nintervals, he deduced from the necessity which there seemed for some\n_omnipresent mind_, in which they might exist during the intervals of\nrecurrence, the necessary existence of the Deity; and if, indeed, as he\nsupposed, ideas be something different from the mind itself, recurring\nonly at intervals to created minds, and incapable of existing but in\nmind, the demonstration of some infinite omnipresent mind, in which\nthey exist during these intervals of recurrence to finite minds, must\nbe allowed to be perfect. The precise nature of the argument, and its\ndemonstrative force, if the hypothetical circumstances which Berkeley\nhimself was far from considering as hypothetical, be admitted, have not\nbeen sufficiently regarded by philosophers, when they express their\nastonishment, that a system, which, if not scepticism, is at least so\nmuch akin to it, or so favourable, at least, to the general sceptical\nspirit, should yet have been brought forward, as its truly pious author\ninforms us, for the express purpose of combating scepticism. He is not,\nindeed, always a very perspicuous unfolder of his own opinions, but\nin a passage of his third Dialogue, the series of propositions which\nI have now stated as constituting his demonstration, are delivered\nby himself, with great distinctness and brevity. \u201cWhen I deny,\u201d says\nPhilonous to Hylas, \u201cwhen I deny sensible things, an existence out of\nthe mind, I do not mean _my_ mind in particular, but all minds. Now, it\nis plain, they have an existence exterior to _my_ mind, since I find\nthem, by experience, to be independent of it. There is, therefore, some\nother mind wherein they exist during the intervals between the times\nof my perceiving them, as likewise they did before my birth, and would\ndo after my supposed annihilation. And as the same is true with regard\nto all other finite created spirits, it necessarily follows, there is\nan _Omnipresent Eternal Mind_, which knows and comprehends all things,\nand exhibits them to our view, in such a manner, and according to such\nrules, as he himself hath ordained, and are by us all termed the laws\nof Nature.\u201d[90]\n\nThe existence of ideas as separate from the mind, and the permanent\nexistence of these, when they have ceased to exist in the individual\nmind, are evidently assumptions as gratuitous as the assumption of the\nexternal existence of matter itself could have been; or rather, the\npermanent and independent ideas, are truly _matter_, under another\nname; and to believe that these foreign independent substances, which\npass from mind to mind, exist in the mind, is not to _intellectualize_\nmatter, but to _materialize_ intellect. A mind containing, or capable\nof containing something foreign within itself, and not merely one\nforeign substance, but a multitude of foreign substances, at the same\nmoment, is no longer that simple indivisible existence, which we\ntermed spirit. Any of the elementary atoms of matter is, indeed, more\ntruly spiritual; the very notion of _recipiency_ of any kind, being as\nlittle consistent with our notion of mind, as the notion of hardness or\nsquareness.\n\nThe whole force of the pious demonstration, therefore, which Berkeley\nflattered himself with having urged irresistibly, is completely\nobviated, by the simple denial, that ideas are any thing more than the\nmind itself affected in a certain manner; since, in this case, our\nideas exist no longer than our mind is affected, in that particular\nmanner, which constitutes each particular idea; and, to say that our\nideas exist in the divine mind, would thus be to say, only, that our\nmind itself exists in the divine mind. There is not the sensation of\ncolour, in _addition_ to the mind, nor the sensation of fragrance\nin _addition_ to the mind; but, according to that juster view of the\nmental phenomena, which I have repeatedly endeavoured to impress on\nyou, the sensation of colour is the _mind_ existing in a _certain\nstate_, and the sensation of fragrance, is the mind existing in a\ndifferent state.\n\nThe most philosophic scepticism, as to the existence of external\nthings, is unquestionably _that_, which is founded on this very view\nof the phenomena of the mind. All the terms, which we use to express\nour knowledge, sensations, perceptions, ideas, notions, propositions,\njudgments, intuitions, conclusions,--or whatever other terms we may\nemploy to express particular varieties of thought, are significant, it\nmay be said, and truly said, of _states_ or affections of the mind, and\nof nothing more. What I term my perception of the colour, or softness,\nor shape, or fragrance, or taste of a peach, is a certain state of my\nown mind, for my mind surely can be conscious only of its own feelings;\nor rather, as the consciousness of present feelings is a redundancy of\nlanguage, my mind, affected in a certain manner, whether it be with\nwhat is termed sensation or knowledge, or belief, can still be nothing\nmore than my mind itself affected in a certain manner,--my mind,\nitself existing in a certain state. Against this argument, I confess\nthat I know no mere argument which can be adduced in opposition,--any\nmore, than I know any mere argument which can be adduced, against the\nstrange conclusions that are most legitimately drawn from the doctrine\nof the infinite divisibility of matter, and various other physical\nand mathematical applications of the notion of infinity. In no one of\nthese cases, however, do we feel our belief shaken;--because it is\nfounded either on associations so early, and strong, and indissoluble,\nas those which we have been endeavouring to trace, or is not in those,\nor in principles of direct intuition, in that species of internal\nrevolution which gives to reason itself, in the primary truths on which\nevery argument proceeds, its divine authority; and we only smile at\nconclusions, in which it is impossible for us to find a single logical\nerror, but which from the constitution of our nature, it is physically\nimpossible for us to admit, or to admit at least, without an instant\ndissent, which renders our momentary logical admission as nugatory, as\nif the direct existence of an external world had been established by\nthe clearest logical demonstration.\n\nIn one of the Anniversary Orations of Sir William Jones, of which the\nsubject is the philosophy of the Asiatics, he informs us that a system\nof idolism, very similar to that of Berkeley, is to be found in the\nmetaphysics of Hindostan. The fundamental tenet of one great school of\nthe philosophers of that ancient land of philosophy, is the disbelief\nof the existence of matter--the phenomena of the seeming material\nuniverse, being conceived by them to be only an illusive representation\nwhich the Deity presents to the mind, (and which they distinguish\nby the name of Maja:)--while the opposite species of scepticism is\nto be found in another sect of the philosophers, who disbelieve the\nexistence of mind, and reduce all the phenomena of thought to material\norganization. The same subtilty and refinement of scepticism, which\nhave led to the systems of materialism and idolism in our Western\nWorld, are to be found, we are told, in the corresponding systems of\nthe East.[91]\n\nWhy is it that we are struck with no common emotion on finding, in the\nmetaphysics of that distant country, systems of opinions so similar to\nour own? Is it that the notion of the immense space, which separates\nus, unites with our conception, and impresses us, as it were, with the\nomnipresence of our own intellectual nature,--when we recognize on\nscenes so remote and in circumstances of society so different, the same\nthoughts, and doubts, and errors, which have perplexed, and occupied,\nand delighted ourselves? This recognition, in whatever circumstances\nit may occur, gives to us a feeling of more than kindred,--a sort of\nidentity with the universal nature of man, in all its times and places.\nThe belief which others share with us seems to be our own belief\nwhich has passed from each to each, or is present to all, like those\npermanent ideas of which Berkeley speaks, that quit one intellect to\nexist in another. We cannot separate the thought which we remember from\nthe notion of the mind which we remember to have conceived it;--and\nit seems to us, therefore, not as if _similar_ doubts and errors, but\nalmost as if the _very_ doubts and errors of our own mind, and its\nardour of inquiry, and frequent disappointments, and occasional, but\nrare felicities of discovery, had spread and renewed themselves in a\nremote existence. It is this recognition of our common nature, which\ngives the chief interest to scenes that have been occupied with the\npassions of beings like ourselves. The mountains, which the Titans\nwere fabled to have heaped up in their war against Jupiter, must\nhave excited even in the most devout believers of Grecian mythology,\nemotions far less ardent and immediate, than the sight of the humbler\ncliffs, at which the small Spartan host, and their gallant leader,\ndevoted themselves in the defensive war against the Persian invader.\nThe races of men may perish, but the remembrance of them still lives\nimperishable, and seems to claim kindred with us, as often as we tread\nthe same soil, or merely think of those who have trod it.\n\n \u201cTurn thy sight eastward, o'er the time-hush'd plains,\n Now graves of vanish'd empire, once gleam'd o'er\n From flames on hallow'd altars, hail'd by hymns\n Of seers, awakeners of the worshipp'd Sun!\n Ask silent Tigris--Bid Euphrates tell\n Where is the grove-crown'd Baal, to whose stern frown\n Bow'd haughty Babylon?--Chaldea, famed\n For star-taught sages,--hard Phenicia's sons.\n Fierce fear-surmounting curbers of the deep,\n Who stretch'd a floating sceptre o'er the seas,\n And made mankind one empire?--Where is now\n Egypt's wide-homag'd _Isis_?--where the _Thors_,\n That shook the shakers of the Roman world?\u201d\n\nThe very gods of all these countries have perished, but the mortals\nwho bent the knee before them still survive in the immortality of our\ncommon nature,--in that universal interest which gives to us a sort\nof intellectual existence in scenes and times the most remote, and\nmakes the thoughts and emotions of others as it were a part of our own\nbeing,--uniting the past, the present, and the future, and blending man\nwith man wherever he is to be found.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[87] _Darwin's Botanic Garden, Canto III. v. 353-4, and 357-360._\n\n[88] Reid's Inquiry into the Human Mind, chap. i. sect. 5.\n\n[89] Epilogue to the Satires, Dial. II. v. 73.\n\n[90] Three Dialogues, &c. p. 109-110.\n\n[91] The substance of this reference occurs in the Eleventh Anniversary\nDiscourse,--_Works_, v. i. p. 165-6. 4to. _Edit._\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XXIV.\n\nTHE SAME SUBJECT, CONTINUED.\n\n\nGentlemen, having stated, in a former Lecture, the reasons which\nseem to show, that the origin of our notion of extension, and of the\nnotions, which it involves, of figure, magnitude, divisibility, is not\nto be found in our sense of _touch_, I endeavoured, in my last Lecture,\nto trace these to their real source,--cautioning you at the same time,\nwith respect to the great difficulty of the inquiry, and the very\nhumble reliance, therefore, which we can have any title to put, on the\nresults of our investigation of a subject so very obscure.\n\nIn our present circumstances, when we attempt such an investigation,\nit is impossible for us to derive even the slightest aid, from\nremembrance of our original feelings; since _memory_,--which afterwards\ncan look back through so many long and busy years, and comprehend\nall of life, but the very commencement of it,--sees yet, in this\ndawn of being, a darkness which it cannot penetrate. We have already\nformed,--spontaneously, and without the aid of any one,--our little\nsystem of physical science, and have, in truth, enriched ourselves with\nacquisitions, far more important than any which we are afterwards to\nform, with all the mature vigour of our faculties, and all the splendid\naids of traditionary philosophy,--at a time, when we seem scarcely\ncapable of more than of breathing and moving, and taking our aliment,\nand when the faculties, that leave us so much invaluable knowledge, are\nto leave us no knowledge of the means, by which we have acquired it.\n\nTo the period of our first sensations, therefore, we cannot look back;\nand, hence, all which remains for us, in an inquiry of this kind, is to\nconsider the circumstances in which the infant is placed, and to guess,\nas nearly as general analogy will allow us, the nature and the order\nof the feelings, which, in such circumstances, would arise, in a being\npossessing the powers and susceptibilities of man, but destitute of all\nthe knowledge which man possesses.\n\nIn these first circumstances of life, the infant, of course, cannot\nknow that he has a bodily frame, or a single organ of that frame, more\nthan he can know, that there are other bodies in nature, that act upon\nhis own; and we are not entitled to suppose,--however difficult it may\nbe for us to accommodate our supposition to the true circumstances of\nthe case,--that because _we_, the inquirers, know, that external bodies\nare pressing on his organ of touch, the little sensitive being is to\nhave any knowledge, but of the mental affections, which these external\nbodies excite. How the knowledge of any thing more than his own mind is\nacquired, is, in truth, the very difficulty, which it is our labour to\nsolve.\n\nIn conformity with this view, then,--when we look on the infant,--one\nof the most remarkable circumstances, which strike us, is its tendency\nto use its muscles, with almost incessant exercise, particularly the\nmuscles of those parts, which are afterwards its principal organs\nof measurement. Its little fingers are continually closing and\nopening, and its little arms extending and contracting. The feelings,\ntherefore,--whatever these may be,--which attend the progressive\ncontraction of those parts,--and some feeling unquestionably attends\nthe contraction in all its stages,--must be continually arising in its\nmind, beginning and finishing, in regular series, and varying exactly,\nwith the quantity of the contraction.\n\nA _succession_ of feelings, however, when remembered by the mind, which\nlooks back upon them, we found to involve, necessarily, the notion of\ndivisibility into separate parts, and, therefore, of length, which is\nonly another name for continued divisibility. Time, in short, is to\nour conception, a series in constant onward progress, and cannot be\nconceived by us, but as a progressive series, of which our separate\nfeelings are parts; the remembrance of the events of our life, whenever\nwe take any distant retrospect of them, being like the remembrance\nof the space, which we have traversed in a journey,--an indistinct\ncontinuity of length, as truly divisible, in our conception, into the\nseparate events which we remember, as the space, which we remember to\nhave traversed, into its separate variety of scenes.\n\n_Time_, then, or remembered succession, we found to involve, not\nmetaphorically, as is commonly said, but truly and strictly, in its\nvery essence, the notions of length and divisibility,--the great\nelements of extension; and whatever other feelings may be habitually\nand uniformly associated with these, will involve, of course, these\nelementary notions.\n\nThe series of muscular feelings, of which the infant is conscious,--in\nincessantly closing and opening his little hand,--must, on these\nprinciples, be accompanied with the notion,--not, indeed, of the\nexistence of his hand, or of any thing external,--but of a certain\nlength of succession; and each stage of the contraction, by frequent\nrenewal, gradually becomes significant of a particular length,\ncorresponding with the portion of the series. When any hard body,\ntherefore, is placed in the infant's hand,--though he cannot, indeed,\nhave any knowledge of the object, or of the hand,--he yet feels, that\nhe can no longer perform the accustomed contraction,--or, to speak\nmore accurately,--since he is unacquainted with any parts that are\ncontracted, he feels, that he can no longer produce his accustomed\nseries of feelings; and he knows the quantity of contraction, which\nremained to be performed, or rather the length of the series, which\nremained to be felt. The place of this remaining length is now supplied\nby a new feeling, partly muscular, and partly the result of the\naffection of the compressed organ of touch,--and is supplied by the\nsame feeling, at the same point of the series, as often, as he attempts\nto renew the contraction, while the body remains within his hand. The\n_tactual feeling_, therefore,--whatever it may be,--becomes, by this\nfrequent repetition, associated with the notion of that particular\nprogressive series, or length, of which it thus uniformly supplies the\nplace; and at last becomes representative of this particular length,\nprecisely in the same manner, as, in the acquired perceptions of\nvision, certain shades of colour become representative of distance, to\nwhich they have, of themselves, no resemblance or analogy, whatever;\nand we thus learn to feel length, as we learn to see length,--not\ndirectly by the mere affections of our tactual or visual organs, but by\nthe associated notions which they suggest.\n\nIf _time_,--as perceived by us in the continued series of our\nfeelings,--do involve conceptual length and divisibility, it seems,\nindeed, scarcely possible, that, in the circumstances supposed, the\nnotions supposed should not arise,--that the infant should be conscious\nof a regular series of feelings, in the contraction of its fingers\nand arms, and yet that portions of this series should not become\nsignificant of various proportional lengths;--and, if the notion of\ncertain proportional lengths do truly accompany certain degrees of\nprogressive contraction, it seems equally impossible, according to\nthe general principles of our mental constitution, that the compound\ntactual and muscular feeling, which must arise in every case, in which\nany one of these degrees of contraction is impeded, should not become\nassociated with the notion of that particular length, of which it\nsupplies the place, so as at last to become truly representative of it.\n\nIn this manner, I endeavoured to explain to you, how our knowledge\nof the mere length of bodies may have been acquired, from varieties\nof length that are recognized as coexisting and proximate, and\nare felt to unite, as it were, and terminate in our sensation of\nresistance, which interrupts them equally, and interrupts always a\ngreater number of the coexisting truths, in proportion to the size\nof the body compressed; and, in a similar manner, our notions of the\nother dimensions of bodies, which are only these varieties of length\nin different directions. I cannot conclude this summary, however,\nwithout recalling to your attention, a very simple experiment, which\nI requested you to make for yourselves,--an experiment, that, even in\nthe unfavourable circumstances in which it must now be tried, is yet,\nI conceive, demonstrative of the influence of mere time, as an element\nof that complex notion, which we have been examining, when the more\nrapid measurements of vision,--which are confessedly not original but\nacquired,--are excluded. If, in passing our finger, with different\ndegrees of slowness or rapidity, along the same surface, with our eyes\nshut,--even though we should previously know the exact boundaries\nof the extent of surface,--we feel it almost impossible not to\nbelieve,--and but for the contrary evidence of vision, could not have\nhesitated a single moment in believing,--that this extent is greater\nor less, according as the time employed in performing exactly the same\nquantity of motion, with exactly the same force of pressure, on the\nsame quantity of our organ of touch, may have been greater or less,--it\nmust surely be admitted, that the notion of the length, which thus\nuniformly varies with the time, when all other circumstances are the\nsame, is not absolutely independent of the time,--or it must, in like\nmanner, be believed, that our notion of visual distance, which varies\nwith the distribution of a few rays of light on the small expanse of\nthe optic nerve, is yet independent of those faint shades of colouring,\naccording to the mere varieties of which, it seems at one time to lay\nopen to our view a landscape of many miles, and at another time to\npresent to us, as it were before our very eyes, an object of scarcely\nan inch in diameter. The greater dimness, and diminished size of a\nfew objects in the back ground of a picture, which is in itself one\ncoloured plane of light, does not more truly seem to increase the line\nof distance of those objects, than, in the other case, the increased\nslowness of the motion of our hand along any surface, seems to lengthen\nthe line which separates one of its boundaries from the other.\n\nThat we now seem to perceive extension, immediately by _touch_, cannot\nbe denied; and, in a case so obscure as this,--with our very limited\nknowledge, and our very limited power of adding to this knowledge,--it\nmay seem the most prudent, and perhaps even the most suitable,--as\nit is, without all question, by far the easiest part,--to acquiesce\nin the opinion, that the perception, which now seems immediate,\nwas so originally,--that the belief of the presence of an external\nfigured body, is, by the very constitution of our nature, attached\nto a certain affection of the mere organ of touch. But, since there\nare circumstances,--as we have seen,--which show this opinion, when\nvery nicely examined, to be inadmissible, we may, at least, attempt\nto proceed a little farther, if we do this with a sufficient sense of\nthe very great difficulty of the attempt, in relation to our power\nand knowledge, and consequently with a very humble assurance, as to\nthe certainty of any opinion which we may be led to form. To know the\nmind _well_, is to know its _weaknesses_ as well as its _powers_;\nand it is precisely in a case of this sort, that he, whose knowledge\nis least imperfect, will be the best judge of its imperfection, and,\ntherefore, the least disposed to put complete reliance on it in his\nown speculations,--or to assert it dogmatically, when he offers it, as\nall opinions, on so very obscure a subject, should be offered, to the\ninquiry, rather than to the undoubting assent.\n\nThe analysis, I own, is one which must require a considerable effort of\nattention on your part, because it is truly one of the most subtile\non which I could call you to enter. But you must be aware, that this\nsubtlety is in the nature of the very inquiry itself; since it is\nan inquiry into the elements and progressive growth of feelings,\nwhich seem to us, at present, simple and immediate, and that the\nalternatives, therefore, are not those of greater or less subtlety and\nrefinement of analysis, but of attempting the analysis, or abandoning\nit altogether.\n\nBefore proceeding farther, in our inquiry with respect to the origin of\nthe notion of extension, it may, however, be of advantage, to take a\nshort retrospect of the progress which we have already made; for, if we\nhave found nothing more, we have, at least, as I conceive, found reason\nto reject a considerable part of our former belief on the subject,\nwhich, though a negative acquisition, is yet a very important one.\nThough we should not be able to discover the true source of the notion\nwhich we seek, it is something, at least, to know, that we have little\nreason to expect to find it, where we have uniformly been accustomed to\nseek it.\n\nIn the first place, then, we have seen the fallacy of the supposition,\nthat our knowledge of extension may be easily accounted for, by the\nsimilarity in figure of the compressed part of the organ of touch to\nthe compressing body, since the notion of extension is not a state of\nthe material organ, compressed and figured, which, as mere matter,\nhowever exquisitely organized, is as little capable of this notion,\nas of smell, or taste, love or aversion, but, a state of the _mind\nitself_, which is susceptible of shape or pressure, being as little\nsquare, when it perceives a square, as when it perceives a circle; and\nany affection of which, therefore, may be supposed as much to follow\nany one shape, as any other shape of the mere external organ. If,\nindeed, as this explanation most strangely seems to assume, we could\nbe supposed to have any previous knowledge of the shape of our organ\nof touch, nothing more would be necessary, for we should then have\na perfect knowledge of extension, though no other extended body but\nour own organ of touch were in existence. To refer us to the organ\nis, however, only to bring the very same difficulty one step nearer,\nsince previously to the application of an external body, the mind has\nas little knowledge of the shape of its organ of touch, as it has of\nthe body compressing it; and it is manifestly most absurd, to ascribe\nthe origin of our knowledge of extension, to our knowledge of the\nresemblance in figure of an external body to our organ; since this\nvery knowledge of the resemblance must imply the previous knowledge of\nthe figure of both, and consequently of _that very extension_, which,\naccording to this supposition, must be known to us BEFORE it is known.\n\nIn the second place, we have seen, that, if the configuration of the\nsensorial organ were the only circumstance necessary, to induce,\nimmediately, in mind, the notion of figure, this notion should\naccompany every sensation of every kind; the smell of a rose, for\nexample, as much as the pressure of a cube or a sphere: for the nervous\nexpansion, in the organ of smell, and in every other organ, is of a\ncertain figure, _before_ sensation, _during_ sensation, and _after_\nsensation, as much as the nervous expansion of the organ of touch. And,\nthough we were to confine ourselves wholly to this organ, the nervous\nmatter in it is, at all times, of a certain shape, as much when there\nis no pressure on it, as when it is exposed to such pressure; yet the\nmere figure of the organ of touch, is not then accompanied with the\nmental notion of its figure; nor is this the case, merely when the\nsense is quiescent, but, in many cases, in which it is affected in the\nmost lively manner; as, for example, when we are exposed to great cold\nor heat, in which cases, the shape of this very tactual organ, thus\nstrongly affected, is as much unperceived by us, as when there is no\naffection of it whatever.\n\nLastly, which is a point of much more importance, because it has\nrelation to the only philosophic view of touch, as the immediate\norgan of extension; the view, in which the mere configuration of\nthe compressed organ, as similar to that of the compressing body,\nis laid out of account, and the immediate belief of extension is\nsupposed to depend on the original constitution of the mind, by which\nits affections have been arranged, so as to correspond with certain\naffections of the bodily organs; the mental state which constitutes\nthe perception of a _square_, arising immediately when the organ of\ntouch is affected, in a certain manner, as that mental state which\nconstitutes the sensation of the fragrance of a _rose_, arises\nimmediately, when the organ of smell is affected, in a certain manner;\nthis opinion too, philosophic as it is, compared with those which we\nbefore considered, though, in truth, it only assumes the point in\nquestion, without attempting to solve any difficulty, supposed to be\nconnected with it, we have yet found to be as little tenable, as the\nopinions that suppose the mental notion of figure to depend on the\npeculiar figure of the compressed material organ. The consideration\nwhich, as I stated in my last Lecture, seems to me decisive on this\npoint, is, that, if touch inform us of extension immediately, as\nsmell informs us of fragrance, sight of colour, and hearing of sound;\nit must do this in every instance, without relation to particular\nfigure, as smell, sight, and hearing, extend to all odours, hues, and\nsounds; for it would certainly be, as I said, a very strange abuse\nof the license of supposition, to imagine that we perceive a square\nimmediately by touch, but not a circle; or a circle, but not a square;\nor any one figure, but not any other figure. In short, if figure be the\ndirect primary object of touch, as sight is of vision, we should feel\nimmediately every form impressed, as we see immediately every colour.\nIt is only when the figures are very simple and regular, however, such\nas we might be supposed to have easily learned, in the same manner\nas we learn, visually, to judge of distances, that we are able to\ndiscover them, as it were, immediately, by touch; and, even when we\nare able, in this manner, to determine the _species of figure_, that\nis to say, the mere outline of a body, we are rarely able to determine\nthe exact magnitude which that outline comprehends; yet, as our organ\nmust be affected by each part of the compressing surface, by the\ncentral parts, as much as by the exterior parts which form its outline,\nand by these, as much as by the central parts; and as every feeling\nwhich the organ directly affords, must be immediate, when there is no\nchange of the position, or other circumstances of the object, that\nmight vary the sensation, we should, if mere touch communicated to us\nthe knowledge supposed, be able to determine, exactly and instantly,\nthe magnitude and figure; or, it is evident, that the determination\nof magnitude and figure must depend wholly, or in part, on something\nthat is different from touch. The magnitude we are far from being able\nto discover exactly, even of simple figures; and when the form is\nvery irregular, and we know nothing more, than that a certain body is\npressed against our hand,--the magnitude and figure are alike difficult\nto be discovered; so difficult, that I may safely say, that no one, who\nmakes the experiment, will find, on opening his eyes, that his tactual\nor intellectual measurement has, in any one case, been exact, or his\nnotion of the figure half so distinct as it now is, after a single\nglance. Can we then think that it is by mere touch we discover figure,\nas exactly as by the glance of our mature vision,--that we discover\nit, in all its varieties, originally by touch, and as accurately at\nfirst, as after innumerable trials,--when we discover it, only in a\nfew cases, that are previously familiar to us, and even in these very\nimperfectly? The _determination_ of the form impressed, in which we are\nalmost conscious of a sort of intellectual measurement, has surely a\nmuch greater resemblance to the perceptions, which we term _acquired_,\nthan to those which are _immediate_. In vision, for example, when the\noriginal power of that sense has been strengthened and enriched, by the\nacquisitions which it is capable of receiving from other sources, we\nsee a long line of distance before us; and the _small_ distances with\nwhich we are familiar, we distinguish with sufficient accuracy; but, in\nour visual measurement of _greater_ distances, we are almost certain\nto err, taking often the less for the greater, and the greater for the\nless. It is precisely the same in touch. When a small body, which we\nhave never seen, is pressed upon our hand, we are able, if its surface\nbe square, or circular, or of any other form, with which we are well\nacquainted, to determine its figure, without much hesitation; because\nwe have learned, tactually, to distinguish these regular figures.\nBut, in endeavouring to determine, in this manner, by touch alone,\nthe figure of any irregular body, less familiar to us, though, as a\ndirect object of sense, if touch be the sense of figure, it should\nbe equally and as immediately tangible as the most regular form, we\nfeel a hesitation of the same sort, as when we attempt to ascertain by\nour eye, the exact distance of a remote object. To know extension or\nfigure, is to know, not one point merely in the surface of a body, but\nmany continuous points; and if, when the surface, is circular, we know\nthese continuous points, and their relation to each other, immediately\non pressure, we must know, as immediately, the same points and their\nrelations, though the surface comprehending them, instead of being\ncircular, should be of an outline more irregular. We certainly cannot\nknow this irregular surface to have any extension at all, unless we\nknow some parts of it; and, when the pressure is uniform from every\npoint, and the organ of touch uniform, on which the pressure is made,\nit would be absurd to suppose, that we know fifty, or eighty, of the\nhundred points which form the impressing surface, but cannot determine\nits figure, because we are ignorant of the twenty of fifty remaining\npoints; when these remaining points are acting on our organ of touch,\nin exactly the same manner as the fifty or eighty which we know, and\nwhen, if the surface containing merely the same number of points, had\nbeen circular, or of any other single form, as familiar to us, the\nwhole hundred points would have been known to us equally and at once.\n\nWhen our perceptions of form, then, are so various and irregular, and\nare more or less quick and precise, exactly as the shape which we\nendeavour to determine, has more or less resemblance to shapes that are\nfamiliar to us, it does not seem too bold an inference to conclude,\nthat the knowledge of figure, which, as all extension that is capable\nof being perceived by us, must have some boundary, is nothing more\nthan the knowledge of extension, is not the state of mind originally\nand immediately subsequent to affections of our organs of touch, any\nmore than the perception of distance is the state of mind originally\nand immediately subsequent to affections of our organ of sight; and\nthe very striking analogy of these two cases, it will be of great\nimportance for you to have constantly in view; as it will render it\nless difficult for you to admit many circumstances, with respect to\ntouch, which you might otherwise have been slower to conceive. That we\nshould seem to perceive _extension_ immediately by touch, though touch\noriginally, and of itself, could not have afforded this perception,\nwill not then appear more wonderful, than the apparently immediate\nperception of _distance_ by the eye, which, of itself, originally\nafforded us no perception of that sort; nor the impossibility of\nfeeling a body, without the notion of it, as extended, be more\nwonderful than the similar impossibility of separating colour from\nextension, in the case of distant vision. Above all, the analogy is\nvaluable, as shewing the closeness and indissolubleness of the union,\nwhich may be formed of feelings that have in themselves no resemblance.\nWhat common properties, could we have conceived in vision, and that\nabsolute blindness, which has never had a single sensation from light!\nand, yet, it is worthy of remark, that the perceptions of the blind,\nin consequence of this singular power of association, form truly the\nmost important part of those very perceptions of vision, of which, as\na whole, they are unfortunately deprived. We do not merely see with our\neyes, what we may have felt with our hands; but our eyes, in the act of\nvision, have borrowed, as it were, those very sensations.\n\nThe proof, that our perception of extension by touch, is not an\noriginal and immediate perception of that sense, is altogether\nindependent of the success of any endeavour which may be made, to\ndiscover the elements of the compound perception. It would not be less\ntrue, that touch does not afford it, though we should be incapable of\npointing out any other source, from which it can be supposed to be\nderived. Of the difficulty of the attempt, and the caution with which\nwe should venture to form any conclusion on the subject, I have already\nspoken. But the analysis, difficult as it is, is too interesting not to\nbe attempted, even at the risk, or perhaps I should rather say, with\nthe very great probability, of failure.\n\nIn such an analysis, however, though we are to proceed with the\ngreatest caution, it may be necessary to warn you, that it is a part\nof this very caution, not to be easily terrified, by the appearance of\nparadox, which the result of our analysis may present. This appearance\nwe may be certain, that any analysis which is at all accurate must\npresent, because the very object of the analysis is to shew, that\nsensations, which appear simple and direct, are not simple,--that\nour senses, in short, are not fitted, of themselves, to convey that\ninformation, which they now appear, and through the whole course of\nour memory have appeared to us instantly to convey. It is very far,\nindeed from following, as a necessary consequence, that every analysis\nof our sensations which affords a paradoxical result, is, therefore, a\njust one--for error may be extravagant in _appearance_ as well as in\n_reality_. But it may truly be regarded as a necessary consequence,\nthat every accurate and original analysis of our sensations must afford\na result, that, as first stated, will appear paradoxical.\n\nTo those who are wholly unacquainted with the theory of vision, nothing\ncertainly can seem, as first stated, more absurd than the assertion,\nthat we see, not with our eyes merely, but chiefly by the medium\nof another organ, which the blind possess in as great perfection\nas ourselves, and which, at the moment of vision, may perhaps be\nabsolutely at rest. It must not surprise you, therefore, though the\nelement which seems to me to form the most important constituent of our\nnotion of extension should in like manner, as first stated to you, seem\na very unlikely one.\n\nThis element is our feeling of _succession_, or time--a feeling, which\nnecessarily, involves the notion of divisibility or series of parts,\nthat is so essential a constituent of our more complex notion of\nmatter,--and to which notion of continuous divisibility, if the notion\nof resistance be added, it is scarcely possible for us to imagine, that\nwe should not have acquired, by this union, the very notion of physical\nextension,--that which has parts, and that which resists our effort to\ngrasp it.\n\nThat _memory_ is a part of our mental constitution, and that we are\nthus capable of thinking of a series of feelings, as successive to\neach other, the experience of every moment teaches us sufficiently.\nThis succession frequently repeated, suggests immediately, or implies\nthe notion of length, not metaphorically, as is commonly said, but\nas absolutely as extension itself: and, the greater the number of\nthe successive feelings may have been, the greater does this length\nappear. It is not possible for us to look back on the years of our\nlife, since they form truly a progressive series, without regarding\nthem as a sort of length, which is more distinct indeed, the nearer\nthe succession of feelings may be to the moment at which we consider\nthem, but which, however remote, is still felt by us as _one continued\nlength_, in the same manner, as when, after a journey of many hundred\nmiles, we look back, in our memory, on the distance over which we\nhave passed, we see, as it were, a long track of which some parts,\nparticularly the nearer parts, are sufficiently distinct, but of which\nthe rest seems lost in a sort of distant obscurity. The line of our\nlong journeying--or, in other words, that almost immeasurable line of\nplains, hills, declivities, marshes, bridges, woods,--to endeavour to\ncomprehend which in our thought, seems an effort as fatiguing as the\nvery journey itself--we know well, can be divided into those various\nparts:--and, in like manner, the progressive line of time--or, in\nother words, the continued succession, of which the joy, the hope, the\nfragrance, the regret, the melody, the fear, and innumerable other\naffections of the mind, were parts, we feel that we can mentally\ndivide into those separate portions of the train. Continuous length\nand divisibility, those great elementary notions of space, and of\nall that space contains, are thus found in every succession of our\nfeelings. There is no language in which time is not described as long\nor short,--not from any metaphor--for no mere arbitrary metaphor can be\nthus universal, and inevitable, as a form of human thought--but because\nit is truly impossible for us to consider succession, without this\nnotion of progressive divisibility attached to it: and it appears to us\nas absurd to suppose, that by adding, to our retrospect of a week, the\nevents of the month preceding, we do not truly lengthen the succession,\nas it would be to suppose, that we do not lengthen the line of actual\ndistance, by adding, to the few last stages of a long journey, the many\nstages that preceded it.\n\nIt is this spreading out of life into a long expanse, which allows\nman to create, as it were, his own world. He cannot change, indeed,\nthe scene of external things. But this may be said, in one sense, to\nbe the residence only of his corporeal part. It is the moral scene in\nwhich the spirit truly dwells; and this adapts itself, with harmonious\nloveliness, or with horror as suitable, to the character of its pure or\nguilty inhabitant. If but a single moment of life,--a physical _point_,\nas it were, of the long line--could be reviewed at once, conscience\nwould have little power of retribution. But he who has lived, as man\nshould live, is permitted to enjoy that best happiness which man can\nenjoy,--to behold, in one continued series, those years of benevolent\nwishes or of heroic suffering, which are at once his merit and his\nreward. He is surrounded by his own pure thoughts and actions, which,\nfrom the most remote distance, seem to shine upon him wherever his\nglance can reach; as in some climate of perpetual summer, in which\nthe inhabitant sees nothing but fruits and blossoms, and inhales only\nfragrance, and sunshine, and delight. It is in a moral climate as\nserene and cloudless, that the destined inhabitant of a still nobler\nworld moves on, in that glorious track, which has heaven before, and\nvirtue and tranquillity behind;--and in which it is scarcely possible\nto distinguish, in the immortal career, when the earthly part has\nceased, and the heavenly begins.\n\nIs it in _metaphor_ only, that a youth and maturity, and old age of\nguilt, seem to stretch themselves out in almost endless extent, to\nthat eye which, with all its shuddering reluctance, is still condemned\nto gaze on them,--when, after the long retrospect seems finished,\nsome fraud, or excess, or oppression, still rises and adds to the\ndreadful line--and when eternity itself, in all the horrors which it\npresents, seems only a still longer line of the same dreadful species,\nthat admits of no other measure, than the continued sufferings, and\nremembrance, and terrors that compose it!\n\nIt is a just and beautiful observation of an ancient Stoic, that _time_\nwhich is _past_ is like something consecrated to the gods, over which\nfortune and mortality have no longer any power, and that, dreadful\nas it must be to the wicked, to whom their own memory is an object\nof terror, it still, to the virtuous, offers itself as a consolation\nor joy--not in single moments like the present hour, but in all that\nlong series of years which rises before us, and remains with us at\nour bidding. \u201cIlle qui multa ambitios\u00e8 cupiit, superb\u00e8 contempsit,\ninsidios\u00e8 decepit, avar\u00e8 rapuit, prodig\u00e8 effudit,--necesse est memoriam\nsuam timeat. Atqui h\u00e6c est pars temporis nostri sacra ac dedicata,\nomnes humanos casus supergressa, extra regnum fortun\u00e6 subducta; quam\nnon inopia, non metus, non morborum incursus exagitat. H\u00e6c nec turbari\nnec eripi potest; perpetua ejus et intrepida possessio est. Singuli\ntant\u00f9m dies, et hi per momenta, pr\u00e6sentis sunt: at pr\u00e6teriti temporis\nomnes, cum jusseris aderunt, ad arbitrium tuum se inspici ac detineri\npatientur.\u201d\n\nBy those, who can look back on years that are long past, and yet\nsay, that the continued progress, or the length and the shortness\nof time, are only _metaphorical_ expressions, it might be said with\nequal justness, that the roundness of a sphere, is a metaphor, or the\nangularity of a cube. We do not more truly consider the one as angular\nand the other as round, than we consider the time to be continuously\nprogressive, in which we considered, first the one figure, and then\nthe other, and inquired into the properties of each. That which is\nprogressive must have _parts_. Time, or succession, then involves\nthe very notions of longitudinal extension and divisibility, and\ninvolves these, without the notion of any thing external to the mind\nitself;--for though the mind of man had been susceptible only of\njoy, grief, fear, hope, and the other varieties of internal feeling,\n_without_ the possibility of being affected by external things, he\nwould still have been capable of considering these feelings, as\nsuccessive to each other, in a long continued progression, divisible\ninto separate parts. The notions of length, then, and of divisibility,\nare not confined to external things, but are involved, in that very\nmemory, by which we consider the series of the past,--not in the memory\nof distant events only, but in those first successions of feeling, by\nwhich the mind originally became conscious of its own permanence and\nidentity. The notion of time, then, is precisely coeval with that of\nthe mind itself; since it is implied in the knowledge of succession, by\nwhich alone, in the manner formerly explained to you, the mind acquires\nthe knowledge of its own reality, as something more than the mere\nsensation of the present moment.\n\nConceiving the notion of time, therefore, that is to say of feelings\npast and present, to be thus one of the earliest notions which the\ninfant mind can form, so as to precede its notions of external things,\nand to involve the notions of length and divisibility, I am inclined\nto reverse exactly the process commonly supposed; and, instead of\nderiving the measure of time from extension, to derive the knowledge\nand original measure of extension from time. That one notion or feeling\nof the mind may be united indissolubly with other feelings, with which\nit has frequently coexisted, and to which, but for this coexistence, it\nwould seem to have no common relation, is sufficiently shown by those\nphenomena of vision to which I have already so frequently alluded.\n\nIn what manner, however, is the notion of time peculiarly associated\nwith the simple sensation of touch, so as to form, with it, the\nperception of extension? We are able, in the theory of vision, to\npoint out the coexistence of sensations which produce the subsequent\nunion; that renders the perception of distance apparently immediate.\nIf a similar coexistence of the original sensations of touch, with the\nnotion of continued and divisible succession, cannot be pointed out\nin the present case, the opinion which asserts it, must be considered\nmerely as a wild and extravagant conjecture.\n\nThe source of such a coexistence is not merely to be found, but is at\nleast as obvious, as that which is universally admitted in the case of\nvision.\n\nBefore I proceed, however, to state to you, in what way I conceive\nthe notion to be acquired, I must again warn you of the necessity of\nbanishing, as much as possible, from your view of the mind of the\ninfant in this early process, all those notions of external things,\nwhich we are so apt to regard as almost original in the mind, because\nwe do not remember the time, when they arose in our own. As we know\nwell, that there are external things, of a certain form, acting on\nour organs, which are also of a certain form, it seems so very simple\na process, to perceive extension--that is to say, to know that there\nexist without us those external forms, which really exist--that to\nendeavour to discover the mode, in which extension, that now appears so\nobvious a quality of external things, is perceived by us, seems to be\na needless search, at a distance, for what is already before our very\neyes. And it will be allowed, that all this would, indeed, be very easy\nto a mind like ours, after the acquisitions of knowledge which it has\nmade; but the difficulty of the very question is, how the mind of the\ninfant makes these acquisitions, so as to become like ours. You must\nnot think of a mind, that has any knowledge of things external, even\nof its own bodily organs, but of a mind simply affected with certain\nfeelings, and having nothing but these feelings to lead it to the\nknowledge of things without.\n\nTo proceed, then,--The hand is the great organ of touch. It is composed\nof various articulations, that are easily moveable, so as to adapt\nit readily to changes of shape, in accommodation to the shape of the\nbodies which it grasps. If we shut our hand gradually, or open it\ngradually, we find a certain series of feelings, varying with each\ndegree of the opening or closing, and giving the notion of succession\nof a certain length. In like manner, if we gradually extend our arms,\nin various directions, or bring them nearer to us again, we find\nthat each degree of the motion is accompanied with a feeling that is\ndistinct, so as to render us completely conscious of the progression.\nThe gradual closing of the hand, therefore, must necessarily give a\nsuccession of feelings,--a succession, which, of itself, might, or\nrather must, furnish the notion of length, in the manner before stated,\nthe length being different, according to the degree of the closing; and\nthe gradual stretching out of the arm gives a succession of feelings,\nwhich, in like manner, must furnish the notion of length,--the length\nbeing different according to the degree of the stretching of the arm.\nTo those who have had opportunities of observing infants, I need not\nsay, how much use, or rather what constant use, the future inquirer\nmakes of his little fingers and arms; by the frequent contraction\nof which, and the consequent renewal of the series of feelings\ninvolved in each gradual contraction, he cannot fail to become so\nwell acquainted with the progress, as to distinguish each degree of\ncontraction, and, at last, after innumerable repetitions, to associate\nwith each degree the notion of a certain length of succession. The\nparticular contraction, therefore, when thus often repeated, becomes\nthe representative of a certain length, in the same manner as shades of\ncolour, in vision become ultimately representative of distance,--the\nsame principle of association, which forms the combination in the one\ncase, operating equally in the other.\n\nIn these circumstances of acquired knowledge,--after the series of\nmuscular feelings, in the voluntary closing of the hand, has become\nso familiar, that the whole series is anticipated and expected, as\nsoon as the motion has begun,--when a ball, or any other substance, is\nplaced for the first time in the infant's hand, he feels that he can\nno longer perform the usual contraction,--or, in other words, since\nhe does not fancy that he has muscles which are contracted, he feels\nthat the usual series of sensations does not follow his will to renew\nit,--he knows how much of the accustomed succession is still remaining;\nand the notion of this particular length, which was expected, and\ninterrupted by a new sensation, is thus associated with the particular\ntactual feeling excited by the pressure of the ball,--the greater or\nless magnitude of the ball preventing a greater or less portion of\nthe series of feelings in the accustomed contraction. By the frequent\nrepetition of this tactual feeling, as associated with that feeling,\nwhich attends a certain progress of contraction, the two feelings at\nlast flow together, as in the acquired perceptions of vision; and when\nthe process has been repeated with various bodies innumerable times, it\nbecomes, at last, as impossible to separate the mere tactual feeling,\nfrom the feeling of length, as to separate the whiteness of a sphere,\nin vision, from that convexity of the sphere, which the eye, of itself,\nwould have been forever incapable of perceiving.\n\nAs yet, however, the only dimension of the knowledge, of which we have\ntraced the origin, is mere length; and it must still be explained,\nhow we acquire the knowledge of the other dimensions. If we had had\nbut one muscle, it seems to me very doubtful, whether it would have\nbeen possible for us, to have associated with touch any other notion\nthan that of mere length. But nature has made provision, for giving us\na wider knowledge, in the various muscles, which she has distributed\nover different parts, so as to enable us to perform motions in various\ndirections at the same instant, and thus to have coexisting series\nof feelings, each of which series was before considered as involving\nthe notion of length. The infant bends one finger gradually on the\npalm of his hand; the finger, thus brought down, touches one part of\nthe surface of the palm, producing a certain affection of the organ\nof touch, and a consequent sensation; and he acquires the notion\nof a certain length, in the remembered succession of the muscular\nfeelings during the contraction:--he bends another finger; it, too,\ntouches a certain part of the surface of the palm, producing a certain\nfeeling of touch, that coexists and combines, in like manner, with the\nremembrance of a certain succession of muscular feelings. When both\nfingers move together, the coexistence of the two series of successive\nfeelings, with each of which the mind is familiar, gives the notion of\ncoexisting lengths, which receive a sort of unity, from the proximity\nin succession of the tactual feelings in the contiguous parts of the\npalm which they touch,--feelings, which have before been found to be\nproximate, when the palm has been repeatedly pressed along a surface,\nand the tactual feelings of these parts, which the closing fingers\ntouch at the same moment, were always immediately successive,--as\nimmediately successive, as any of the muscular feelings in the series\nof contraction. When a body is placed in the infant's hand, and its\nlittle fingers are bent by it as before, sometimes one finger only is\nimpeded in its progress, sometimes two, sometimes three,--and he thus\nadds to the notion of mere length, which would have been the same,\nwhatever number of fingers had been impeded, the notion of a certain\nnumber of proximate and coexisting lengths, which is the very notion of\nbreadth; and with these, according as the body is larger or smaller,\nis combined always the tactual affection produced by the pressure of\nthe body, on more, or fewer, of the interior parts of the palm, and\nfingers, which had before become, of themselves, representative of\ncertain lengths, in the manner described; and the concurrence of these\nthree varieties of length, in the single feeling of resistance, in\nwhich they all seem to meet, when an incompressible body is placed\nwithin the sphere of the closing fingers,--however rude the notions\nof concurring dimensions may be, or rather must be, as at first\nformed,--seems at least to afford the rude elements, from which, by\nthe frequent repetition of the feeling of resistance, together with\nthe proximate lengths, of which it has become representative, clearer\nnotions of the kind may gradually arise.\n\nThe progressive contractions of the various muscles which move the\narms, as affording similar successions of feelings, may be considered\nin precisely the same light, as sources of the knowledge of extension;\nand, by their motion in various directions, at the same time with\nthe motion of the fingers, they concur powerfully, in modifying, and\ncorrecting, the information received from these. The whole hand is\nbrought, by the motion of the arm, to touch one part of the face or\nbody; it is then moved, so as to touch another part, and, with the\nfrequent succession of the simple feelings of touch, in these parts, is\nassociated the feeling of the intervening _length_, derived from the\nsensations that accompanied the progressive contraction of the arm.\nBut the motion is not always the same; and, as the same feeling of\ntouch, in one part, is thus followed by various feelings of touch in\ndifferent parts, with various series of muscular feelings between, the\nnotion of length in various _directions_, that is to say, of length in\nvarious series commencing from one power, is obtained in another way.\nThat the knowledge of extension, or in other words, the association\nof the notion of succession with the simple feelings of touch, will\nbe rude and indistinct at first, I have already admitted; but it will\ngradually become more and more distinct and precise: as we can have no\ndoubt, that the perception of distance by the eye, is, in the first\nstages of visual association, very indistinct, and becomes clearer\nafter each repeated trial. For many weeks or months, all is confusion\nin the visual perceptions, as much as in the tactual and muscular.\nIndeed, we have abundant evidence of this continued progress of vision,\neven in mature life, when, in certain professions that require nice\nperceptions of distance, the power of perception itself, by the gradual\nacquisitions which it obtains from experience, seems to unfold itself\nmore and more, in proportion to the wants that require it.\n\nThe theory of the notion of extension, of which I have now given you\nbut a slight outline, might, if the short space of these Lectures\nallowed sufficient room, be developed with many illustrations, which it\nis now impossible to give to it. I must leave you, in some measure, to\nsupply these for yourselves.\n\nIt may be thought, indeed, that the notion of _time_, or _succession_,\nis, in this instance, a superfluous incumbrance of the theory, and\nthat the same advantage might be obtained, by supposing the muscular\nfeelings themselves, independently of the notion of their succession,\nto be connected with the notion of particular lengths. But this\nopinion, it must be remarked, would leave the difficulty precisely as\nbefore; and sufficient evidence in confutation of it, may be found\nin a very simple experiment, which it is in the power of any one to\nmake. The experiment I cannot but consider as of the more value,\nsince it seems to me,--I will not say _decisive_, for that is too\npresumptuous a word,--but strongly _corroborative_ of the theory,\nwhich I have ventured to propose; for it shows, that, even after\nall the acquisitions, which our sense of touch has made, the notion\nof extension is still modified, in a manner the most striking and\nirresistible, by the mere change of accustomed _time_. Let any one,\nwith his eyes shut, move his hand, with moderate velocity, along a part\nof a table, or any other hard smooth surface, the portion, over which\nhe presses, will appear of a certain length; let him move his hand more\nrapidly, the portion of the surface pressed will appear _less_; let him\nmove his hand _very slowly_, and the length, according to the degree of\nthe slowness, will appear increased, in a most wonderful proportion.\nIn this case, there is precisely the same quantity of muscular\ncontraction, and the same quantity of the organ of touch compressed,\nwhether the motion be rapid, moderate, or slow. The only circumstance\nof difference is the time, occupied in the succession of the feelings;\nand this difference is sufficient to give complete diversity to the\nnotion of length.\n\nIf any one, with his eyes shut, suffer his hand to be guided by\nanother, very slowly along any surface unknown to him, he will find it\nimpossible to form any accurate guess as to its length. But it is not\nnecessary, that we should be previously unacquainted with the extent\nof surface, along which the motion is performed; for the illusion\nwill be nearly the same, and the experiment, of course, be still\nmore striking, when the motion is along a surface with which we are\nperfectly familiar, as a book which we hold in our hand, or a desk at\nwhich we are accustomed to sit.\n\nI must request you, not to take for granted the result which I have\nnow stated, but to repeat for yourselves an experiment, which it\nis so very easy to make, and which, I cannot but think is so very\nimportant, as to the influence of _mere difference of time_, in our\nestimation of _longitudinal extent_. It is an experiment, tried,\nunquestionably, in most unfavourable circumstances, when our tactual\nfeelings, representative of extension, are so strongly fixed, by the\nlong experience of our life; and yet, even now, you will find, on\nmoving your hand, slowly and rapidly, along the same extent of surface,\nthough with precisely the same degree of pressure in both cases, that\nit is as difficult to conceive the extent, thus slowly and rapidly\ntraversed, to be the same, as it is difficult to conceive the extent\nof visual distance to be exactly the same, when you look alternately\nthrough the different ends of an inverted telescope. If when all other\ncircumstances are the same, the different visual feelings, arising from\ndifference of the mere direction of light, be representative of length,\nin the one case,--the longer or shorter succession of time, when all\nother circumstances are the same, has surely as much reason to be\nconsidered as representative of it, in the other case.\n\nAre we, then, to believe, that the _feeling_ of extension, or, in other\nwords, of the definite figure of bodies, is a _simple feeling_ of\ntouch, _immediate_, _original_, and _independent of time_; or is there\nnot rather reason to think, as I have endeavoured to show, that it is\na _compound_ feeling, of which _time_, that is to say, our notion of\nsuccession, is an _original element_?\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XXV.\n\nON THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN SENSATION AND PERCEPTION,--AND BETWEEN THE\nPRIMARY AND SECONDARY QUALITIES OF MATTER.\n\n\nMy last Lecture, Gentlemen, was chiefly employed in considering the\nnature of that complex process which takes place in the mind, when\nwe ascribe the various classes of our sensations to their various\nexternal objects,--to the analysis of which process we were led, by the\nimportance which Dr Reid has attached to the distinction of _sensation_\nand _perception_;--a sensation, as understood by him, being the simple\nfeeling that immediately follows the action of an external body on any\nof our organs of sense, considered merely as a feeling of the mind;\nthe corresponding perception being a reference of this feeling to the\nexternal body as its cause.\n\nThe distinction I allowed to be a convenient one, if the nature of the\ncomplex process which it expresses be rightly understood. The only\nquestion that seemed, philosophically, of importance, with respect\nto it, was, whether the _perception_ in this sense,--the reference\nof the sensation to its external corporeal cause,--imply, as Dr Reid\ncontends, a peculiar mental power, coextensive with sensation, to be\ndistinguished by a peculiar name in the catalogue of our faculties,\nor be not merely one of the results of a more general power, which is\nafterwards to be considered by us,--the _power of association_,--by\nwhich one feeling suggests, or induces, other feelings that have\nformerly coexisted with it.\n\nIt would be needless to recapitulate the argument minutely, in its\nrelation to _all_ the senses. That of smell, which Dr Reid has himself\nchosen as an example, will be sufficient for our retrospect.\n\nCertain particles of odorous matter act on my nostrils,--a peculiar\n_sensation_ of fragrance arises,--I refer this sensation to a rose.\nThis reference, which is unquestionably something superadded to the\noriginal sensation itself, is what Dr Reid terms the perception of the\nfragrant body. But what is the reference itself, and to what source\nis it to be ascribed? That we should have supposed our sensations\nto have had a cause of some sort, as we suppose a cause of all our\nfeelings internal as well as external, may indeed be admitted. But if\nI had had no other sense than that of smell,--if I had never _seen_ a\nrose,--or, rather, since the knowledge which vision affords is chiefly\nof a secondary kind, if I had no mode of becoming acquainted with the\ncompound of extension and resistance, which the mere sensations of\nsmell, it is evident, are incapable of affording,--could I have made\nthis reference of my sensation to a quality of a fragrant body? Could\nI, in short, have had more than the mere sensation itself, with that\ngeneral belief of a cause of some sort, which is not confined to our\nsensations, but is common to them with all our other feelings?\n\nBy _mere smell_, as it appears to me, I could not have become\nacquainted with the existence of corporeal substances,--in the sense\nin which we now understand the term _corporeal_,--nor, consequently,\nwith the _qualities_ of corporeal substances; and, if so, how could\nI have had that perception of which Dr Reid speaks,--that reference\nto a fragrant body, of which, as a body, I was before in absolute\nignorance? I should, indeed, have ascribed the sensation to some\ncause or antecedent, like every other feeling; but I could as little\nhave ascribed it to a bodily cause, as any feeling of joy or sorrow.\nI refer it now to a _rose_; because, being endowed with _other_\nsensitive capacities, I have previously learned, from another source,\nthe existence of causes without, extended and resisting,--because\nI have previously touched or seen a rose, when the sensation of\nfragrance coexisted with my visual or tactual sensation; and all\nwhich distinguishes the _perception_ from the mere _sensation_, is\nthis suggestion of former experience, which reminds me now of other\nfeelings, with the continuance or cessation of which, in innumerable\nformer instances, the fragrance itself also continued or ceased.\nThe perception in short, in smell, taste, hearing, is a sensation\nsuggesting, by _association_, the notion of some extended and resisting\nsubstance, fragrant, vapid, vibratory,--a notion which smell alone,\ntaste alone, hearing alone, never could have afforded; but which, when\nonce received from any other source, may be suggested by these as\nreadily as any other associate feeling that has frequently coexisted\nwith them. To the simple primary sensations of _vision_ the same remark\nmay be applied. A mere sensation of colour could not have made me\nacquainted with the existence of bodies, that would resist my effort to\ngrasp them. It is only in one sense, therefore,--that which affords us\nthe knowledge of _resistance_,--that any thing like original perception\ncan be found; and even in this, the process of perception, as I\nformerly explained to you, implies no peculiar power, but only common\nsensations, with associations and inferences of precisely the same\nkind, as those which are continually taking place in all our reasonings\nand trains of thought.\n\n_Extension_ and _resistance_, I need scarcely repeat, are the\ncomplex elements of what we term matter; and nothing is matter to\nour conception, or a body, to use the simpler synonymous term, which\ndoes not involve these elements. If we had no other sense than that\nof smell, and, therefore, could not have referred the sensations to\nany fragrant body, what, in Dr Reid's meaning of this term, would the\nsupposed power of perception, in these circumstances, have been? What\nwould it have been, in like manner, if we had had only the sense of\ntaste in sweetness and bitterness,--or of hearing in melody,--or of\nvision in colour,--without the capacity of knowing light as a material\nsubstance, or the bodies that vibrated, or the bodies of another\nkind that were sweet or bitter? It is only by the sense of touch,\nor, at least, by that class of perceptions which Dr Reid ascribes to\ntouch,--and which, therefore, though traced by us, in part, to another\nsource, I, for brevity's sake, comprehend under that term in our\npresent discussion,--it is only by _touch_ that we become acquainted\nwith those elements which are essential to our very notion of a _body_;\nand to touch, therefore, in his own view of it, we must be indebted,\ndirectly or indirectly, as often as we refer the sensations of any\nother class to a _corporeal_ cause. Even in the supposed perceptions of\ntouch itself, however, as we have seen, the reference of our feelings\nto an external cause is not demonstrative of any peculiar power of\nthe mind, to be classed separately from its other faculties. But\nwhen a body is first grasped, in infancy, by fingers that have been\naccustomed to contract without being impeded, we learn to consider the\nsensation as the result of a cause that is different from our own mind,\nbecause it breaks an accustomed series of feelings, in which all the\nantecedents, felt by us at the time, were such as were before uniformly\nfollowed by a different consequent, and were expected, therefore, to\nhave again their usual consequent. The _cause_ of the new sensation,\nwhich is thus believed to be something different from our sentient\nself, is regarded by us as something which has parts, and which resists\nour effort, that is to say, as an external body;--because the muscular\nfeeling, excited by the object grasped is, in the _first_ place,\nthe very feeling of that which we term resistance; and, _secondly_,\nbecause, by uniformly supplying the place of a definite portion of a\nprogressive series of feelings, it becomes ultimately representative\nof that particular length of series, or number of parts, of which it\nthus uniformly supplies the place. Perception, then, even in that class\nof feelings by which we learn to consider ourselves as surrounded by\nsubstances extended and resisting, is only another name, as I have\nsaid, for the result of certain associations and inferences that flow\nfrom other more general principles of the mind; and with respect to all\nour other sensations, it is only another name for the suggestion of\nthese very perceptions of touch, or at least of the feelings, tactual\nand muscular, which are, by Dr Reid, ascribed to that single sense. If\nwe had been unsusceptible of these tactual and muscular feelings, and,\nconsequently, had never conceived the existence of any thing extended\nand resisting till the sensation of fragrance, colour, sweetness, or\nsound had arisen, we should, after any one or all of these sensations,\nhave still known as little of bodies without, as if no sensation\nwhatever had been excited.\n\nThe distinction, then, on which Dr Reid has founded so much, involves,\nin his view of it, and in the view that is generally taken of it, a\nfalse conception of the nature of the process which he describes.\nThe two words _sensation_ and _perception_, are, indeed, as I have\nalready remarked, very convenient for expressing, in one case, the mere\nexistence of an external feeling,--in the other case, the reference\nwhich the percipient mind has made of this feeling to an external\ncause. But this reference is all, which the perception superadds to\nthe sensation;--and the source of the reference itself we are still\nleft to seek, in the other principles of our intellectual nature. We\nhave no need, however, to invent a peculiar power of the mind for\nproducing it; since there are other principles of our nature, from\nwhich it may readily be supposed to flow,--the principle by which we\nare led to believe, that every new consequent, in a train of changes,\nmust have had a new antecedent of some sort in the train,--and the\nprinciple of association, by which feelings, that have usually\ncoexisted, suggest or become representative of each other. With these\nprinciples, it certainly is not wonderful, that when the fragrance\nof a rose has uniformly affected our sense of smell, as often as the\nflower itself was presented to us, we should ascribe the fragrance to\nthe flower which we have seen and handled;--but though it would not be\nwonderful, that we should make it, it would indeed be wonderful, if,\nwith these principles, we did not make that very reference, for which\nDr Reid thinks it necessary to have recourse to a peculiar faculty of\nperception.\n\nSuch, then, is the view, which I would take of that distinction of\n_sensation_ and _perception_, which Dr Reid, and the philosophers\nwho have followed him, and many of philosophers, too, that preceded\nhim,--for the distinction, as I have said, is far from being an\noriginal one,--have understood in a different sense; in consequence,\nas I cannot but think, of a defective analysis of the mental process,\nwhich constitutes the reference of our feelings of this class to\n_causes_ that are _without_.\n\nThere is another distinction, which he has adopted from the\nphilosophers that preceded him, and which forms an important part of\nhis system of perception,--a distinction, that is just to a certain\nextent,--though not to the full extent, and in the precise manner, in\nwhich he and other writers have maintained;--and with respect to which,\ntherefore, it will be necessary to point out to you, how far I conceive\nit to be safely admissible. I allude to the division, which has been\nformed of the _primary_ and _secondary_ qualities of matter.\n\n\u201cEvery one knows that extension, divisibility, figure, motion,\nsolidity, hardness, softness, and fluidity, were by Mr Locke called\nprimary qualities of body; and that sound, colour, taste, smell,\nand heat or cold, were called secondary qualities. Is there a just\nfoundation for this distinction? Is there any thing common to the\nprimary, which belongs not to the secondary? And what is it?\n\n\u201cI answer, that there appears to me to be a real foundation for the\ndistinction; and it is this: That our senses give us a direct and a\ndistinct notion of the primary qualities, and inform us what they are\nin themselves; but of the secondary qualities, our senses give us only\na relative and obscure notion. They inform us only, that they are\nqualities that affect us in a certain manner, that is, produce in us a\ncertain sensation; but as to what they are in themselves, our senses\nleave us in the dark.\n\n\u201cThe notion we have of primary qualities is direct, and not relative\nonly. A relative notion of the thing, is, strictly speaking, no notion\nof the thing at all, but only of some relation which it bears to\nsomething else.\n\n\u201cThus gravity sometimes signifies the tendency of bodies towards the\nearth; sometimes it signifies the cause of that tendency: When it means\nthe first, I have a direct and distinct notion of gravity: I see it,\nand feel it, and know perfectly what it is; but this tendency must have\na cause: We give the same name to the cause; and that cause has been an\nobject of thought and of speculation. Now what notion have we of this\ncause, when we think and reason about it? It is evident, we think of it\nas an unknown cause, of a known effect. This is a relative notion, and\nit must be obscure; because it gives us no conception of what the thing\nis, but of what relation it bears to something else. Every relation\nwhich a thing unknown bears to something that is known, may give a\nrelative notion of it; and there are many objects of thought, and of\ndiscourse, of which our faculties can give no better than a relative\nnotion.\n\n\u201cHaving premised these things to explain what is meant by a relative\nnotion, it is evident, that our notion of primary qualities is not of\nthis kind; we know what they are, and not barely what relation they\nbear to something else.\n\n\u201cIt is otherwise with secondary qualities. If you ask me, what is that\nquality or modification in a rose which I call its smell, I am at a\nloss to answer directly. Upon reflection I find, that I have a distinct\nnotion of the sensation which it produces in my mind. But there can be\nnothing like to this sensation in the rose, because it is insentient.\nThe quality in the rose is something which occasions the sensations\nin me; but what that something is, I know not. My senses give me no\ninformation upon this point. The only notion, therefore, my senses give\nis this, That smell in the rose is an unknown quality or modification,\nwhich is the cause or occasion of a sensation which I know well. The\nrelation which this unknown quality bears to the sensation with which\nnature hath connected it, is all I learn from the sense of smelling;\nbut this is evidently a relative notion. The same reasoning will apply\nto every secondary quality.\n\n\u201cThus I think it appears, that there is a real foundation for the\ndistinction of primary from secondary qualities; and that they are\ndistinguished by this, that of the primary we have by our senses a\ndirect and distinct notion; but of the secondary only a relative\nnotion, which must, because it is only relative, be obscure; they are\nconceived only as the unknown causes or occasions of certain sensations\nwith which we are well acquainted.\u201d[92]\n\nThough, as I have explained to you fully, in my former Lectures,\nwe should not,--at least in far the greater number of our\nsensations,--have considered them, originally, as proceeding from\nexternal causes, we yet, after the acquisitions of knowledge, with\nwhich the first years of our life enrich us, believe, that there is\nan external cause of all our sensations,--of smells and tastes, as\nmuch as of those feelings of the mind, which constitute our notions\nof extension and resistance. But the difference, in these cases,\nis, that though we _learn_, by experience of certain successions\nor co-existences of feelings, to refer to a _corporeal_ cause our\nsensations of fragrance, and various other species of sensations,\nthere is nothing in the sensation of fragrance itself, or in the other\nanalogous sensations, of which I speak, that might not indicate as much\na cause directly spiritual, as a cause like that to which we at present\ngive the name of _body_,--while the very notion of extension and\nresistance combined, seems necessarily to indicate a material cause, or\nrather is truly that which constitutes our very notion of matter.\n\nWe believe, indeed, that our sensations of fragrance, sweetness, sound,\nhave causes of some sort, as truly as we believe, that our feelings\nof extension and resistance have a cause, or causes of some sort; but\nif we have previously given the name of matter, with direct reference\nto the one set of effects, and not with direct reference to the other,\nit necessarily follows, that, in relation to matter, as often as we\nspeak or think of it, the qualities which correspond with the one set\nof effects, that have led us to use that name, must be regarded by us\nas primary, and the others, which may, or may not coexist with these,\nonly as secondary. An external body may, or may not be fragrant,\nbecause fragrance is not one of the qualities previously included by us\nin our definition of a body; but it _must_ be _extended_, and present\nan obstacle to our compressing force, because these are the very\nqualities, which we have included in our definition, and without which,\ntherefore, the definition must cease to be applicable to the thing\ndefined.\n\nIf, originally, we had invented the word _matter_ to denote the cause,\nwhatever it might be, of our sensations of smell, it is very evident,\nthat _fragrance_ would then have been to us the primary quality of\n_matter_, as being that which was essential to our definition of\nmatter,--and all other qualities, by which the cause of smell might,\nor might not at the same time affect our other senses, would then have\nbeen _secondary_ qualities only,--as being qualities compatible with\nour definition of matter, but not essential to it.\n\nWhat we now term matter, however, I have repeatedly observed,--is that\nwhich we consider as _occupying space_, and _resisting our effort to\ncompress it_; and those qualities of matter may well be said to be\nprimary, by which matter itself, as thus defined, becomes known to\nus,--or by the union of which, in our conception, we form the complex\nnotion of matter, and give or withhold that name according as these\nqualities are present or absent. Extension and resistance are the\ndistinguishing qualities that direct us in all our applications of\nthe word which comprehends them. They are truly _primary_ qualities,\ntherefore; since, without our consideration of them, we never could\nhave formed the complex notion of the substance itself, to which we\nafterwards, in our analysis of that complex notion, ascribe them\nseparately as qualities;--and all the other qualities, which we may\nafterwards find occasion to refer to an extended resisting substance,\nmust evidently be secondary, in reference to those qualities, without\nwhich as previously combined in our thought, we could not have had\nthe primary notion of the substance to which we thus secondarily refer\nthem. If, in the case which we have already frequently imagined, of the\nsingle sense of smell, we had been absolutely unsusceptible of every\nother external feeling, we might, indeed, have considered our sensation\nas the effect of _some_ cause,--and even of a cause that was different\nfrom our mind itself; but it is very evident that we could not have\nconsidered it as the effect of the presence of _matter_, at least as\nthat term is now understood by us. If, in these circumstances,--after\nfrequent repetition of the fragrance, as the only quality of bodies\nwith which we could be acquainted,--we were to acquire in an instant\nall the other senses which we now possess,--so as to become capable\nof forming that complex notion of things extended and resisting,\nwhich is our present notion of matter, we should then, indeed, have a\nfuller notion of the rose, of the mere fragrance of which we before\nwere sensible, without knowing of what it was the fragrance, and might\nlearn to refer the fragrance to the rose, by the same coexistences of\nsensations which have led us, in our present circumstances, to combine\nthe fragrance with other qualities, in the complex conception of the\nflower. Even then, however, though the fragrance, which was our first\nsensation, had truly been known to us before the other qualities, and\nthough the sensation, therefore, would deserve the name of primary,\nthe _reference_ of this earlier feeling to the external rose as its\ncause, would still truly be _secondary_ to the earlier reference, or\nrather to the earlier combination of other qualities, in one complex\nwhole, by which we had formed to ourselves the notion of the extended\nand resisting rose, as a body, that admitted the subsequent reference\nof the delightful sensation of fragrance to be made to it, as the equal\ncause of these different effects.\n\nIn this sense, then, the distinction of the primary and secondary\nqualities of matter is just,--that, whatever qualities we refer to a\n_material_ cause must be, in reference, secondary to those qualities\nthat are essential to our very notion of the body, to which the\nsubsequent reference of the other qualities is made. We have formed our\ndefinition of matter; and, as in every other definition of every sort,\nthe qualities included in the definition, must always, in comparison\nof other qualities, be primary and essential, relatively to the thing\ndefined.\n\nNor is this all.--It will be admitted likewise, that the qualities\ntermed _primary_,--which alone are included in our general definitions\nof matter, and which are all, as we have seen, modifications of mere\nextension and resistance, are, even after we have learned to consider\nthe causes of all our sensations as substances external to the mind,\nstill felt by us to be external, with more clearness and vividness,\nthan the other qualities, which we term _secondary_. The difference\nis partly, and chiefly, in the nature of the sensations themselves,\nas already explained to you, but depends also, I conceive, in no\ninconsiderable degree, on the permanence and universality of the\nobjects which possess the primary qualities, and the readiness with\nwhich we can renew our feeling of them at will, from the constant\npresence of our own bodily frame, itself extended and resisting, and of\nthe other causes of these feelings of extension and resistance, that\nseem to be every where surrounding us. Tastes, smells, sounds,--even\ncolours though more lasting than these--are not always before us;--but\nthere is not a moment at which we cannot, by the mere stretching of\nour hand, produce at pleasure, the feeling of something extended and\nresisting. It is a very natural effect of this difference, that the one\nset of causes which are always before us, should seem to us, therefore,\npeculiarly permanent, and the other set, that are only occasionally\npresent, should seem almost as fugitive as our sensations themselves.\n\nIn these most important respects, there is, then, a just ground\nfor the distinction of the primary from the secondary qualities of\nbodies. They are primary in the order of our definition of matter;\nand they are felt by us as peculiarly permanent, independently of our\nfeelings, which they seem at every moment ready to awake. The power\nof affecting us with smell, taste, sight, or hearing, may or may not\nbe present; but the power of exciting the feelings of extension and\nresistance is constantly present, and is regarded by us as essential\nto our very notion of matter,--or, in other words, we give the name\nof _matter_, only where this complex perception is excited in us. We\nseem, therefore, to be constantly surrounded with a material world\nof substances extended and resisting, that is to say, a world of\nsubstances capable of exciting in us the feelings which are ascribed\nto the primary quality of matter;--but still the feeling of these\nprimary qualities, which we regard as permanent, is not less than the\nfeeling of the secondary qualities, a state or affection of the mind,\nand nothing more;--and in the one case, as much as in the other, in\nthe perception of the qualities termed secondary, as much as of the\nqualities termed primary, the feeling, when it occurs, is the direct or\nimmediate result of the presence of the external body with the quality\nof which it corresponds;--or, if there be any difference in this\nrespect, I conceive that our feeling of fragrance, or sweetness, was,\noriginally at least, a more immediate result of the presence of odorous\nor sapid particles,--than any feeling of extension, without the mind,\nwas the effect of the first body which we touched.\n\nTo the extent which I have now stated, then, the difference of these\nclasses of qualities may be admitted. But as to the other differences\nasserted, they seem to be founded on a false view of the nature of\nperception. I cannot discover any thing in the sensations themselves,\ncorresponding with the primary and secondary qualities, which is\ndirect, as Dr Reid says, in the one case, and only relative in the\nother. All are _relative_, in his sense of the term, and equally\nrelative,--our perception of extension and resistance, as much as our\nperception of fragrance or bitterness. Our feeling of extension is not\nitself matter, but a feeling excited by matter. We ascribe, indeed, our\nsensations as effects to external objects that excite them; but it is\nonly by the medium of our sensations that these, in any case, become\nknown to us as objects. To say that our perception of extension is\nnot relative, to a certain external cause of this perception, direct\nor indirect, as our perception of fragrance is relative to a certain\nexternal cause, would be to say that our perception of extension,\ninduced by the presence of an external cause, is not a _mental_\nphenomenon, as much as the perception of fragrance, but is something\nmore than a state of the mind; for, if the perception of extension be,\nas all our perceptions and other feelings must surely be, a _mental_\nphenomenon, a state of _mind_, not of _matter_, the reference made\nof this to an external cause, must be only to something which is\nconceived relatively as the cause of this feeling. What matter is\nindependently of our perception, we know not, and cannot know, for it\nis only by our sensations that we can have any connexion with it; and\neven though we were supposed to have our connexion with it enlarged,\nby various senses additional to those which we possess at present,\nand our acquaintance with it, therefore, to be far more minute, this\nvery knowledge, however widely augmented, must itself be a _mental\nphenomenon_, in like manner, the reference of which, to matter, as\nan external cause, would still be _relative_ only like our present\nknowledge. That the connexion of the feeling of extension, with a\ncorporeal substance really existing without, depends on the arbitrary\narrangement made by the Deity; and that all of which we are conscious\nmight, therefore, have existed, as at present, though no external cause\nhad been, Dr Reid, who ascribes to an intuitive principle, our belief\nof an external universe, virtually allows; and this very admission\nsurely implies, that the notion does not, directly and necessarily,\ninvolve the existence of any particular cause, whatever it may be\nin itself, by which the Deity has thought proper to produce the\ncorresponding feeling of our mind. It is quite evident, that we cannot,\nin this case, appeal to experience, to inform us what sensations\nor perceptions are more or less direct; for experience, strictly\nunderstood, does not extend beyond the feelings of our own mind, unless\nin this very relative belief itself, that there are certain external\ncauses of our feelings,--causes which it is impossible for us not to\nconceive as really existing, but of which we know nothing more than\nthat our feelings, in all that wide variety of states of mind, which\nwe express briefly by the terms sensation or perception, are made to\ndepend on them. In the series of states in which the mind has existed,\nfrom the first moment of our life, to the present hour, the feelings\nof extension, resistance, joy, sorrow, fragrance, colour, hope, fear,\nheat, cold, admiration, resentment, have often had place; and some\nof these feelings, it has been impossible for us not to ascribe to a\ndirect external cause; but there have not been in the mental series,\nwhich is all of which we can be conscious, both that feeling of the\nmind which we term the perception of extension, and also body itself,\nas the cause of this feeling; for body, as an actual substance, cannot\nbe a part of the consciousness of the mind, which is a different\nsubstance. It is sufficient for us to believe, that there are external\ncauses of this feeling of the mind, permanent and independent of it,\nwhich produce in regular series, all those phenomena that are found by\nus in the physical events of the universe, and with the continuance of\nwhich, therefore, our perceptions also will continue; we cannot truly\nsuppose more, without conceiving our very notion of extension, a mental\nstate, to be itself a body extended, which we have as little reason to\nsuppose, as that our sensation of fragrance, another mental state, is\nitself a fragrant body. It is needless to prolong this discussion, by\nendeavouring to place the argument in new points of view. The simple\nanswer to the question, \u201cIs our notion of extension, or of the other\nprimary qualities of matter, a phenomenon or affection of matter or\nof mind?\u201d would be of itself sufficient; for if it be a state of the\n_mind_, as much as our feeling of heat or of fragrance, and a state\nproduced by the presence of an external cause, as our sensations of\nheat or fragrance are produced, then there is no reason to suppose,\nthat the knowledge is, in one case, more direct than in the other. In\nboth, it is the effect of the presence of an external cause, and in\nboth it must be _relative_ only,--to adopt Dr Reid's phrase,--to that\nparticular cause which produced it; the knowledge of which cause, in\nthe case of extension, as much as in the case of fragrance, is nothing\nmore than the knowledge, that there is _without_ us, something which\nis not our mind itself, but which exists, as we cannot but believe,\npermanently and independently of our mind, and produces according to\nits own varieties, in relation to our corporeal frame at one time, that\naffection of the mind which we denominate the perception of extension;\nat another time, that different affection of the mind, which we\ndenominate the perception of fragrance. _What it is_, as it exists in\nabsolute independence of our perceptions, we who become acquainted with\nit, only by those very perceptions, know not, in either case; but we\nknow it at least,--which is the only knowledge important for us,--as it\nexists _relatively_ to _us_; that is to say, it is impossible for us,\nfrom the very constitution of our nature, not to regard the variety of\nour perceptions, as occasioned by a corresponding variety of causes,\nexternal to our mind; though, even in making this reference, we must\nstill believe our perceptions themselves, to be altogether different\nand distinct from the external causes, whatever they may be, which have\nproduced them; to be, in short, phenomena purely mental, and to be this\nequally, whether they relate to the primary or the secondary qualities\nof matter; our notion of extension, in whatever way the Deity may have\nconnected it with the presence of external things, being as much a\nstate of the mind itself, as our notion of sweetness or sound.\n\nThese observations, on the process of suggestion, which, in the\nreference to an external cause, distinguishes our _perceptions_ from\nour _simpler sensations_,--and on the real and supposed differences\nof the primary and secondary qualities of matter,--will have prepared\nyou, I trust, for understanding better the claim which Dr Reid has made\nto the honour of overthrowing what he has termed the ideal system of\nperception. It is a claim, as I have said, which appears to me truly\nwonderful, both as made by him and admitted by others; the mighty\nachievement which appeared to him to be the overthrow of a great\nsystem, being nothing more, than the proof that certain phrases are\nmetaphorical, which were intended by their authors to be understood\nonly as metaphors.\n\nIn perception there is, as I have already frequently repeated, a\ncertain _series_--the presence of an external object--the affection of\nthe sensorial organ--the affection of the sentient mind. As the two\nlast, however, belong to one being--the being called _self_--which\ncontinues the same, while the external objects around are incessantly\nchanging;--it is not wonderful, that, in speaking of perception, we\nshould often think merely of the object as one, and of _ourself_, (this\ncompound of mind and matter,) as also one,--uniting the organic and\nmental changes, in the single word which expresses our perception. To\nsee and to hear, for example, are single words, expressive of this\nwhole process--the bodily as well as the mental part--for we do not\nconsider the terms as applicable, in strict philosophic propriety,\nto cases, in which the mere mental affection is the same, but the\ncorporeal part is believed by us to be different,--as in sleep, or\nreverie, when the castle, the forest, the stream, rise before us as in\nreality, and we feel as if we were truly listening to voices which we\nlove. That we feel, as if we were listening, and feel as if we saw, is\nour language, when, in our waking hours, we speak of this phenomena of\nour dreams,--not that we actually _saw_ and _heard_--thus evidently\nshewing, that we comprehend, in these terms,--when used without the\nqualifying words _as if_--not the mental changes of state only, but\nthe whole process of perception, corporeal as well as mental. The mere\norganic part of the process, however, being of importance, only as\nit is followed by the mental part,--and being always followed by the\nmental part,--scarcely enters into our conception, unless in cases\nof this sort, when we distinguish perception from vivid imagination,\nor when the whole compound process of perception is a subject of\nour philosophic inquiry. As sight, hearing, perception, involve, in\na single word,--process both mental and corporeal,--so, I have no\ndoubt, that idea, though now confined more strictly to the feelings\nof the mind, was long employed with a more vague signification, so\nas sometimes to mean the mental affection, sometimes the organic\naffection, sometimes both;--in the same manner, as at present we speak\nof sight, sometimes as mental, sometimes as organic, sometimes as\n_both_. It comprehends both, when we distinguish the mountain or forest\nwhich we _see_, from the mountain or forest of which we _dream_. It is\n_mental_ only, when we speak of the pleasure of sight. It is organic\nonly, when we say of an eye, in which the passage of the rays of light\nhas become obstructed, that its _sight_ is lost, or has been injured by\ndisease.\n\nThe consideration of this double sense of the term _idea_, in some of\nthe older metaphysical writers, corresponding with our present double\nsense of the word perception, as involving both the corporeal and\nmental part of the process, removes, I think, much of that apparent\nconfusion, which is sometimes to be found in their language on the\nsubject; when they combine with the term expressions, which can be\nunderstood only in a _material_ sense, after combining with it, at\nother times, expressions, which can be understood only of the _mind_;\nas it is not impossible that a period may arrive, when much of our\nreasoning, that involves no obscurity at present, may seem obscure\nand confused, to our successors, in that career of inquiry, which,\nperhaps, is yet scarcely begun; merely because they may have limited,\nwith stricter propriety, to one part of a process, terms, which we\nnow use as significant of a whole process. In the same manner, as we\nnow exclude wholly from the term _idea_ every thing _organic_, so may\nevery thing organic hereafter be excluded from the term _sight_; and\nfrom the simple phrase, so familiar at present, that an eye has lost\nits sight, some future philosopher may be inclined to assert, that we,\nwho now use that phrase, consider the perception of vision, as in the\n_material organ_; and, if he have the talents of Dr Reid, he may even\nform a series of admirable ratiocinations, in disproof of an opinion\nwhich nobody holds, and may consider himself, and perhaps, too, if he\nbe as fortunate as the author of the Inquiry into the Human Mind, may\nbe considered, by others, as the overthrower of a mighty system of\nmetaphysical illusion.\n\nHow truly this has been the case, in the supposed overthrow of the\nideal system, I shall proceed to shew in my next Lecture.\n\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[92] On the Intellectual Powers, Essay II. c. 17.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XXVI.\n\nON DR REID'S SUPPOSED CONFUTATION OF THE IDEAL SYSTEM; HYPOTHESIS\nOF THE PERIPATETICS REGARDING PERCEPTION; AND OPINIONS OF VARIOUS\nPHILOSOPHERS ON THE SAME SUBJECT.\n\n\nThe remarks which I offered, in my last Lecture, in illustration of\nwhat have been termed the _primary_ and _secondary_ qualities of\nmatter, were intended chiefly to obviate that false view of them, in\nwhich the one set of these qualities is distinguished, as affording\nus a knowledge that is direct, and the other set, a knowledge that is\nrelative only;--as if any qualities of matter could become known to\nthe mind, but as they are capable of affecting the mind with certain\nfeelings, and as _relative_, therefore, to the feelings which they\nexcite. What matter is, but as the cause of those various states of\nmind, which we denominate our sensations or perceptions, it is surely\nimpossible for us, by perception, to discover. The physical universe,\namid which we are placed, may have innumerable qualities that have no\nrelation to our percipient mind,--and qualities, which, if our mind\nwere endowed with other capacities of sensation, we might discover as\nreadily as those which we know at present; but the qualities that have\n_no relation_ to the present state of the mind, cannot to the mind,\nin its present state, be elements of its knowledge. From the very\nconstitution of our nature, indeed, it is impossible for us not to\nbelieve, that our sensations have _external_ causes, which correspond\nwith them, and which have a permanence, that is independent of our\ntransient feelings,--a permanence, that enables us to predict in\ncertain circumstances, the feelings which they are again to excite in\nour percipient mind; and to the union of all these permanent external\ncauses, in one great system, we give the name of the material world.\nBut the material world, in the sense in which alone we are entitled to\nspeak of it, is still only a name for a multitude of external causes\nof our feelings,--of causes which are, recognized by us as permanent\nand uniform in their nature; but are so recognized by us, only because,\nin similar circumstances, they excite uniformly in the mind the same\nperceptions, or, at least, are supposed by us to be uniform in their\nown nature, when the perceptions which they excite in us are uniform.\nIt is according to their mode of affecting the mind, then, with various\nsensations, that we know them,--and not according to their own absolute\nnature, which it is impossible for us to know,--whether we give the\nname of primary or secondary to the qualities which affect us. If\nour sensations were different, our perceptions of the qualities of\nthings, which induce these sensations in us, would instantly have a\ncorresponding difference. All the external existences, which we term\nmatter,--and all the phenomena of their motion or their rest,--if known\nto us at all, are known to us only by exciting in _us_, the percipients\nof them, certain feelings:--and qualities, which are not more or less\ndirectly _relative_ to our feelings, as sentient or percipient beings,\nare, therefore, qualities which _we_ must be forever incapable even of\ndivining.\n\nThis, and some other discussions which have of late engaged us, were\nin part intended as preparatory to the inquiry on which we entered in\nthe close of my Lecture,--the inquiry into the justness of the praise\nwhich has been claimed and received by Dr Reid, as the confuter of a\nvery absurd theory of perception, till then universally prevalent:--and\nif, indeed, the theory, which he is said to have confuted, had been the\ngeneral belief of philosophers till confuted by him, there can be no\nquestion, that he would have had a just claim to be considered as one\nof the chief benefactors of the Philosophy of Mind. At any rate, since\nthis glory has been ascribed to him, and his supposed confutation of\nthe theory of perception, by little images of objects conveyed to the\nmind, has been considered as forming one of the most important eras\nin intellectual science, it has acquired, from this universality of\nmistake with respect to it, an interest which, from its own merits, it\nwould certainly be far from possessing.\n\nIn the Philosophy of the Peripatetics, and in all the dark ages of the\nscholastic followers of that system, _ideas_ were truly considered as\nlittle images derived from objects without; and, as the word _idea_\nstill continued to be used after this original meaning had been\nabandoned, (as it continues still, in all the works that treat of\nperception,) it is not wonderful that many of the accustomed forms of\nexpression, which were retained together with it, should have been of\na kind that, in their strict etymological meaning, might have seemed\nto harmonize more with the theory of ideas as images, which prevailed\nwhen these particular forms of expression originally became habitual,\nthan with that of _ideas_ as mere _states of the mind itself_; since\nthis is only what has happened with respect to innumerable other words,\nin the transmutations of meaning which they have received during the\nlong progress of scientific inquiry. The idea, in the old philosophy,\nhad been that, of which the presence immediately preceded the mental\nperception,--the direct external cause of perception; and accordingly,\nit may well be supposed, that when the direct cause of perception was\nbelieved to be, not a foreign phantasm, but a peculiar affection of\nthe sensorial organ, that word, which had formerly been applied to\nthe supposed object, would still imply some reference to the organic\nstate, which was believed to supply the place of the shadowy film, or\nphantasm, in being, what it had been supposed to be, the immediate\nantecedent of perception. Idea, in short, in the old writers, like the\nsynonymous word perception at present, was expressive, not of one part\nof a process, but of two parts of it. It included, with a certain vague\ncomprehensiveness, the _organic_ change as well as the _mental_,--in\nthe same way as perception now implies a certain change produced in\nour organs of sense, and a consequent change in the state of the\nmind; and hence it is surely not very astonishing, that while many\nexpressions are found in the works of these older writers, which, in\ntreating of ideas, have a reference to the mental part of the process\nof perception, other expressions are occasionally employed which relate\nonly to the material part of the process,--since both parts of the\nprocess, as I have said, were, to a certain degree, denoted by that\nsingle word. All this might very naturally take place, though nothing\nmore was meant to be expressed by it than these two parts of the\nprocess,--the organic change, whatever it might be, and the subsequent\nmental change, without the necessary intervention of something distinct\nfrom both, such as Dr Reid supposes to have been meant by the term\nIdea.\n\nIt is this application, to the bodily part of the process, of\nexpressions, which he considered as intended to be applied to the\nmental part of perception, that has sometimes misled him in the views\nwhich he has given of the opinions of former philosophers. But still\nmore frequently has he been misled, by understanding in a literal\nsense phrases which were intended in a metaphorical sense, and which\nseem so obviously metaphorical, that it is truly difficult to account\nfor the misapprehension. Indeed, the same metaphors, on the mere\nuse of which Dr Reid founds so much, continue still to be used in\nthe same manner as before he wrote. We speak of impressions on the\nmind,--of ideas bright or obscure, permanent or fading,--of senses,\nthat are the inlets to our knowledge of external things,--and of\nmemory, in which this knowledge is stored,--precisely as the writers\nand speakers before us used these phrases; without meaning any thing\nmore, than that certain organic changes, necessary to perception, are\nproduced by external objects,--and that certain feelings, similar to\nthose originally excited in this manner, are afterwards renewed, with\nmore or less permanence and vivacity, without the recurrence of the\nobjects that originally produced them;--and to arrange all the moods\nand figures of logic in confutation of mere metaphors, such as I\ncannot but think the images in the mind to have been, which Dr Reid so\npowerfully assailed, seems an undertaking not very different from that\nof exposing, syllogistically and seriously, all the follies of Grecian\nPaganism as a system of theological belief, in the hope of converting\nsome unfortunate poetaster or poet, who still talks, in his rhymings to\nhis mistress, of _Cupid_ and the _Graces_.\n\nThere is, however, one very important practical inference to be drawn\nfrom this misapprehension,--the necessity of avoiding, as much as\npossible, in philosophic disquisition, the language of _metaphor_,\nespecially when the precise meaning has not before been pointed out, so\nas to render any misconception of the intended meaning, when a metaphor\nis used, as nearly impossible as the condition of our intellectual\nnature will allow. In calculating the possibility of this future\nmisconception, we should never estimate our own perspicuity very\nhighly; for there is always in man a redundant facility of mistake,\nbeyond our most liberal allowance. As Pope truly says,--\n\n \u201cThe difference is as great between\n The optics seeing, as the objects seen;\u201d\n\nand, unfortunately, it is the object only which is in our power. The\nfallible optics, that are to view it, are beyond our controul; and\nwhatever opinion, therefore, the most cautious philosopher may assert,\nhe ought never to flatter himself with the absolute certainty, that, in\nthe course of a few years, he may not be exhibited, and confuted, as\nthe assertor of a doctrine, not merely different from that which he has\nprofessed, but exactly opposite to it.\n\nThe true nature of the opinions really held by philosophers is,\nhowever, to be determined by reference to their works. To this then let\nus proceed.\n\nThe language of Mr Locke,--to begin with one of the most eminent of\nthese,--is unfortunately, so very figurative, when he speaks of the\nintellectual phenomena,(though I have no doubt that he would have\navoided these figures, if he could have foreseen the possibility of\ntheir being interpreted literally,) that it is not easy to show, by\nany single quotation, how very different his opinions as to perception\nwere, from those which Dr Reid has represented them to be. The great\nquestion is, whether he believed the existence of ideas, as things\nin the mind, separate from perception, and intermediate between, the\norganic affection, whatever it might be, and the mental affection;\nor whether the _idea_ and the _perception_ were considered by him as\nthe same. \u201cIn the perception of external objects,\u201d says Dr Reid, \u201call\nlanguages distinguish three things,--the mind that perceives,--the\noperation of that mind, which is called perception,--and the object\nperceived. Philosophers have introduced a fourth thing, in this\nprocess, which they call the idea of the object.\u201d[93] It is the merit\nof shewing the nullity of this supposed fourth thing, which Dr Reid\nclaims, and which has been granted to him, without examination. The\nperception itself, as a state of the mind, or, as he chooses to call\nit, an operation of the mind, he admits, and he admits also the organic\nchange which precedes it. Did Mr Locke then contend for any thing more,\nfor that fourth thing, the idea, distinct from the perception,--over\nwhich Dr Reid supposes himself to have triumphed? That he did not\ncontend for any thing more, nor conceive the idea to be any thing\ndifferent from the perception itself, is sufficiently apparent from\ninnumerable passages both of his Essay itself, and of his admirable\ndefence of the great doctrines of his Essay, in his controversy with\nBishop Stillingfleet. He repeatedly states, that he uses the word\n_idea_, as synonymous with _conception_ or _notion_, in the common use\nof those terms; his only reason for preferring it to notion, (which\nassuredly Dr Reid could not suppose to mean any thing, distinct from\nthe mind) being, that the term notion seems to him better limited to\na particular class of ideas, those which he technically terms _mixed\nmodes_. That ideas are not different from perceptions is clearly\nexpressed by him. \u201cTo ask at what time a man has first any _ideas_,\u201d\nhe says, \u201cis to ask when he begins to _perceive_; having ideas and\nperception being the same thing.\u201d[94] If he speaks of our senses, as\nthe _inlets_ to our ideas, the metaphor is surely a very obvious one;\nor, if any one will still contend, that what is said metaphorically\nmust have been intended really, it must be remembered, that he uses\nprecisely the same metaphor, in cases in which the _real_ application\nof it is absolutely impossible, as, for example, with respect to our\nperceptions or sensations, and that, if we are to understand, from his\nuse of such metaphors, that he believed the ideas, thus introduced, to\nbe distinct from the mind, we must understand, in like manner, that he\nbelieved our sensations and perceptions, introduced, in like manner, to\nbe also things self-existing, and capable of being admitted, at certain\ninlets, into the mind as their recipient. \u201cOur senses, conversant about\nparticular sensible objects, do convey,\u201d he says, \u201cinto the mind,\nseveral distinct perceptions of things, according to those various ways\nwherein those objects do affect them.\u201d[95] \u201cThe senses are avenues\nprovided by nature for the reception of sensations.\u201d[96] I cannot but\nthink, that these, and the similar passages that occur in the Essay,\nought, of themselves, to have convinced Dr Reid, that he who thus spoke\nof PERCEPTIONS, conveyed into the mind, and of avenues provided for the\nreception of SENSATIONS, might also, when he spoke of the conveyance of\nideas into the mind, and of avenues for the reception of ideas, have\nmeant nothing more than the simple external origin of those notions,\nor conceptions, or feelings, or affections of mind, to which he gave\nthe name of _ideas_; especially when there is not a single argument in\nhis Essay, or in any of his works, that is founded on the substantial\nreality of our ideas, as separate and distinct things in the mind. I\nshall refer only to one additional passage, which I purposely select,\nbecause it is, at the same time, very full of the particular figures,\nthat have misled Dr Reid, and shews, therefore, what the true meaning\nof the author was at the time at which he used these figures.\n\n\u201cThe other way of retention, is the power to revive again in our minds\nthose ideas, which after imprinting have disappeared, or have been as\nit were laid aside out of sight; and thus we do, when we conceive heat\nor light, yellow or sweet, the object being removed. This is memory,\nwhich is, as it were the storehouse of our ideas. For the narrow\nmind of man not being capable of having many ideas under view and\nconsideration at once, it was necessary to have a repository to lay up\nthose ideas, which at another time it might have use of. But our ideas\nbeing nothing but actual perceptions in the mind, which cease to be any\nthing, when there is no perception of them, this laying up of our ideas\nin the repository of the memory, signifies no more but this, that the\nmind has a power in many cases to revive perceptions, which it has once\nhad, with this additional perception annexed to them, that it has had\nthem before. And in this sense it is, that our ideas are said to be in\nour memories, when indeed they are actually no where, but only there\nis an ability in the mind when it will to revive them again, and as it\nwere paint them a-new on itself, though some with more, some with less\ndifficulty; some more lively, and others more obscurely.\u201d[97]\n\nThe doctrine of this truly eminent philosopher, therefore, is, that the\npresence of the external object, and the consequent organic change,\nare followed by an idea, \u201cwhich is nothing but the actual perception;\u201d\nand that the laying up of these ideas in the memory, signifies nothing\nmore, than that the mind has, in many cases, a power to revive\nperceptions which it has once had. All this, I conceive, is the very\ndoctrine of Dr Reid on the subject; and to have confuted Mr Locke,\ntherefore, if it had been possible for him, must have been a very\nunfortunate confutation, as it would have been also to have confuted\nas completely the very opinions on the subject, which he was disposed\nhimself to maintain.\n\nI may now proceed further back, to another philosopher of great\neminence, whose name, unfortunately for its reputation, is associated\nmore with his political and religious errors, than with his analytical\ninvestigations of the nature of the phenomena of thought. The author\nto whom I allude is Hobbes, without all question one of the most acute\nintellectual inquirers of the country and age in which he lived. As\nthe physiology of the mind, in Britain at least seemed at that time\nto be almost a new science, he was very generally complimented by\nhis contemporary poets, as the discoverer of a _new land_. Some very\nbeautiful Latin verses, addressed to him, I quoted to you, in a former\nLecture, in which it was said, on occasion of his work on Human Nature,\nthat the mind, which had before known all things, was now for the first\ntime made known to itself.\n\n \u201cOmnia hactenus\n Qu\u00e6 nosse potuit, nota jam primum est sibi.\u201d\n\nAnd in which he was said, _in revealing_ the mind, to have performed a\nwork, next in divinity to that of creating it.\n\n \u201cDivinum est opus\n Animum creare, proximum huic ostendere.\u201d\n\nBy Cowley, who styles him \u201cthe discoverer of the golden lands of new\nphilosophy,\u201d he is compared to Columbus, with this difference, that\nthe world, which that great navigator found, was left by him, rude and\nneglected, to the culture of future industry; while that which Hobbes\ndiscovered might be said to have been at once explored by him and\ncivilized. The eloquence of his strong and perspicuous style, I may\nremark by the way, seems to have met with equal commendation, from his\npoetical panegyrists, with whom, certainly not from the excellence of\nhis own verses, he appears to have been in singular favour. His style\nis thus described, in some verses of Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham:\n\n \u201cClear as a beautiful transparent skin,\n Which never hides the blood, yet holds it in;\n Like a delicious stream it ever ran\n As smooth as woman, and as strong as man.\u201d[98]\n\nThe opinions of Hobbes, on the subject which we are considering, are\nstated at length, in that part of his Elements of Philosophy, which he\nhas entitled _Physica_; and, far from justifying Dr Reid's assertion,\nwith respect to the general ideal system of philosophers, may be\nconsidered, in this important respect, as far, at least, as relates to\nthe unity of the idea, and the perception itself, as similar to his\nown. _Sensation_ or _perception_, he traces to the impulse of external\nobjects, producing a motion along the nerves towards the brain, and a\nconsequent reaction outwards, which he seems to think, very falsely\nindeed, may account for the reference to the object as external. This\nhypothesis, however, is of no consequence. The only important point\nin reference to the supposed universality of the system of ideas, is\nwhether this philosopher of another age, asserted the existence of\nideas, as intermediate things, distinct from the mere perception;\nand, on this subject, he is as explicit as Dr Reid himself could be.\nThe idea or _phantasma_, as he terms it, is the very perception or\n_actus sentiendi_. \u201cPhantasma enim est sentiendi actus; neque differt\na sensione, aliter quam _fieri_ differt a _factum esse_.\u201d[99] The same\ndoctrine, and I may add also, the same expression of the unity of the\nactus sentiendi and the phantasma, are to be found in various other\nparts of his works.\n\nI may, however, proceed still further back, to an author of yet wider\nand more varied genius, one of those extraordinary men whom nature\ngives to the world, for her mightiest purposes, when she wishes to\nchange the aspect, not of a single science merely, but of all that\ncan be known by man; that illustrious _rebel_, who, in overthrowing\nthe authority of Aristotle, seemed to have acquired, as it were by\nright of conquest, a sway in philosophy, as absolute, though not so\nlasting, as that of the Grecian despot. \u201cTime,\u201d says one of the most\neloquent of his countrymen, \u201chas destroyed the opinions of Des Cartes.\nBut his glory subsists still. He appears like one of those dethroned\nmonarchs, who, on the very ruins of their empire, still seem born for\nthe sovereignty of mankind.\u201d\n\nOn the opinions of Des Cartes, with respect to perception, Dr Reid has\ndwelt at great length, and has not merely represented him as joining\nin that belief of ideas, distinct from perception, which he represents\nas the universal belief of philosophers, but has even expressed\nastonishment, that Des Cartes, whose general opinions might have led\nhim to a different conclusion, should yet have joined in the common\none. \u201cThe system of Des Cartes,\u201d he says, \u201cis with great perspicuity\nand acuteness explained by himself, in his writings, which ought to be\nconsulted by those who would understand it.\u201d[100] He probably was not\naware, when he wrote these few lines, how important was the reference\nwhich he made, especially to those whom he was addressing; since, the\nmore they studied the view which he has given of the opinions of Des\nCartes, the more necessary would it become for them to consult the\noriginal author.\n\n\u201cIt is to be observed,\u201d he says, \u201cthat Des Cartes rejected a part only\nof the ancient theory, concerning the perception of external objects\nby the senses, and that he adopted the other part. That theory may be\ndivided into two parts,--the _first_, that images, species, or forms\nof external objects, come from the object, and enter by the avenues\nof the senses to the mind; the _second_ part is, that the external\nobject itself is not perceived, but only the species or image of it in\nthe mind. The first part Des Cartes and his followers rejected, and\nrefuted by solid arguments; but the second part, neither he nor his\nfollowers have thought of calling in question; being persuaded that it\nis only a representative image, in the mind, of the external object\nthat we perceive, and not the object itself. And this image, which\nthe Peripatetics called a _species_, he calls an _idea_, changing the\nname only, while he admits the thing.\u201d[101]--\u201cDes Cartes, according\nto the spirit of his own philosophy, ought to have doubted of both\nparts of the Peripatetic hypothesis, or to have given his reasons,\nwhy he adopted one part, as well as why he rejected the other part;\nespecially since the unlearned, who have the faculty of perceiving\nobjects by their senses, in no less perfection than philosophers, and\nshould therefore know, as well as they, what it is they perceive, have\nbeen unanimous in this, that the objects they perceive are not ideas in\ntheir own minds, but things external. It might have been expected, that\na philosopher, who was so cautious as not to take his own existence for\ngranted, without proof, would not have taken it for granted, without\nproof, that every thing he perceived was only _ideas_ in his own\nmind.\u201d[102]\n\nAll this might certainly have been expected, as Dr Reid says, if the\ntruth had not been, that the opinions of Des Cartes are precisely\nopposite to the representation which he has given of them,--that,\nfar from believing in the existence of images of external objects,\nas the immediate causes or antecedents of perception, he strenuously\ncontends against them. The presence of the external body,--the organic\nchange, which he conceives to be a sort of motion of the small febrils\nof the nerves and brain,--and the affection of the mind, which he\nexpressly asserts to have no resemblance whatever to the motion that\ngave occasion to it,--these are all which he conceives to constitute\nthe process of perception, without any _idea_, as a thing distinct,--a\nfourth thing intervening between the organic and the mental change. And\nthis process is exactly the process which Dr Reid himself supposes,\nwith this only difference,--an unimportant one for the present\nargument,--that Dr Reid, though he admits some intervening organic\nchange, does not state, positively, what he conceives to be its nature,\nwhile the French philosopher supposes it to consist in a motion of the\nnervous fibrils. The doctrine of Des Cartes is to be found, very fully\nstated, in his _Principia Philosophi\u00e6_, in his _Dioptrics_, and in\nmany passages of his small controversial works. He not merely rejects\nthe Peripatetic notion, of images or shadowy films, the resemblance of\nexternal things, received by the senses,--contending, that the mere\norganic affection--the motion of the nervous fibril--is sufficient,\nwithout any such images, \u201cdiversos motus tenuium uniuscujusque nervi\ncapillamentorum sufficere ad diversos sensus producendum;\u201d and proving\nthis by a very apposite case, to which he frequently recurs, of a\nblind man determining the dimensions of bodies by comprehending them\nwithin two crossed sticks,--in which case, he says, it cannot be\nsupposed, that the sticks _transmit_, through themselves, any _images_\nof the body; but he even proceeds to account for the common prejudice,\nwith respect to the use of images of perception, ascribing it to the\nwell-known effect of pictures in exciting notions of the objects\npictured. \u201cSuch is the nature of the mind,\u201d he says, \u201cthat, by its very\nconstitution, when certain bodily motions take place, certain thoughts\nimmediately arise, that have no resemblance whatever, as images, to the\nmotions in consequence of which they arise. The thoughts which words,\nwritten or spoken, excite, have surely no resemblance to the words\nthemselves. A slight change in the motion of a pen may produce, in the\nreader, affections of mind the most opposite; nor is it any reply to\nthis to say, that the characters traced by the pen are only occasions,\nthat excite the mind itself to form opposite images,--for the case is\nequally striking, when no such image can be formed, and the feeling\nis the immediate result of the application of the external body. When\na sword has pierced any part, is not the feeling excited as different\naltogether from the mere motion of the sword, as colour, or sound, or\nsmell, or taste; and since we are sure, in the case of the mere pain\nfrom the sword, that no image of the sword is necessary, ought we not\nto extend the same inference, by analogy, to all the other affections\nof our senses, and to believe these also to depend, not on any images,\nor things transmitted to the brain, but on the mere constitution of our\nnature, by which certain thoughts are made to arise, in consequence\nof certain corporeal motions?\u201d The passage is long, indeed, but it is\nso clear, and so decisive, as to the misrepresentation by Dr Reid of\nthe opinion which he strangely considered himself as confuting, that\nI cannot refrain from quoting the original, that you may judge for\nyourselves, of the real meaning, which a translation might be supposed\nto have erred in conveying.\n\n\u201cProbatur deinde, talem esse nostr\u00e6 mentis naturam, ut ex eo solo quod\nquidam motus in corpore fiant ad quaslibet cogitationes, nullam istorum\nmotuum imaginem referentes, possit impelli; et speciatim ad illas\nconfusas, qu\u00e6 sensus, sive sensationes dicuntur. Nam videmus, verba,\nsive ore prolata, sive tantum scripta, quaslibet in animis nostris\ncogitationes et commotiones excitare. In eadem charta, cum eodem calamo\net atramento, si tantum calami extremitas certo modo supra chartam\nducatur, literas exarabit, qu\u00e6 cogitationes pr\u00e6liorum, tempestatum,\nfuriarum, affectusque indignationis et tristiti\u00e6 in lectorum animis\nconcitabunt; si vero alio modo fere simili calamus moveatur,\ncogitationes valde diversas, tranquillitatis, pacis, am\u0153nitatis,\naffectusque plane contrarios amoris et l\u00e6titi\u00e6 efficiet. Respondebitur\nfortasse, scripturam vel loquelam nullos affectus, nullasque rerum a se\ndiversarum imaginationes immediate in mente excitare, sed tantummodo,\ndiversas intellectiones; quarum deinde occasione anima ipsa variarum\nrerum imagines in se efformat. Quid autem dicetur de sensu doloris et\ntitillationis? Gladius corpori nostro admovetur; illud scindit; ex\nhoc solo sequitur dolor; qui sane non minus diversus est a gladii,\nvel corporis quod scinditur locali motu, quam color, vel sonus,\nvel odor, vel sapor. Atque ideo cum clare videamus, doloris sensum\nin nobis excitari ab eo solo, quod aliquae corporis nostri partes\ncontactu alicujus alterius corporis localiter moveantur, concludere\nlicet, mentem nostram esse talis natur\u00e6, ut ab aliquibus etiam motibus\nlocalibus omnium aliorum sensuum affectiones pati possit.\n\n\u201cPr\u00e6terea non deprehendimus ullam differentiam inter nervos, ex qua\nliceat judicare, aliud quid per unos, quam alios, ab organis sensuum\nexternorum ad cerebrum pervenire, vel omnino quidquam eo pervenire\npr\u00e6ter ipsorum nervorum motum localem.\u201d[103]\n\nIt is scarcely possible to express more strongly, or illustrate\nmore clearly, an opinion so exactly the reverse of that doctrine of\nperception, by the medium of representative ideas or images, ascribed\nby Dr Reid to its illustrious author. It would not be more unjust, even\nafter all his laborious writings on the subject, to rank the supposed\nconfuter of the ideal system, as himself one of its most strenuous\nchampions, than to make this charge against Des Cartes, and to say of\nhim, in Dr Reid's words, that \u201cthe image which the Peripatetics called\na species, he calls an idea, changing the name only, while he admits\nthe thing.\u201d[104]\n\nTo these authors, whose opinions, on the subject of perception, Dr\nReid has misconceived, I may add one, whom even he himself allows, to\nhave shaken off the ideal system, and to have considered the idea and\nthe perception, as not distinct, but the same, a modification of the\nmind, and nothing more. I allude to the celebrated Jansenist writer,\nArnauld, who maintains this doctrine as expressly as Dr Reid himself,\nand makes it the foundation of his argument in his controversy with\nMalebranche. But, if I were to quote to you every less important\nwriter, who disbelieved the reality of ideas or images, as things\nexisting separately and independently, I might quote to you almost\nevery writer, British and foreign, who, for the last century, and for\nmany years preceding it, has treated of the mind. The narrow limits of\na Lecture have forced me to confine my notice to the most illustrious.\n\nOf all evidence, however, with respect to the prevalence of opinions,\nthe most decisive is that which is found, not in treatises read only\nby a few, but in the popular elementary works of science of the time,\nthe general text-books of schools and colleges. I shall conclude this\nlong discussion, therefore, with short quotations from two of the most\ndistinguished and popular authors, of this very useful class.\n\nThe first is from the logic or rather the pneumatology, of Le Clerc,\nthe Friend of Locke. In his chapter, on the nature of ideas, he gives\nthe history of the opinions of philosophers on this subject, and states\namong them the very doctrine which is most forcibly and accurately\nopposed to the ideal system of perception. \u201cOthers,\u201d he says, \u201cheld\nthat ideas and the perception of ideas are absolutely the same in\nthemselves, and differ merely in our relative application of them; that\nsame feeling of the mind, which is termed an idea, in reference to\nthe object which the mind considers, is termed a perception, when we\nspeak of it relatively to the percipient mind; but it is only of one\nmodification of the mind that we speak in both cases.\u201d According to\nthese philosophers, therefore, there are, in strictness of language, no\nideas distinct from the mind itself. \u201cAlii putant ideas et perceptiones\nidearum easdem esse, licet relationibus differant. Idea, uti censent,\nproprie ad objectum refertur, quod mens considerat;--perceptio,\nvero, ad mentem ipsam qu\u00e6 percipit; sed duplex illa relatio ad unam\nmodificationem mentis pertinet. Itaque secundum hosce philosophos,\nnull\u00e6 sunt proprie loquendo ide\u00e6 a mente nostra distinct\u00e6.\u201d[105] What\nis it, I may ask, which Dr Reid considers himself as having added to\nthis very philosophic view of perception? and, if he added nothing, it\nis surely too much to ascribe to him the merit of detecting errors, the\ncounter statement to which had long formed a part of the elementary\nworks of the schools.\n\nIn addition to these quotations,--the number of which may perhaps\nalready have produced at least as much weariness as conviction,--I\nshall content myself with a single paragraph, from a work of De\nCrousaz, the author, not of _one_ merely, but of many very popular\nelementary works of logic, and unquestionably one of the most acute\nthinkers of his time. His works abound with many sagacious remarks,\non the sources of the prejudice involved in that ideal system, which\nDr Reid conceived himself the first to have overthrown; and he states,\nin the strongest language, that our ideas are nothing more than states\nor affections of our mind itself. \u201cCogitandi modi--quibus cogitatio\nnostra modificatur, quos induit alios post alios, sufficiunt, ut per\neos ad rerum cognitionem veniat; nec sunt fingend\u00e6 ide\u00e6, ab illis\nmodificationibus divers\u00e6.\u201d[106] I may remark by the way, that precisely\nthe same distinction of sensations and perceptions, on which Dr Reid\nfounds so much, is stated and enforced in the different works of this\ningenious writer. Indeed so very similar are his opinions, that if he\nhad lived after Dr Reid, and had intended to give a view of that very\nsystem of perception which we have been examining, I do not think that\nhe could have varied in the slightest respect, from that view of the\nprocess which he has given in his own original writings.\n\nIt appears then, that, so far is Dr Reid from having the merit of\nconfuting the universal, or even general illusion of philosophers,\nwith respect to ideas in the mind, as images or separate things,\ndistinct from the perception itself; that his own opinions as to\nperception on this point at least, are precisely the same, as those\nwhich generally prevailed before. From the time of the decay of the\nPeripatetic Philosophy, the process of perception was generally\nconsidered, as involving nothing more, than the presence of an external\nobject--an organic change or series of changes--and an affection of\nthe mind immediately subsequent,--without the intervention of any\nidea as a fourth separate thing between the organic and the mental\naffection. I have no doubt, that,--with the exception of Berkeley\nand Malebranche,--who had peculiar and very erroneous notions on the\nsubject, all the philosophers whom Dr Reid considered himself as\nopposing, would, if they had been questioned by him, have admitted,\nbefore they heard a single argument on his part, that their opinions,\nwith respect to ideas were precisely the same as his own;--and what\nthen would have remained for him to confute? He might, indeed, still\nhave said, that it was absurd, in those who considered perception as\na mere state or modification of the mind, to speak of ideas in their\nmind: but the very language, used by him for this purpose, would\nprobably have contained some metaphor as little philosophic. We must\nstill allow men to speak of ideas in their mind, if they will only\nconsent to believe that the ideas are truly the mind itself variously\naffected;--as we must still allow men to talk of the rising and setting\nof the sun, if they will only admit that the motion which produces\nthose appearances is not in that majestic and tranquil orb, but in our\nlittle globe of earth, which, carrying along with it, in its daily\nrevolution, all our busy wisdom and still busier folly, is itself as\nrestless as its restless inhabitants.\n\nThat a mind, so vigorous as that of Dr Reid, should have been\ncapable of the series of misconceptions which we have traced, may\nseem wonderful, and truly is so; and equally, or rather, still more\nwonderful, is the general admission of his merit in this respect. I\ntrust it will impress you with _one_ important lesson,--which could\nnot be taught more forcibly than by errors of so great a mind,--that\nit will always be necessary for you to consult the opinions of\nauthors,--when their opinions are of sufficient importance to deserve\nto be accurately studied--in their _own works_ and not in the works\nof those who profess to give a faithful account of them. From my own\nexperience, I can most truly assure you, that there is scarcely an\ninstance, in which, on examining the works of those authors whom it\nis the custom more to cite than to read, I have found the view which\nI had received of them to be faithful. There is usually something\nmore or something less, which modifies the general result,--some mere\nconjecture represented as an absolute affirmation, or some limited\naffirmation extended to analogous cases, which it was not meant to\ncomprehend. And, by the various additions or subtractions, thus made,\nin passing from mind to mind, so much of the spirit of the original\ndoctrine is lost, that it may, in some cases, be considered as having\nmade a fortunate escape, if it be not at last represented, as directly\nopposite to what it is. It is like those engraved portraits of the\neminent men of former ages,--the copies of mere copies,--from which\nevery new artist, in the succession, has _taken_ something, or to which\nhe has _added_ something, till not a lineament remains the same. If we\nare truly desirous of a faithful likeness, we must have recourse once\nmore to the original painting.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[93] On the Intellectual Powers, Essay II. chap. xii.\n\n[94] Essay concerning Human Understanding, B. ii. chap. i. sect. 9.\n\n[95] Sect. 3.\n\n[96] Sect. 12.\n\n[97] Essay concerning Human Understanding, B. ii. chap. x. sect, 2.\n\n[98] On Hobbes and his Writings, v. 37-40.--Works, p. 180. 4to Edit.\n\n[99] Elementa Philosophi\u00e6, Pars IV. c. xxv. sect. 3.\n\n[100] On the Intellectual Powers, Essay II. c. 8.\n\n[101] Ibid.\n\n[102] Ibid.\n\n[103] Principia Philosophi\u00e6, Pars IV. Sect. 196.--p. 190, 191. Amst.\n1664.\n\n[104] On the Intellectual Powers, Essay II. c. 8.\n\n[105] Clerici Pneumatologia, Sect. i. cap. v. subsect. 10.\n\n[106] Tentamen Novum Metaphysicum, Sect. xxxvii.--_Groning\u00e6_, 1725.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XXVII.\n\nEXAMINATION OF DR REID'S SUPPOSED CONFUTATION OF IDEALISM, CONCLUDED.\n\n\nMy last Lecture, Gentlemen, brought to a conclusion the remarks which I\nhad to offer on the Sense of Touch, and particularly on the manner in\nwhich I supposed the mind to acquire its knowledge of external things.\n\nWith this very important question of the existence of matter, the name\nof Dr Reid is intimately connected, to whom the highest praise is\nusually given, for his supposed confutation of all scepticism on the\nsubject; as if he had truly established, _by argument_, the existence\nof a material world. And yet, I confess, that with all my respect for\nthat excellent philosopher, I do not discover, in his reasonings on the\nsubject, any ground for the praise which has been given. The evidence\nfor a system of external things,--at least, the sort of evidence for\nwhich he contends,--was not merely the same, but was felt also to be\nprecisely the same, before he wrote as afterwards. Nay, I may add, that\nthe force of the evidence,--if that term can be justly applied to this\nspecies of belief,--was admitted, in its fullest extent, by the very\nsceptic, against whom chiefly his arguments were directed.\n\nThat Dr Reid was a philosopher of no common rank, every one, who has\nread his works with attention, and with candour, must admit. It is\nimpossible to deny, that, to great power of patient investigation,\nin whatever inquiries he undertook, he united great caution, in\ndiscriminating the objects of legitimate inquiry, together with\nconsiderable acuteness, of the same sage and temperate kind, in\nthe prosecution of such inquiries as appeared to him legitimate.\nAnd,--which is a praise, that, unfortunately for mankind, and still\nmore unfortunately for the individual, does not always attend mere\nintellectual renown,--it is impossible to deny to him the more\ncovetable glory, that his efforts, even when he erred speculatively,\nhad always in view those great interests, to which, and to which alone,\nphilosophy itself is but a secondary consideration,--the primary and\nessential interests of religion and morality.\n\nThese praises are certainly not higher than his merits. But, at the\nsame time, while by philosophers in one part of the island, his merits\nseem to have been unjustly undervalued, I cannot but think also,\nthat, in his own country, there has been an equal or rather a far\ngreater tendency to over-rate them,--a tendency arising in part from\nthe influence of his academic situation, and his amiable personal\ncharacter--partly, and in a very high degree, from the general regard\nfor the moral and religious objects which he uniformly had in view, as\ncontrasted with the consequences that are supposed to flow from some\nof the principles of the philosopher, whose opinions he particularly\ncombated--and partly also, I may add, from the eloquence of his\nIllustrious Pupil, and Friend, and Biographer, whose understanding,\nso little liable to be biassed by any prejudices but those of virtue\nand affectionate friendship, has yet, perhaps, been influenced in some\ndegree by those happy and noble prejudices of the heart, and who, by\nthe persuasive charms both of his Lectures and of his Writings, could\nnot fail to cast, on any system of opinions which he might adopt and\nexhibit, some splendour of reflection from the brilliancy of his own\nmind.\n\nThe genius of Dr Reid does not appear to me to have been very\ninventive, nor to have possessed much of that refined and subtile\nacuteness, which,--capable as it is of being abused,--is yet absolutely\nnecessary to the perfection of metaphysical analysis.\n\nIt is chiefly on his opinions, in relation to the subject at present\nunder our view, that his reputation as an _original thinker_ rests.\nIndeed, it is on these that he has inclined himself to rest it. In\na part of a letter to Dr Gregory, preserved in Mr Stewart's Memoir,\nhe considers his confutation of the ideal system of perception, as\ninvolving almost every thing which is truly his. \u201cI think there is\nhardly any thing that can be called mine,\u201d he says, \u201cin the philosophy\nof mind, which does not follow with ease from the detection of this\nprejudice.\u201d[107] Yet there are few circumstances, connected with the\nfortune of modern philosophy, that appear to me more wonderful, than\nthat a mind, like Dr Reid's, so learned in the history of metaphysical\nscience,--and far too honourable to lay claim to praise to which he did\nnot think himself fairly entitled,--should have conceived, that, on\nthe point of which he speaks, any great merit--at least any merit of\noriginality--was justly referable to him particularly. Indeed, the only\ncircumstance, which appears to me more wonderful, is, that the claim\nthus made by him, should have been so readily and generally admitted.\n\nHis supposed confutation of the ideal system is resolvable into two\nparts--_first_, his attempt to overthrow what he terms \u201cthe common\ntheory\u201d of _ideas_ or images of things in the mind, as the immediate\nobjects of thought--and _secondly_, the evidence which the simpler\ntheory of perception may be supposed to yield, of the _reality_ of an\nexternal world. The latter of these inquiries would, in order, be more\nappropriate to our late train of speculation; but we cannot understand\nit fully, without some previous attention to the former.\n\nThat Dr Reid _did_ question the theory of ideas or images, as separate\nexistences in the mind, I readily admit; but I cannot allow, that,\nin doing this, he questioned the _common_ theory. On the contrary, I\nconceive, that, at the time at which he wrote, the theory had been\nuniversally, or at least almost universally, abandoned; and that,\nthough philosophers might have been in the habit of speaking of ideas\nor images in the mind,--as we continue to speak of them at this\nmoment,--they meant them to denote nothing more _then_, than we use\nthem to denote _now_. The phraseology of any system of opinions, which\nhas spread widely, and for a length of time, does not perish with the\nsystem itself. It is transmitted from the system which expires, to\nthe system which begins to reign,--very nearly as the same crown and\nsceptre pass, through a long succession, from monarch to monarch. To\ntear away our very language, as well as our belief, is more than the\nboldest introducer of new doctrines can hope to be permitted, for it\nwould be to force our ignorance or errors too glaringly on our view.\nHe finds it easier, to seduce our vanity, by leaving us something which\nwe can still call _our own_, and which it is not very difficult for\nhim to accommodate to his own views; so that, while he allows us to\npronounce the same words, with the same confidence, we are sensible\nonly of what we have gained, and are not painfully reminded of what\nwe have been forced to discard. By this, too, he has the advantage of\nadding, in some measure, to his own novelties the weight and importance\nof ancient authority; since the feelings, associated with the name\nas formerly used, are transferred, secretly and imperceptibly, with\nthe name itself. There is scarcely a term in popular science, which\nhas not gone through various transmutations of this sort. It is not\nwonderful, therefore, that the phrase _image in the mind_, which was no\nmetaphor as used by the Peripatetics, should have been retained, in a\nfigurative sense, in metaphysical discussions, long after the authority\nof Aristotle had ceased, and when one who could maintain, with a square\ncap on his head, \u201ca thesis on the universal _a parti rei_,\u201d was no\nlonger, as Voltaire says, \u201cconsidered as a prodigy.\u201d At the time of\nDr Reid's publication, the _image in the mind_ was as truly a mere\nrelic of an obsolete theory of perception, as the rising and setting\nof the sun were relics of that obsolete astronomy, in which this great\nluminary was supposed to make his daily journey, round the atom which\nhe enlightened.\n\nBefore proceeding to the proof of this assertion, however, with respect\nto the originality and importance of Dr Reid's remarks on this subject,\nsome previous observations will be necessary.\n\nIn the discussions, which, as yet, have engaged our attention, you may,\nperhaps, have remarked that I have made little, if any, use of the\nword _idea_,--a word of very frequent occurrence, in the speculations\nof philosophers, with respect to the phenomena of perception, and\nthe intellectual phenomena in general. I have avoided it, partly on\naccount of its general ambiguity, but, more especially, with a view to\nthe question at present before us, that, on examining it, you might\nbe as free as possible, from any prejudice, arising from our former\napplications of the term.\n\nThe term, I conceive, though convenient for its brief expression of a\nvariety of phenomena, which might otherwise require a more paraphrastic\nexpression, might yet be omitted altogether, in the metaphysical\nvocabulary, without any great inconvenience,--certainly without\ninconvenience, equal to that which arises from the ambiguous use of it,\nwith different senses, by different authors. But, whatever ambiguity\nit may have had, the notion of it, as an image in the mind separate\nand distinct from the mind itself, had certainly been given up, long\nbefore Dr Reid had published a single remark on the subject. In its\npresent general use, it is applied to many species of the mental\nphenomena, to our particular sensations or perceptions, simple or\ncomplex, to the remembrances of these, either as simple or complex, and\nto the various compositions or decompositions of these, which result\nfrom certain intellectual processes of the mind itself. The presence\nof certain rays of light, for example, at the retina, is followed\nby a certain affection of the sensorial organ, which is immediately\nfollowed by a certain affection of the sentient mind. This particular\naffection, which is more strictly and definitely termed the sensation\nor perception of redness, is likewise sometimes termed, when we speak\nmore in reference to the external light, which causes the sensation,\nthan to ourselves, as sentient of it, an idea of redness; and when, in\nsome train of internal thought, without the renewed presence of the\nrays, a certain state of the mind arises, different, indeed, from the\nformer, but having a considerable resemblance to it, we term this state\nthe conception or remembrance of redness, or the idea of redness; or,\ncombining this particular idea with others, which have not co-existed\nwith it as a sensation, we form, what we term the complex idea, of a\nred tree, or a red mountain, or some other of those shadowy forms, over\nwhich Fancy, in the moment of creating them, flings, at pleasure, her\nchangeful colouring. An _idea_, however, in all these applications of\nthe term, whether it be a perception, a remembrance, or one of those\ncomplex or abstract varieties of conception, is still nothing more than\nthe mind affected in a certain manner, or, which is the same theory,\nthe mind existing in a certain state. The idea is not distinct from the\nmind, or separable from it, in any sense, but is truly the mind itself,\nwhich in its very belief of external things, is still recognizing one\nof the many forms of its own existence.\n\n \u201cQualis Hamadryadum, quondam, si forte sororum\n Una novos peragrans saltus et devia rura,\n (Atque illam in viridi suadet procumbere ripa\n Fontis pura quies et opaci frigoris umbra)\n Dum prona in latices speculi de margine pendet,\n Mirata est subitam venienti occurrere Nympham;\n Mox eosdem quos ipsa artus, eadem ora gerentem\n Una inferre gradus, una succedere sylv\u00e6,\n Aspicit alludens, seseque agnoscit in undis.\n Sic sensu interno rerum simulacra suarum\n Mens ciet, et proprios observat conscia vultus.\u201d[108]\n\nIn sensation, there is, as we have seen, a certain series,--the\npresence of the external body, whatever this may be in itself,\nindependently of our perception,--the organic affection, whatever it\nmay be, which attends the presence of this body,--and the affection of\nmind that is immediately subsequent to the organic affection. I speak\nonly of _one_ organic affection; because, with respect to the mind, it\nis of no consequence whether there be one only, or a series of these,\nprior to the new mental state induced. It is enough, that, whenever\nthe immediate sensorial organ has begun to exist in a certain state,\nwhether the change which produces this state be single, or second,\nthird, fourth, or fifth, of a succession of changes, the mind is\ninstantly affected in a certain manner. This new mental state induced\nis sensation.\n\nBut, says Dr Reid, the _sensation_ is accompanied with a _perception_,\nwhich is very different from it; and on this difference of sensation\nand perception is founded the chief part of his system. The distinction\nthus made by him, has been commonly, though very falsely, considered\nas original; the radical difference itself, whether accurate or\ninaccurate, and the minor distinctions founded upon this, being laid\ndown with precision in some of the common elementary works of logic, of\na much earlier period.\n\n\u201cWhen I smell a rose,\u201d he says, \u201cthere is in this operation both\nsensation and perception. The agreeable odour I feel, considered by\nitself, without relation to any external object, is merely a sensation.\nIt affects the mind in a certain way; and this affection of the mind\nmay be conceived, without a thought of the rose, or any other object.\nThis sensation can be nothing else than it is felt to be. Its very\nessence consists in being felt; and when it is not felt, it is not.\nThere is no difference between the sensation and the feeling of it;\nthey are one and the same thing. It is for this reason, that we before\nobserved, that, in sensation, there is no object distinct from that\nact of the mind by which it is felt; and this holds true with regard to\nall sensations.\n\n\u201cLet us next attend to the perception which we have in smelling a\nrose. Perception has always an external object; and the object of my\nperception, in this case, is that quality in the rose which I discern\nby the sense of smell. Observing that the agreeable sensation is raised\nwhen the rose is near, and ceases when it is removed, I am led, by my\nnature, to conclude some quality to be in the rose, which is the cause\nof this sensation. This quality in the rose is the object perceived;\nand that act of my mind, by which I have the conviction and belief of\nthis quality, is what in this case I call perception.\u201d[109]\n\nThat the reference to an external object is, in this case, something\nmore than the mere sensation itself, is very evident; the only question\nis, whether it be necessary to ascribe the reference to a peculiar\npower termed perception, or whether it be not rather the result of a\ncommon and more general principle of the mind.\n\nWhen I smell a rose, that is to say, when certain odorous particles\nact on my organ of smell, a certain state of mind is produced, which\nconstitutes the sensation of that particular fragrance; and this is\nall which can justly be ascribed to the mind as simply _sentient_.\nBut the mind is not sensitive merely, in the strict sense of that\nterm, for there are many states of it, which do not depend on the\nimmediate presence of external objects. Those feelings, of any kind,\nwhich have before existed, together, or in trains of succession, arise\nafterwards, as it were spontaneously, in consequence merely of the\nexistence of some other part of the train. When the fragrance of a\nrose, therefore, has been frequently accompanied with the sensations\nof vision, that arise, when a rose is before us, with the muscular and\ntactual sensations, that arise on handling it, the mere fragrance, of\nitself, will afterwards suggest these sensations, and this suggestion\nis all, which, in the case of smell, instanced by Dr Reid, is termed\nthe perception, as distinguished from the mere sensation. We ascribe\nthe fragrance to the unseen external rose, precisely in the same manner\nas we ascribe smoke and ashes to previous combustion; or, from a\nportrait, or a pictured landscape, infer the existence of some artist\nwho painted it. Yet, in inferring the artist from the picture, it is\nsurely not to any mere power of sense, that we ascribe the inference,\nand as little should we trace to any such simple power, what is in\nthis instance termed perception. The perception is a suggestion of\nmemory, combined with the simple sensation. There are not, in ascribing\nthe smell to odorous particles of a rose, as its cause, sensation,\nperception, and association or suggestion, as three powers or general\nprinciples of the mind. But there are sensation and the associate\nsuggestion; and, when these coexist, perception coexists, because\nperception is the name which we give to the union of the former two.\nThere is, indeed, the belief of some cause of the sensation, as there\nis a belief of some cause of every feeling of the mind, internal as\nwell as external; but the cause, in the case of smell, is supposed to\nbe external, and corporeal, merely because the presence of an external\nrose has been previously learned from another source, and is suggested\nwhen the sensation of fragrance recurs, in intimate association.\n\nIn the case of _taste_, to proceed to our other senses--the perception,\nas it is termed by Dr Reid, is precisely of the same kind--a mere\nreference of association. We have previously learned, from other\nsources, to believe in things without, and these, as sapid bodies\nacting on our tongue, are suggested by the mere sensation, which, but\nfor the means of this suggestion, would have been a sensation alone, of\nwhich the cause would have been as little conceived to be corporeal as\nthe causes of any of the internal affections of the mind. The melody\nof a flute, if we had had no sense but that of hearing--the redness of\na rose, if we had had no sense but that of vision, would as little,\nas the sensation of smell when considered as a transient state of the\nmind, have involved, or given occasion to, the notion of corporeal\nsubstance. We refer the melody to the external flute, and redness to\nthe external rose, because we have previously acquired the notions\nof extension and resistance--of a flute and of a rose as external\nsubstances--and this reference of mere suggestion is all, which, in\nthese cases, distinguishes the perception from the sensation. Without\nthe suggestions of memory, in short, we could not in these cases have\nhad, in Dr Reid's sense of the term, any perceptions whatever, to\ndistinguish the causes of our sensations as external, more than the\ncauses of any of our other feelings. The great perception, then, in the\nsense, in which he understands the term, is that by which we primarily\nform the complex notion of extension and resistance--that which has\nparts, and that which resists our attempt to grasp it--since all the\nother perceptions, of which he speaks, in contradistinction from\nmere sensations, are only these complex notions, _suggested_ by the\nparticular sensations, and combined with them, in consequence of former\nassociation, and the general reference to a cause of some sort, which\nmay be supposed to attend our feelings of every kind, internal as well\nas external, when considered as changes or new phenomena. It is not,\nhowever, from any peculiar power, to be distinguished by the name of\nperception, that this complex notion of extended resistance appears to\nme to arise, but from the union of our notion of _extension_, acquired\nby the mere remembrance of various progressive series of feelings,\nwith the notion of _resistance_, when an accustomed series of muscular\nfeelings without any change of circumstances, in the mind itself, is\ninterrupted by that peculiar and very different muscular feeling which\narises from impeded effort. Perception, in short, in all our senses, is\nnothing more than the association of this complex notion with our other\nsensations--the notion of something extended and resisting, suggested\nby these sensations, when the sensations themselves have previously\narisen; and suggested in the same manner, and on the same principle, as\nany other associate feeling suggests any other associate feeling.\n\nIt is very evident that perception, in Dr Reid's sense, is not the\nmere reference to a cause of some sort, for it would then be as\ncomprehensive as all the feelings or changes of the mind,--our hope,\nfear, anger, pity,--which we ascribe to some cause or antecedent,\nas much as our tastes and smells; it is the reference of certain\nfeelings to a _corporeal_ cause, that is say, to a cause _extended_\nand _resisting_. If, for example, without any previous knowledge of\nexternal things, on the first sensation of fragrance, or sweetness,\nor sound, or colour, we could be supposed to be capable of believing\nthat there was some cause of this new state of our being, this would\nnot be _perception_, in the sense in which he uses that term; and yet\nbut for our organ of touch, or at least but for feelings which are\ncommonly ascribed to that organ, it would be manifestly impossible\nfor us to make more than this vague and general inference. When a\nrose is present, we find, and have uniformly found, that a certain\nsensation of fragrance arises, which ceases when the rose is removed.\nThe influence of association, therefore, operates in this, as in every\nother case of ordinary co-existence. We do not merely suppose that\nthe sensation has some cause, as we believe that our joys and sorrows\nhave a cause, but we ascribe the fragrance to the external substance,\nthe presence of which we have found to be so essential to the\nproduction of it. Perception in every case, as I have said, in which\nit is to be distinguished from the prior sensation, is a reference\nof this prior sensation to a _material cause_;--and this complex\nnotion of a material cause,--that is to say, of something extended\nand resisting,--mere smell, mere taste, mere hearing, mere vision,\nnever could have afforded. I have already explained how this notion\nof matter, as it appears to me, is produced, or may be imagined to be\nproduced. A train of muscular feelings has been frequently repeated,\nso that the series has become familiar to the infant, constituting in\nits remembrance the notion of a certain progressive length.--When all\nthe known antecedent circumstances have been the same, the well-known\nseries is suddenly broken, so as to excite in the mind of the infant\nthe notion of a cause which is not in itself;--this cause, which is\nsomething foreign to itself, is that which excites the particular\nmuscular feeling of resistance,--and it is combined with the notion\nof a certain length, because it uniformly supplies the place of what\nhas been felt as a certain length, so as at last, by the operation of\nthe common laws of association, to become truly representative of it,\nor rather to involve it in one complex feeling, in the same manner as\ncolour, in vision, seems to involve whole miles of distance. Such is\nall that seems to me to constitute what Dr Reid would term perception,\neven with respect to the feelings commonly termed tactual;--and in all\nthe other classes of sensations it is obviously nothing more than the\nsuggestion of these associate feelings, in the same way as any other\nfeelings, in our trains of thought and emotions, are suggested by\nthose conceptions or other feelings which have frequently accompanied\nthem.--It is sufficient to think of a mind, possessing all the\nother susceptibilities of sensation, _but those_ which give us the\nperceptions commonly ascribed to touch, to be sensible how truly what\nwe term perception in the other senses, is the mere suggestion of\nthese. If we were capable only of smelling,--or had no other sensations\nthan those of mere taste, mere sound, mere colour,--what perception\ncould we have had of a material cause of these sensations?--and if\nit be to the mere suggestion of the object of another sense that\nwe owe what is termed perception in all these sensations,--in what\ncircumstance does the reference of these to a resisting and extended\nsubstance, differ from any other of the common references which the\nprinciple of association enables us to make?\n\n\u201cSensation,\u201d says Dr Reid, \u201ccan be nothing else than it is felt to be.\nIts very essence consists in being felt; and when it is not felt, it is\nnot. There is no difference between the sensation and the feeling of\nit; they are one and the same thing.\u201d[110] But this is surely equally\ntrue, of what he terms _perception_, which, as a state of mind, it must\nbe remembered, is, according to his own account of it, as different\nfrom the object perceived, as the sensation is. We may say of the\nmental state of perception too, in his own language, as indeed we\nmust say of all our states of mind, whatever they may be, that it can\nbe nothing else than it is felt to be. Its very essence consists in\nbeing felt; and when it is not felt, it is not. There is no difference\nbetween the perception and the feeling of it; they are one and the same\nthing. The sensation, indeed, which is mental, is different from the\nobject exciting it, which we term material; but so also is the state of\nmind which constitutes perception; for Dr Reid was surely too zealous\nan opponent of the systems, which ascribe every thing to mind alone,\nor to matter alone, to consider the perception as itself the object\nperceived. That in sensation, as contradistinguished from perception,\nthere is no reference made to an external object, is true; because,\nwhen the reference is made, we then use the new term of perception;\nbut that in sensation there is no object distinct from that act of the\nmind by which it is felt; no object independent of the mental feeling,\nis surely a very strange opinion of this philosopher; since what he\nterms perception, is nothing but the reference of this very sensation\nto its external object. The sensation itself he certainly supposes to\ndepend on the presence of an external object, which is all that can be\nunderstood, in the case of perception, when we speak of its objects,\nor, in other words, of those external causes, to which we refer\nour sensations; for the material object itself, he surely could not\nconsider as forming a part of the perception which is a state of the\nmind alone. To be the object of perception, is nothing more than to be\nthe foreign cause or occasion, on which this state of the mind directly\nor indirectly arises; and an object, in this only intelligible sense,\nas an occasion, or cause of a certain subsequent effect, must on his\nown principles, be equally allowed to sensation. Though he does not\ninform us, what he means by the term _object_, as peculiarly applied\nto perception--(and indeed, if he had explained it, I cannot but think\nthat a great part of his system, which is founded on the confusion of\nthis single word, as something different from a mere external cause\nof an internal feeling must have fallen to the ground,)--he yet tells\nus, very explicitly, that to be the object of perception, is something\nmore than to be the external occasion, on which that state of the mind\narises which he terms perception; for, in arguing against the opinion\nof a philosopher, who contends for the existence of certain images\nor traces in the brain, and yet says, \u201cthat we are not to conceive\nthe images or traces in the brain to be perceived, as if there were\neyes in the brain; these traces are only occasions, on which, by the\nlaws of the union of soul and body, ideas are excited in the mind;\nand, therefore, it is not necessary, that there should be an exact\nresemblance between the traces and the things represented by them,\nany more than that words or signs should be exactly like the things\nsignified by them:\u201d[111]--He adds, \u201cThese two opinions, I think cannot\nbe reconciled. For if the images or traces in the brain are perceived,\nthey must be the _objects_ of perception, and not the occasions of\nit only. On the other hand, if they are only the _occasions_ of our\nperceiving, they are not perceived at all.\u201d[112]--Did Dr Reid, then,\nsuppose that the feeling, whatever it may be, which constitutes\nperception as a state of the mind, or, in short, all of which we are\nconscious in perception, is not strictly and exclusively mental, as\nmuch as all of which we are conscious in remembrance, or in love, or\nhate;--or did he wish us to believe that matter itself, in any of its\nforms, is, or can be, a part of the phenomena or states of the mind;--a\npart therefore of that mental state or feeling which we term a\nperception? Our sensations like our remembrances or emotions, we refer\nto some cause or antecedent. The difference is, that in the one case we\nconsider the feeling as having for its cause some previous feeling or\nstate of the mind itself; in the other case we consider it as having\nfor its cause something which is external to ourselves, and independent\nof our transient feelings,--something which, in consequence of former\nfeelings suggested at the moment, it is impossible for us not to regard\nas extended and resisting.--But still what we thus regard as extended\nand resisting, is known to us only by the feelings which it occasions\nin our mind. What matter, in its relation to the percipient mind,\ncan be, but the cause or occasion, direct or indirect, of that class\nof feelings which I term sensations or perceptions, it is absolutely\nimpossible for me to conceive.\n\nThe percipient mind, in no one of its affections, can be said to be\nthe mass of matter which it perceives, unless the separate existence,\neither of matter or of mind, be abandoned by us, the existence of\nwhich, Dr Reid would have been the last of philosophers to yield. He\nacknowledges that our perceptions are consequent on the presence of\nexternal bodies, not from any necessary connexion subsisting between\nthem, but merely from the arrangement which the Deity, in his wisdom,\nhas chosen to make of their mutual phenomena; which is surely to say,\nthat the Deity has rendered the presence of the external object the\noccasion of that affection of the mind, which is termed perception; or,\nif it be not to say this, it is to say nothing. Whatever state of mind\nperception may be; whether a primary result of a peculiar power, or a\nmere secondary reference of association that follows the particular\nsensation, of which the reference is made, it is itself, in either view\nof it, but a state of the mind; and to be the external occasion or\nantecedent of this state of mind, since it is to produce, directly or\nindirectly, all which constitutes perception, is surely, therefore, to\nbe perceived, or there must be something in the mere word _perceived_,\ndifferent from the physical reality which it expresses.\n\nThe confusion of Dr Reid's notions on this subject, seems to have\narisen from a cause, which has been the chief source of the general\nconfusion that prevails in intellectual science; and, indeed, it was\nprincipally with the view of exhibiting this confusion, and its\nsource, to you _strongly_, that I have dwelt so long on a criticism,\nwhich, to those among you who are not acquainted with the extensive\nand important applications that have been made of this doctrine,\nmay, perhaps, have appeared of very little interest. Dr Reid, it\nis evident, was not sufficiently in the habit of considering the\nphenomena of the mind,--its perceptions, as well as its remembrances,\njudgments, passions, and all its other affections, whatever these may\nbe,--in the light in which I have represented them to you, merely as\nthe mind affected, in a certain manner, according to certain regular\nlaws of succession, but as something more mysterious than the subject\nof this sequence of feelings; for, but for this notion of something\nmore mysterious, the object of perception, and the external occasion\nof that state of mind which we term perception, must have conveyed\nprecisely the same notion. To have a clear view of the phenomena of\nthe mind, as mere affections or states of it, existing successively,\nand in a certain series, which we are able, therefore, to predict,\nin consequence of our knowledge of the past, is, I conceive, to have\nmade the most important acquisition which the intellectual inquirer\ncan make. To say, merely, that it is to have learned to distinguish\nthat which may be known, from that which never can be known, and\nwhich it therefore would be an idle waste of labour to attempt to\ndiscover,--would be to say far too little. It is to see the mind, in\na great measure, as it is in nature, divested of every thing foreign,\npassing instantly from thought to thought, from sensation to sensation,\nin almost endless variety of states, and differing as completely from\nthat cumbrous representation of it, which philosophers are fond of\nrepresenting to us, as the planets revolving freely in the immense\nspace of our solar system, differ from those mimic orbs, which, without\nany principle of motion in themselves, are, as it were, dragged along,\nin the complex mechanism of our orreries.\n\nIn objecting, however, to Dr Reid's notion of perception, I am far from\nwishing to erase the word from our metaphysical vocabulary. On the\ncontrary, I conceive it to be a very convenient one, if the meaning\nattached to it be sufficiently explained, by an analysis of the complex\nstate of mind, which it denotes, and the use of it confined rigidly to\ncases in which it has this meaning. Sensation may exist, _without_ any\nreference to an external cause, in the same manner as we may look at\na picture, without thinking of the painter; or read a poem, without\nthinking of the poet,--or it may exist _with_ reference to an external\ncause; and it is convenient, therefore, to confine the term _sensation_\nto the former of these cases, and _perception_ to the latter. But,\nthen, it must be understood, that the perception is nothing but the\nsuggestion of ideas associated with the simple _sensation_, as it\noriginally took place,--or is only another name for the original simple\nsensation itself, in the cases, if any there be, in which sensation\ninvolves immediately in itself, the belief of some existence external\nto the sentient mind,--or is only a mere inference, like all our other\ninferences, if it arise, in the manner in which I have endeavoured\nto explain to you, how the notions of extension and resistance in\nan external cause of our feelings, might arise, and be afterwards\nsuggested in association with other feelings that had frequently\naccompanied it.\n\nTo give a brief summary, however, of the argument which I have\nurged;--in that state of acquired knowledge, long after the first\nelementary feelings of infancy, in which modified state alone, the\nphenomena of the mind can become to us objects of reflective analysis,\ncertain feelings are referred by us to an external material cause. The\nfeelings themselves, as primarily excited, are termed _sensations_,\nand, when followed by the reference to an external cause, receive the\nname of _perceptions_, which marks nothing more in addition to the\nprimary sensations, than this very reference. But what is the reference\nitself, in consequence of which the new name is given? It is the\nsuggestion of some extended resisting object, the presence of which\nhad before been found to be attended with that particular sensation,\nwhich is now again referred to it. If we had had no sense but that\nof smell; no sense but that of taste; no sense but that of sound; no\nsense but that of sight; we could not have known the existence of\nextended resisting substances, and, therefore, could not have referred\nthe pleasant or painful sensations of those classes to such external\ncauses, more than we refer directly to an external cause, any painful\nor pleasing emotion, or other internal affection of the mind. In all\nbut _one_ class of our sensations, then, it is evident that what\nDr Reid calls _perception_, as the operation of a peculiar mental\nfaculty, is nothing more than a suggestion of memory or association,\nwhich differs in no respect from other suggestions arising from other\ncoexistences or successions of feelings, equally uniform or frequent.\nIt is only in a single class of sensations, therefore,--that which\nDr Reid ascribes to touch,--that perception, which he regards as a\npeculiar faculty, extending to all our sensations, can be said to\nhave any primary operation, even though we should agree with him in\nsupposing, that our belief of extended resistance is not reducible by\nanalysis, to any more general principles. If, however, my analysis\nof the complex notion of matter be just, perception, in its relation\nto our original sensations of touch, as much as in relation to the\nimmediate feelings which we derive from smell, taste, sight, and\nhearing, is only one of the many operations of the suggesting or\nassociating principle. But, even on his own principles, I repeat, it\nmust be confined to the single class of feeling, which he considers as\ntactual, and is not an original principle, coextensive with all the\noriginal varieties of sensation. Even in the single class, to which it\nis thus, on his own principles, to be confined, it is not so much what\nhe would term a faculty, as an intuitive belief, by which we are led\nirresistibly, on the existence of certain sensations, to ascribe these\nto causes that are external and corporeal; or, if we give the name of\nfaculty to this peculiar form of intuition, we should give it equally\nto all our intuitions, and rank among our faculties, the belief of the\ncontinued order of Nature, or the belief of our own identity, as much\nas our belief of external things, if our senses themselves are unable\nto give us any information of them.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[107] Account of the Life, &c. p. xci. prefixed to Reid's Works. Edin.\n1803.\n\n[108] Gray, de Princip. Cogit. Lib. I. v. 143--153.\n\n[109] On the Intellectual Powers, Essay II. c. 16.\n\n[110] See before, p. 416.\n\n[111] On the Intellectual Powers, Essay II. c. 8.\n\n[112] Ibid.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XXVIII.\n\nON DR REID'S SUPPOSED PROOF OF A MATERIAL WORLD--ON VISION--AND\nANALYSIS OF THE FEELINGS ASCRIBED TO IT.\n\n\nIn my Lecture of yesterday, Gentlemen, we were engaged in considering\nthe grounds of Dr Reid's claim to the honour of detecting and exposing\nthe fallacy of the hypothesis of _ideas_ as _images_, or things, in the\nmind, distinct from the mind itself,--a claim which, though made by one\nwho has many other indubitable titles to our respect and gratitude, we\nfound, in this particular instance, to be inadmissible.\n\nIt appeared, on an examination of the original works of the eminent\nphilosophers who preceded him for more than a century, and even of the\ncommon elementary treatises of the schools, that, though after the\nPeripatetic hypothesis of species had been universally or generally\nabandoned, the language of that hypothesis continued to subsist\nmetaphorically,--as it continues with equal force at this moment,--it\nwas only metaphorically that it did thus continue; and that when Dr\nReid, therefore, conceived,--in proving ideas not to be self-existing\nthings, separate and distinct from the percipient mind itself,--that\nhe was confuting what every body believed, he merely assumed as _real_\nwhat was intended as _metaphorical_, and overthrew opinions which the\nauthors, to whom he ascribes them, would themselves have been equally\neager to overthrow. But there is yet another point, connected with the\ntheory of perception, on which he is believed to have made an important\naddition to our metaphysical knowledge. I allude to his supposed proof\nof the existence of a material world. In this, too, we shall find, that\nhe has truly added nothing to our former knowledge; that he has left\nus, in short, our belief as originally felt by us, but has not supplied\nus with the slightest evidence in addition to the force of that\noriginal belief itself, nor given any additional strength to that very\nbelief, which before was confessedly irresistible.\n\nThe confutation of the scepticism on this subject, it is evident, may\nbe attempted in _two ways_,--by shewing the arguments urged by the\nsceptic to be _logically false_; or by opposing to them the belief\nitself, as of evidence either directly intuitive, or the result, at\nleast, of other intuitions, and early and universal associations and\ninferences, so irresistible after the first acquisitions of infancy,\nas to have then all the force of intuition itself. As long as Dr\nReid confines himself to the latter of these pleas, he proceeds on\nsafe ground; but his footing is not so firm when he assails the mere\nlogic of the sceptic,--for the sceptical argument, as a mere play\nof reasoning, admits of no reply. It is vain for him to say, that\nthe scepticism proceeding, as he thinks, on the belief of ideas in\nthe mind, as the direct objects of perception, must fall with these\nideas; for, though the scepticism may be consistent with the belief of\nideas as separate existences in the mind, it does not depend, in the\nslightest degree, on their existence or non-existence. We have only\nto change the term _ideas_ into the synonymous phrase _affections or\nstates of the mind_, and the scepticism, if not stronger, is at least\nin strength exactly what it was before. In the one case the sceptic\nwill say, that we are sensible of ideas only, not of external objects,\nwhich may have no resemblance to our ideas; in the other case, that\nperception is but a state of the mind as much as any of our other\nfeelings, and that we are conscious only of this, and other states or\naffections of our mind, which have variously succeeded each other,\nand not of external objects, which themselves can be no parts of\nthat train of mental consciousness. Whatever weight there may be in\nthe former of these sceptical theories, exists, I may say, even with\ngreater force, because with greater simplicity, in the second; and the\ntask, therefore, of proving by logic,--if logical proof were requisite\nfor our belief,--the existence of a material world, would remain as\nlaborious as before, after the fullest confutation of the system, which\nmight suppose perception to be carried on by the medium of little\nimages of bodies in the mind.\n\nSo far, indeed, would the confutation of this hypothesis as to\nperception,--even if Dr Reid had truly overthrown it,--be from\nlessening the force of the scepticism as to the existence of matter,\nthat, of two sceptics, one believing every thing with respect to\nideas which Dr Reid supposed himself to have confuted, and the other\nbelieving ideas to be mere states of his mind, there can be no\nquestion, that the former would be the more easy to be overcome, since\nhis belief would already involve the existence of SOMETHING separate\nfrom the mind; while the other might maintain, that all of which he was\nconscious, was the mere series of affections of his own mind, and that\nbeyond this consciousness he could know nothing.\n\nAgainst the argument of one, who founds his very argument on his\nconsciousness merely, and professes to have no knowledge either of\nlittle images, or of any thing else beyond his consciousness, it would\nbe as idle to urge, that ideas are not little images in the mind, as\nit would have been for a Cartesian to attempt to confute the Newtonian\nsystem of attraction, by a denial of the Ptolemaic spheres.\n\nAll that remains, then, to supply the place of logical demonstration,\nwhich would be needless where the belief is as strong as that of\ndemonstration itself, is the paramount force of this universal and\nirresistible belief; and there is no fear that this can be weakened by\nany argument, or be less felt by him who denies it, than by him who\nasserts it. We are conscious, indeed, only of the feelings that are the\nmomentary states of our own mind; but some of these it is absolutely\nimpossible for us not to ascribe to causes that are external, and\nindependent of us; and the belief of a system of external things, is\none of these very states of the mind, which itself forms, and will ever\nform, a part of the train of our consciousness. This Mr Hume himself,\nthe great sceptic whom Dr Reid opposes, admits as readily as Dr Reid\nhimself:--\u201cA Copernican or Ptolemaic, who supports each his different\nsystem of astronomy, may hope to produce a conviction, which will\nremain constant and durable, with his audience. A Stoic or Epicurean\ndisplays principles, which may not only be durable, but which have\nan effect on conduct and behaviour. But a Pyrrhonian cannot expect,\nthat his philosophy will have any constant influence on the mind:\nor, if it had, that its influence would be beneficial to society. On\nthe contrary, he must acknowledge, if he will acknowledge any thing,\nthat all human life must perish, were his principles universally and\nsteadily to prevail. All discourse, all action, would immediately\ncease; and men remain in a total lethargy, till the necessities of\nnature, unsatisfied, put an end to their miserable existence. It is\ntrue, so fatal an event is very little to be dreaded. Nature is always\ntoo strong for principle; and, though a Pyrrhonian may throw himself,\nor others, into a momentary amazement and confusion by his profound\nreasonings, the first and most trivial event in life will put to flight\nall his doubts and scruples, and leave him the same, in every point\nof action and speculation, with the philosophers of every other sect,\nor with those who never concerned themselves in any philosophical\nresearches. When he awakes from his dream, he will be the first to join\nin the laugh against himself.\u201d[113] In what respect does this differ\nfrom the language of Dr Reid himself, when he says, that \u201cthe belief of\na material world is older, and of more authority, than any principles\nof philosophy. It declines the tribunal of reason, and laughs at all\nthe artillery of the logician.\u201d[114] Surely, if it decline the tribunal\nof reason, it is not by reasoning that it is to be supported,--even\nthough the reasoner should have the great talents which Dr Reid\nunquestionably possessed.\n\nThe sceptic, and the orthodox philosopher of Dr Reid's school,\nthus come precisely to the same conclusion. The creed of each, on\nthis point, is composed of two propositions, and of the same two\npropositions; the first of which is, that the existence of a system\nof things, such as we understand when we speak of an external world,\ncannot be proved by argument; and the second, that the belief of it\nis of a force, which is paramount to that of argument, and absolutely\nirresistible. The difference, and the only difference is, that, in\nasserting the same two propositions, the sceptic pronounces the first\nin a loud tone of voice, and the second in a whisper,--while his\nsupposed antagonist passes rapidly over the first, and dwells on the\nsecond, with a tone of confidence. The negation in the one case, and\nthe affirmation in the other case, are, however, precisely the same.\nTo him, indeed, who considers the _tone_ only, and not the _meaning_,\nthere may seem to be a real strife of sentiment; but, if we neglect the\ntone, which is of no consequence, and attend to the meaning only of\nwhat is affirmed and denied by both, we shall not be able to discover\neven the slightest discrepancy. There is no argument of mere reasoning\nthat can prove the existence of an external world; it is absolutely\nimpossible for us not to believe in the existence of an external world.\nWe may call these two propositions, then, a summary of the doctrine of\nReid, or of the doctrine of Hume, as we please; for it is truly the\ncommon and equal doctrine of the two.\n\nThough we have thus seen reason to deny to Dr Reid the merit commonly\nascribed to him, on the points which we have been considering, relative\nto the theory of perception, I trust you will not on that account,\nbe insensible to the merits which he truly possessed. _He_ knows\nlittle, indeed, of the human mind, who does not know, how compatible\nmany errors and misconceptions are with the brightest and most active\nenergies of intellect. On this \u201cIsthmus of a middle State,\u201d of which\nPope speaks, man, though not \u201creasoning but to err,\u201d is yet subject to\noccasional error, even in his proudest reasonings. With all his wisdom,\nhe is still but \u201cdarkly wise;\u201d and with all the grandeur of his being,\nbut \u201crudely great.\u201d\n\n\nVISION.\n\nOur inquiry into the nature of the sensations of _touch_,--or at\nleast of those sensations, which are truly, and of others which are\ncommonly, though, I think, falsely, ascribed to this organ, has led\nus into speculations, in the course of which I have been obliged to\nanticipate many remarks, that more peculiarly belong to the sense which\nstill remains to be considered by us,--the sense of sight, that to\nwhich we owe so much of our most valuable information, with respect to\nnature, and so many of those pleasures, which the bounty of Him, who,\nhas formed us to be happy, as well as to be wise, has so graciously\nintermingled, with all the primary means of our instruction.\n\nThe anticipations, into which I have been led, were necessary for\nthrowing light on the subjects before considered, particularly on the\ncomplex feelings ascribed to touch,--the knowledge of which feelings,\nhowever, was still more necessary, for understanding fully the complex\nperceptions of this sense. It is thus scarcely possible, in science,\nto treat of _one_ subject, without considering it in relation to some\nother subject, and often to subjects between which, on first view, it\nwould be difficult to trace any relation. Every thing throws light\nupon every thing,--though the reflection,--which is, in many cases, so\nbright, as to force itself upon common eyes--may, in other cases, be\nso faint, as to be perceptible only to eyes of the nicest discernment.\nIt may almost be said, that there is an universal _affinity_ in\n_truths_,--like that universal attraction, which unites to each other,\nas one common system, the whole masses which are scattered through\nthe infinity of space, and by which, as I have before remarked, the\nannihilation of a single particle of matter, in any one of these\norbs,--however inconceivably slight its elementary modification might\nbe of the general sum of attraction,--would in that very instant be\nproductive of change throughout the universe. It is not easy to say,\nwhat any _one_ science would have been, if any other science had not\nexisted. How different did Astronomy become, in consequence of the\naccidental burning of a few sea-weeds upon the sand, to which the\norigin of glass has been ascribed; and, when we think of the universal\naccessions, which navigation has made to every department of knowledge,\nwhat an infinity of truths may be considered as almost starting into\nexistence, at the moment, when the polarity of the magnet was first\nobserved!\n\n \u201cTrue to the pole, by thee the pilot guides\n His steady helm, amid the struggling tides,\n Braves with broad sail the unmeasurable sea,\n Cleaves the dark air, and asks no star but thee.\u201d[115]\n\nThe anticipations, which have been made, in the present instance, will\nbe of advantage, in abridging much of the labour, which would have been\nnecessary in treating of vision simply. I may now safely leave you, to\nmake, for yourselves, the application of many arguments, on which I\nhave dwelt at length, in treating of the other senses.\n\nThe organ of sight, as you well know, is the eye,--a machine of such\nexquisite and obvious adaptation to the effects produced by it, as to\nbe, of itself, in demonstrating the existence of the Divine Being who\ncontrived it, equal in force to many volumes of theology. The atheist,\nwho has seen, and studied, its internal structure, and yet _continues\nan atheist_, may be fairly considered as beyond the power of mere\nargument to reclaim. The minute details of its structure, however,\nbelong to the anatomist. It is enough for our purpose to know, that,\nby an apparatus of great simplicity, all the light, which, from every\nquarter strikes on the pellucid part of the ball of the eye,--and which\nif it continued to pass in the same direction, would thus produce one\nmingled and indistinct expanse of colour,--is so _refracted_, as it is\ntermed, or bent from its former direction to certain focal points, as\nto be distributed again on the retina, in distinct portions, agreeing\nwith the portions which come from each separate object, so exactly, as\nto form on it a miniature landscape of the scenery without. Nor is this\nall. That we may vary, at our pleasure, the field of this landscape,\nthe ball of the eye is furnished with certain muscles, which enable\nus to direct it more particularly toward the objects which we wish to\nview; and according as the light which falls from these may be more\nor less intense, there are parts which minister to the sensibility of\nthe eye, by increasing or diminishing in proportion the transparent\naperture at which the light is admitted. There are, then, in this truly\nwonderful and beautiful process, in the first place, as determining\nwhat objects, in the wide scene around us, are to be visible at the\nmoment, _the contraction of certain muscles_, on which the particular\nfield of our vision depends, and which may almost be said to enable us\nto increase the extent of our field of vision, by enabling us to vary\nit at will;--in the second place, the _external light_, emitted from\nall the objects within this radiant field, which, on its arrival at\nthe retina, is itself the direct object of vision; in the third place,\nthe provision for increasing or diminishing the diameter of the pupil,\nin proportion to the quantity of that incident light;--in the fourth\nplace, the _apparatus_, by which the dispersed rays of light are made\nto assume within the eye, the focal convergence necessary for distinct\nvision;--and lastly, the expansion of the optic nerve, as a part of\nthe great sensorial organ, essential to sensation. The difference\nof the phenomena, produced by the varieties of the external light\nitself, is exhibited in almost every moment of our waking existence;\nand the diversities, arising from other parts of the process, are\nnot less striking. There are peculiar diseases which affect the optic\nnerve, or other parts of the sensorial organ immediately connected\nwith it,--there are other diseases which affect the refracting\napparatus,--others which affect the iris, so as to prevent the\nenlargement or diminution of the pupil, when different quantities of\nlight are poured on it,--others, which affect the muscles that vary the\nposition of the ball,--and, in all these cases, we find, as might be\nexpected, a corresponding difference of the phenomena.\n\nTo open our eyes at present, is not to have a single simple feeling;\nit is, as it were, to have innumerable feelings. The colour, the\nmagnitude, the figure, the relative position of bodies, are seen by us\nat once. It is not a small expanse of light, which we perceive, equal\nmerely to the surface of the narrow expansion of the optic nerve. It\nis the universe itself. We are present with stars, which beam upon\nus, at a distance that converts to nothing the whole wide diameter of\nour planetary system. It is as if the tie, which binds us down to the\nglobe on which we dwell, belonged only to our other senses, and had no\ninfluence over _this_, which, even in its union with the body, seems\nstill to retain all the power, and unbounded freedom, of its celestial\norigin.\n\nIt is of importance, however, to remember, that, even in the perception\nof the most distant body, the true object of vision is not the distant\nbody itself, but the light that has reached the expansive termination\nof the optic nerve; and the sense of vision, therefore, which seems so\nindependent of the tie that binds us to our small spot of earth, is as\ntruly limited to it, as any of our other senses. If the light could\nexist in the same manner, moving in the same varieties of direction,\nas at present,--though no other bodies were in existence, than the\nlight itself, and our sensorial organ,--all the sensations belonging\nto mere sight would be exactly the same as now; and accordingly we\nfind, as light is, in a great measure, manageable by us, that we have\nit in our power to vary at pleasure, the visual notions, which any one\nwould otherwise have formed of bodies,--without altering the bodies\nthemselves, or even their position with respect to the eye,--by merely\ninterposing substances, to modify the light reflected or emitted from\nthem. The same paper, which we term white, when we observe it with our\nnaked eye, seems blue or red, when we look at it through glass, of\nsuch a kind, as absorbs all the light which enters it, but the rays\nof those particular colours; and it seems larger or smaller, as we\nlook at it through a concave or convex lens, which leaves the object\nprecisely as it was, and affects only the direction of the rays that\ncome from it:--the reason of all which diversities of perception is,\nthat, though what we are accustomed to term the _object_ continues\nthe same,--whatever substance may be interposed between it and the\neye,--that, which is really the object of vision, is _different_; and\nour perceptions, therefore, correspond with the diversity of their real\nobjects.\n\nIn treating of the distinction which has been made, of those objects\nof sense which act _directly_ on our organs, and of those which act\nthrough a _medium_, as it has been termed, I before remarked to you\nthe confusion, into which we might be led, by this distinction, which\nforgets that the supposed _medium_ is itself the real _object_, as\ntruly, as any of the objects, which in their relations to other\nsenses, are termed _direct_. In no instance, however, has it led to so\nmuch confusion, as in the case of vision. It is the more important,\ntherefore, for you, to have precise notions on this subject, and to\nhave constantly in mind, that, though indirectly, we may be said to\nperceive by sight distant objects, as truly as we perceive colour,\nstill the _direct_ object of _vision_ is not the object, existing\npermanently at a distance, but those rays of light, whose existence is\nindependent of the object, and which have received, from the object\nthat reflects them, nothing more than a change of their direction,\nin consequence of which they have come within the boundary of that\nsmall pellucid circle of the eye, which, insignificant as it may seem,\ncomprehends in itself what is truly the whole sphere of our vision.\n\n_Sight_, then, which comprehends all the varieties of colour, is the\nobject, and the only object, of the sense which we are considering.\nBut, simple as it is, of what instruction, and joy, and beauty, and\never-varying magnificence, is it the source!\n\n \u201cCarmine quo Dea te dicam, gratissima coeli\n Progenies, ortumque tuum; gemmantia rore\n Ut per prata levi lustras, et floribus halans\n Purpureum Veris gremium, scenamque virentem\n Pingis, et umbriferos colles, et c\u00e6rula regna?\n Gratia te Venerisque lepos, et mille colorum,\n Formarumque chorus sequitur, motusque decentes.\n At caput invisum Stygiis Nox atra tenebris.\n Abdidit, horrend\u00e6que simul Formidinis ora\n Pervigilesque \u00e6stus Curarum, atque anxius Angor;\n Undique L\u00e6titi\u00e2 florent mortalia corda,\n Purus et arridet largis fulgoribus \u00c6ther.\u201d[116]\n\n \u201cHail, holy light, offspring of heaven first born!\n Or of the Eternal, coeternal beam,\n May I express thee unblam'd? since God is light,\n And never but in unapproached light\n Dwelt from eternity; dwelt then in Thee,\n Bright Effluence of bright Essence increate!\n --Or hear'st thou rather, pure ethereal Stream!\n Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the Sun,\n Before the heavens, _Thou_ wert, and at the voice\n Of God, as with a mantle didst invest\n The rising world of waters dark and deep,\n Won from the void and formless infinite.\u201d[117]\n\nHow pathetic is the very beauty of this invocation, when we consider\nthe feelings with which it must have been written by him, who,\n\n \u201cLike the wakeful bird,\n Sung _darkling_,\u201d[118]\n\nand who seems to have looked back on that loveliness of nature, from\nwhich he was separated, with the melancholy readiness, with which the\nthoughts of the unfortunate and the sorrowful still revert to past\nenjoyments; as the prisoner, even when fettered to his dungeon-floor,\nstill turns his eye, almost involuntarily, to that single gleam of\nlight, which reminds him only of scenes that exist no longer to him.\n\n \u201cThus with the year\n Seasons return; but _not_ to _me_ returns\n Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,\n Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,\n Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;\n But cloud instead, and ever-during dark\n Surround me.\u201d[119]\n\nHow often must he have felt,--and how deeply must such a mind have\nfelt,--the force of that complaint, which he puts into the mouth of\nSamson,--a complaint, which may surely be forgiven, or almost forgiven,\nto the blind:--\n\n \u201cO why was sight\n To such a tender ball as the eye confined,\n So obvious, and so easy to be quench'd;\n And not, as feeling, through all parts diffused,\n That she might look at will through every pore?\u201d[120]\n\nThe immediate object of vision, we have seen, then, is _light_, which\ngives rise to all the various sensations of colour; and, since the days\nof Berkeley, philosophers have, with scarcely any exception, admitted,\nthat the knowledge of the distance, magnitude, and real figure of\nobjects, which seems at present to be immediately received by sight,\nis the result of knowledge acquired by the other senses:--though they\nhave,--I think without sufficient reason,--as universally supposed,\nthat the superficial extension, of length and breadth, becomes known to\nus by sight originally;--that there is, in short, a _visible figure_ of\nobjects, corresponding with the picture which they form on the retina,\nand changing, therefore, with their change of position relatively to\nthe eye,--and a _tangible figure_ of objects, permanent and independent\nof their change of place; the latter being the real figure suggested by\nthe former, nearly in the same manner as the conception of objects is\nsuggested, by the arbitrary sounds, or written character, which denote\nthem. The inquiry, with respect to the truth of this visible figure,\nas a sensation, may, however, be omitted, till we have considered the\nformer opinion, which respects the visual perception of distance, and\nof the figure and magnitude which are termed _tangible_.\n\nIf it had been duly considered, that it is _light_ which is the true\nobject of vision, and not the luminous body, the question, as far as\nit depends on reasoning _a priori_, exclusively of any instinctive\nconnexions that might be supposed, could not have admitted of very\nlong discussion. From whatever distance light may come, it is but the\n_point_ of the long line which terminates at the retina, of which we\nare sensible; and this terminating point must be the same, whether the\nray has come from a few feet of distance, or from many miles. The rays,\nthat beam from the adjacent meadow, or the grove, are not nearer to my\neye, at the instant of vision, than those which have been reflected\nfrom the mountain, on the very verge of the horizon, or from the cloud\nthat hangs at an immeasurable distance above my head. The light, that\nconverges on our eye, from all the stars of heaven, within what we\nterm the field of our vision, is collected, in a space, that cannot\nbe larger than the retina on which it falls. A _cube_ or a _sphere_\nis represented to us, by the two dimensions of a coloured _plane_,\nvariously shaded, as truly, as by the object itself with its triple\ndimensions; and, in the determination of the exact correspondence\nof these double and triple dimensions, in all their varieties of\nrelation to the eye, the whole art of perspective consists. A coin of\na single inch in diameter, when placed before the eye, and, of course,\nintercepting only an extent of light equal to the extent of its own\nsurface, is sufficient to hide from us, by actual eclipse, the fields,\nand villages, and woods, that seemed stretched in almost endless\ncontinuity before us.\n\nUnless, therefore, there be some instinctive and immediate suggestion,\nof certain distances, magnitudes, and figures, by certain varieties of\nthe sensation of colour, there is nothing in the mere light itself, or\nin its relation to the eye at the moment of vision, which seems fit to\ncommunicate the knowledge of these. Not of _distance_; for the rays\nfrom distant objects, when they produce vision, are as near to the\nretina, as the rays from objects that are contiguous to the eye. Not of\n_real magnitude_; for an object, with which we are familiar, appears to\nus of the same size, at distances, at which every thing merely visual\nis so completely changed, that its magnitude, as far as it depends on\nmere radiation, may be demonstrated, from the laws of optics, to be\nequal only to a half, or a tenth part of its apparent magnitude, when\nnearer. Not of _figure_; for, without the knowledge of longitudinal\ndistance, we could not distinguish a sphere or a cube from a plane\nsurface of two dimensions; and an object, with the shape of which we\nare familiar, appears to us of the same form, in all directions; though\nit may be demonstrated optically, that the visual figure, as far as it\ndepends on mere radiation, must vary with every variety of position.\n\nI have said, that the knowledge of the real magnitude, figure, and\nposition of bodies, could not be obtained immediately from the\ndiversities of the mere surfaces of light at the retina; unless it\nwere the suggestion of some instinctive principle, by which the one\nfeeling was, originally and inseparably, connected with the other: and\nI have made this exception, to prevent you from being misled, by the\nworks on this subject, so as to think, that the original perception of\ndistance implies, in the very notion of it, a physical impossibility.\nSome diversity there evidently must be of the immediate sensation of\nsight, or of other feelings coexisting with it, when a difference\nof magnitude or figure is suggested: the visual affection, which is\nfollowed by the notion of a mile, cannot be the same as that which is\nattended with the notion of half a foot; nor that which is attended\nwith the perception of a sphere, be the same as that which suggests a\nplane circular surface. Whatever the number of the varied suggestions\nof this kind may be, there must be, at least, an equal variety of the\nimmediate sensations that give rise to them; and these corresponding\nseries of sensations and suggestions, may originally be associated\ntogether by an instinctive principle, as much as any other pairs of\nphenomena, the connexion of which we ascribe to instinct; or, in other\nwords, suppose an adaptation of them to each other, by the gracious\nprovision of the Power which formed us, for a purpose unforeseen by\nus, and unwilled at the moment. It is not more wonderful, _a priori_,\nthat a sensation of colour should be immediately followed by the notion\nof a mile of distance, than that the irritation of the nostril, by\nany very stimulant odour, should be immediately and involuntarily,\nfollowed by the sudden contraction of a distant muscular organ, like\nthe diaphragm, which produces, in sneezing, the violent expiration\nnecessary for expelling the acrid matter;--or that an increase of the\nquantity of light poured on the eye, should be instantly, and without\nour consciousness, followed by a contraction of the transparent\naperture. I am far from saying, that there truly is such an instinctive\nassociation of our original visual feelings, with corresponding notions\nof distance and magnitude, in the present case; for, at least in\n_man_, I believe the contrary. I mean only, that the question has, _a\npriori_, only greater probability on one side, not absolute certainty;\nand that experience is necessary, before we can decide it with perfect\nconfidence.\n\nIn the case of the other animals, there seems to be little reason\nto doubt, that the tedious process, by which man may be truly said\nto learn to see, is not necessary for their visual perceptions. The\ncalf, and the lamb, newly dropt into the world, seem to measure forms\nand distances with their eyes, as distinctly, or at least almost\nas distinctly, as the human reasoner measures them, after all the\nacquisitions of his long and helpless infancy. Of these races of\nour fellow animals, Nature is as once the _Teacher_ and the great\n_Protectress_,--supplying to them, immediately, the powers which are\nnecessary for their preservation,--as, in the long continued affection\nof the human parent, she far more than compensates to man, the early\ninstincts which she has denied to him. If the other animals had to\nlearn to see, in the same manner with ourselves, it would be scarcely\npossible, that their existence should be preserved to the period,\nat which the acquisitions necessary for accurate perception could\nbe made; even though the hoof had been an instrument of touch and\nmeasurement, as convenient as the hand. For this difference in the\nrelative circumstances of their situation, the Almighty Being,--to\nwhose universal benevolence, nothing which he has created is too humble\nfor his care,--has made sufficient provision, in giving them that early\nmaturity, which makes them, for many months, the _superiors_ of him,\nwho is afterwards to rule them with a sway, that is scarcely conscious\nof effort.\n\n \u201cHale are their young, from human frailties freed,\n Walk unsustained, and, unsupported, feed.\n They live _at once_,--forsake the dam's warm side,--\n Take the wide world, with nature for their guide,--\n Bound o'er the lawn, or seek the distant glade,\n And find a home in each delightful shade.\u201d[121]\n\nThis instinctive suggestion, which, however subsequent it may be to the\nprimary visual sensation, seems like immediate perception in the young\nof other races of animals, is a very strong additional proof, if any\nsuch were necessary, that there is no physical impossibility, in the\nsupposition that a similar original suggestion may take place in man.\nThe question, as I before said, becomes truly a question of observation\nand experiment.\n\nBut, in man, there is not that necessity for the instinct, which\nexists in the peculiar situation of the other animals; and we find\naccordingly, that there is no trace of the instinct in _him_. It is\nlong before the little nurseling shews, that his eye has distinguished\nobjects from each other, so as to fix their place. We are able\nalmost to trace in his efforts the progress which he is gradually\nmaking;--and, in those striking cases, which are sometimes presented to\nus, of the acquisition of sight, in mature life, in consequence of a\nsurgical operation,--after vision had been obstructed from infancy,--it\nhas been found, that the actual magnitude and figure, and position,\nof bodies, were to be learned like a new language,--that all objects\nseemed equally close to the eye,--and that a sphere and a cube, of\neach of which the tangible figure was previously known, were not so\ndistinguishable in the mere sensation of vision, that the one could\nbe said, with certainty, to be the cube, and the other the sphere. In\nshort, what had been _supposed_, with every appearance of probability,\nwas _demonstrated_ by experiment,--that we _learn_ to _see_,--and that\nvision is truly, what Swift has paradoxically defined it to be, _the\nart of seeing things that are invisible_.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[113] Essays--Inquiry concerning Human Understanding, Sect. xii. Part 2.\n\n[114] Inquiry into the Human Mind, &c. Chap. v. Sect. 7.\n\n[115] Darwin's Botanic Garden, Canto II. v. 203-6.\n\n[116] Gray, de Princip. Cogit. lib. i. v. 85-96.\n\n[117] Paradise Lost, Book III. v. 1-12.\n\n[118] Ib. v. 38, 39.\n\n[119] Ib. v. 40-41.\n\n[120] Samson Agonistes, v. 93-97.\n\n[121] Young's Paraphrase on a part of the Book of Job, v. 235-240.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XXIX.\n\nANALYSIS OF THE FEELINGS ASCRIBED TO VISION, CONTINUED.\n\n\nThe chief part of my last Lecture was employed in considering\nthe Phenomena of _Vision_, and particularly in proving, that\nvision,--simple and immediate, as it now seems to us, even in its most\nmagnificent results,--is truly the application of an art, of long\nand tedious acquirement,--of that art with which we learn to measure\nforms and distances, with a single glance, by availing ourselves of\nthe information, previously received from other sources;--the mixed\nproduct of innumerable observations, and calculations, and detections\nof former mistakes--which were the philosophy of our infancy, and each\nof which, separately, has been long forgotten,--recurring to the mind,\nin after-life, with the rapidity of an instinct.\n\nOf all the arts, which man can acquire, this is, without question, the\nrichest, both in wonder and in value--so rich in value, that if the\nrace of man had been incapable of acquiring it, the very possibility of\ntheir continued existence seems scarcely conceivable; and so rich in\nsubjects of wonder, that to be most familiar with these, and to study\nthem with most attention, is to find at every moment new miracles of\nnature, worthy of still increasing admiration.\n\n\n \u201cPer te quicquid habet mundus, mirabile nobis,\n Panditur; acceptumque tibi decus omne refertur\n Terrarum. Gentes nequicquam interluit \u00e6stu\n Vicinas pelagus; tu das superare viarum\n Ardua, et obtutu Seston conjungis Abydo.\n Necmaris angusti tantum discrimina solers\n Decipis, oceanique moras; Tu sidera C\u0153li\n Subjicis humanis oculis, et dissita longe\n Das spectare loca, et Dias invisere sedes.\n Nativa hinc quamvis ferimur gravitate deorsum\n Ad Stygias sedes, Ditisque inamabile regnum,--\n Mente tamen sursum rapti ad sublimia; molem\n Exuimus terrenam, animosque \u00e6quamus Olympo.\u201d[122]\n\n\nOn this subject the remarks of Dr Reid, which I am about to quote,\nare not less just than they are strikingly expressed. \u201cIf we shall\nsuppose an order of beings, endued with every human faculty but that\nof sight, how incredible would it appear to such beings, accustomed\nonly to the slow informations of touch, that, by the addition of an\norgan, consisting of a ball and socket of an inch diameter, they might\nbe enabled in an instant of time, without changing their place, to\nperceive the disposition of a whole army, or the order of a battle, the\nfigure of a magnificent palace, or all the variety of a landscape? If a\nman were by feeling to find out the figure of the peak of Teneriffe, or\nof even St Peter's Church at Rome, it would be the work of a lifetime.\n\n\u201cIt would appear still more incredible to such beings as we have\nsupposed, if they were informed of the discoveries which may be made\nby this little organ in things far beyond the reach of any other\nsense: That by means of it we can find our way in the pathless ocean;\nthat we can traverse the globe of the earth, determine its figure and\ndimensions, and delineate every region of it. Yea, that we can measure\nthe planetary orbs, and make discoveries in the sphere of the fixed\nstars.\n\n\u201cWould it not appear still more astonishing to such beings, if they\nshould be further informed, That, by means of this same organ, we can\nperceive the tempers and dispositions, the passions and affections of\nour fellow-creatures, even when they want most to conceal them? That\nwhen the tongue is taught most artfully to lie and dissemble, the\nhypocrisy should appear in the countenance to a discerning eye; And\nthat by this organ, we can often perceive what is straight and what is\ncrooked in the mind as well as in the body?--How many mysterious things\nmust a blind man believe, if he will give credit to the relations of\nthose that see! Surely he needs as strong a faith as is required of a\ngood Christian.\u201d[123]\n\nThe same observation has been put in a strong light, by the\nsupposition, that it had been as uncommon, to be born with the power\nof sight, as it is now to be born incapable of it;--in which case it\nhas been truly said, that \u201cthe few who had this rare gift would appear\nas prophets or inspired teachers to the many.\u201d[124] The very easy\npredictions thus made, would be found, constantly, or almost constantly\nfulfilled, by those who could form no conception of the means by which\nthe effects predicted were foreseen; and wonderful as the dreams and\nvisions of prophetic inspiration may appear, they surely could not seem\nmore wonderful, as a medium of communication, than that by which the\nvery secrets of the mind, and events apparently the most distant, were\nmade known, through the intervention of a small ball like the eye.\n\nIn shewing the manner by which we learn to combine, with our visual\nsensations, the knowledge obtained by touch; or, as I am rather\ninclined to think, for reasons formerly stated, the knowledge falsely\nascribed to mere touch; it will not be necessary to go over the\ndifferent varieties of figure, magnitude, distance. The most striking\nof these is _distance_,--which, indeed, may be truly said to involve\nthe other two; since the distance of an object is merely the extension\nof the long line that intervenes between the object and our eye, and\nthe consequent magnitude of the intervening objects, and that which\nwe consider, regarded as one extended whole. Of this one great whole,\nwhat we term the distant object, is nothing more than the boundary. The\ncottage, at the end of a field, is a part of that compound magnitude of\nwhich the field and the cottage are separately parts, exactly in the\nsame manner as the wing of a house, is a part of the compound magnitude\nof the whole building. The line of field which connects our eye with\nthe cottage, may, indeed, be a longer line, but it is a line of\nprecisely the same sort as that which connects the wings of the house\nwith our organ of sight, or with each other.\n\nIt is vain to think of ascribing the perception of distance to the\nmeasurement of the different angles subtended by objects, at different\ndistances, or to an equally nice measurement of the different degrees\nof inclination of the axis of the eyes, necessary for distinct vision,\nin particular cases,--as if all men were instinctively geometers, and\nthe peasant and the very idiot were incessantly occupied in measuring\nangles; for if this measurement were truly _instinctive_, it would\noccur, in infancy, as in maturity, and be _immediate_, in those who\nhave acquired the power of vision, by that surgical operation to\nwhich I alluded in my last Lecture. But the most decisive of all\nconsiderations, with respect to this supposed _geometry_, is, that the\nangles, subtended by the object at its different distances, and the\ninclination of the optic axis, in the spontaneous accommodation of\nthe eyes to the distinct vision of the object at different distances,\nthough truly existing, to the mere optical examiner of the object,\nand the light, and the eye, as one compound phenomenon, have no real\nexistence, as feelings of the mind, of the individual who sees, and\nare known but to very few of the immense multitudes, who without the\nslightest acquaintance with geometry, or the slightest knowledge of\nthe very lines, whose angles they are supposed to measure, are yet\nable to distinguish the distances of objects as accurately as the most\nexpert mathematician. How is it possible that the angles, which remote\nobjects make relatively to the eye, should be known originally, when\nthe remote objects themselves are not known, but merely the points of\nlight on the retina? In relation to the eye, as the organ, and to the\nmind, as originally sentient in vision, these points of light were\ntruly all that existed. The light, indeed, traversed a certain space,\nin passing from the object to the eye, and the lines of direction of\nthe different rays, in arriving at one focal point at the retina,\nformed truly different angles. But the angles could not be known,\nunless the radiant lines themselves were known; and of these, the mind\ncould have no knowledge. During the whole time of their convergence,\ntill they reached the expansion of the optic nerve, the rays of light\nwere as little capable of producing vision, as darkness itself; and,\nwhen they reached the retina, the lines, and consequently the angles,\nexisted no more. Of whatever use, therefore, such angles may be to\nthe optician, in laying down, and illustrating the principles of his\nscience, they are of no use in the actual living measurements of sight.\nMan may reason, indeed,--but he must reason from what he _knows_; and,\ntherefore, if the determination of distance be the result of any\n_judgment_, it must be of a judgment formed from feelings which truly\nhave, or have had existence.\n\nSuch feelings, the elements of our visual judgments, it is not very\ndifficult to discover.\n\nThe great principle, in this case, is the principle of association,\nby which the notions derived from touch,--or, at least, the notions\nwhich are commonly supposed to be derived from that sense, are\nsuggested immediately by the visual feelings which coexisted with the\nsensations of touch; in the same manner, as the words of a language,\nwhen a language has been fully learned, suggest whatever the words may\nhave been used to denote. A child, whose eye has already learned to\ndistinguish objects, hears the word _cup_ frequently repeated, when a\ncup is held before him; and the _word_ afterwards suggests the _thing_.\nThis process every one understands. But we are not equally aware, that,\nin the prior stage of learning to distinguish the cup by the eye, the\nchild went through a process exactly similar,--that the visual feeling,\nwhich the rays of light from the cup excited, coexisted with the\ntactual and muscular feeling, when he handled the cup; and that the one\nfeeling was thus associated, forever after with the other.\n\nThe means by which we acquire our knowledge of the distance of objects,\nmay be reduced to three,--the difference of the affections of the\n_optic nerve_,--the different affections of the _muscles_, employed in\nvarying the refracting power of each eye, according to the distance\nof objects, and in producing that particular inclination of the axis\nof the two eyes, which directs them both equally on the particular\nobject,--and, _thirdly_, the previous knowledge of the distance of\nother objects, which form, with that which we are considering, a part\nof one compound perception.\n\nTo begin, then, with the affections of the retina. These become signs\nof distance, in two ways, by the extent of the part of the retina\naffected, and by the more or less vivid affection of the part.\n\nIt is evident, from the laws of optics, that, according to the distance\nof the object from the eye, there must, when all other circumstances\nare the same, be a difference of the extent of the retina, on which\nthe light falls. This illuminated portion of the nervous expanse, as\nsupposed to be instantly perceived, is what is termed the visible\nfigure of an object; and, though I am disposed to question the\nknowledge, which the mind is believed to acquire of this figure, from\nthe mere sensation of colour, to which the affection of the retina\ngives rise,--I am far from denying, that the sensation itself, whatever\nit may originally be, will be different according to the extent of the\nretina affected, as the sensation of _heat_ is different, according\nto the extent of the surface, which has grown warmer or colder,--or\nof _fragrance_, according as a small number of odorous particles have\nacted on a portion of the surface of the organ of smell, or a greater\nnumber of these on a greater portion of that surface. The different\nfeelings, then, when more or less of the retina has been affected, are\ncapable of being associated with other feelings, which may coexist\nwith them. An object, held at the distance of a foot from the eye,\naffects one part of the retina,--held at arm's length, it affects less\nof the retina; and this difference, not indeed as perceived in figure,\nbut as perceived in the variety, whatever that may originally be, of\nthe resulting sensation, being found constant and uniform, becomes of\nitself significant of the distance.\n\nAnother mode, in which the affection of the retina becomes significant\nof distance, is by the _brightness_ or dimness of the visible figure,\nand its distinctness or indistinctness of outline; or, as I would\nrather say, by the peculiar sensations, without regard to figure,\nwhich accompany those varieties of light. Since, at a distance, less\nlight falls from objects on the eye, and their outline becomes less\ndefinite, a new measure is thus obtained, in addition to that which\nis derived from the mere difference in extent of the retina affected.\nIn the illusion of this spontaneous measurement, consists the chief\nmagic of the painters art. By different shades of colour, he produces\ncorresponding perceptions of distance; and thus, making one part of a\nplane surface seem more remote than another, converts it, as far as\nthe mere eye can judge, into a cube or sphere, or any other solid,\nwhich he chuses to present to us. By the indistinct outline which he\ngives to his small figures, in the back ground of a landscape, he\nleads us to consider them, not as diminutive in themselves, which we\nshould conceive them to be, if, with equal smallness, their outline\nwere clearer, but merely as less or more remote. He is thus able to\nvary his figures in three ways, to make them larger or smaller, more or\nless bright, and more or less precisely defined; and, by uniting these\nvarieties, in various proportions, to distinguish not merely what is\nlarge from what is small, but the diminutive from the distant, and the\ngigantic from the near.\n\nAccordingly we find, that, in circumstances, in which the medium of\ntransmission of light from objects is much altered, our perception of\ndistance and magnitude becomes less accurate. In a fog, objects appear\nto us greatly magnified; because, the effect produced on the retina,\nin the extent of the visible figure and its dimness and indefinite\noutline, is truly the same, as when a larger object, in the common\nstate of the atmosphere, is seen by us at a distance. From the same\nprinciple, objects seen under a brighter sky, and in purer air, seem\nnearer than they really are, to those, whose notions of distance have\nbeen acquired in a less happy climate. This has been remarked, by\ntravellers in Italy, and particularly by one of the most illustrious\nof those who have visited that beautiful country,--a traveller, whose\nattention had been particularly turned to observations of this sort.\nThe very acute observer, of whom I speak, is Berkeley, in whose Theory\nof Vision there is to be found a very interesting Section, in which he\nat once describes this impression, and accounts for it.\n\nOur affections of the retina, then, both in the extent of the nervous\nexpansion affected, and in the species of affection, afford one set\nof feelings, with which the notion of distance may be associated, in\nthe same manner as the sounds or visual characters of a language may\nbe associated with the conceptions which they denote, or any other\nfeelings with any other feelings.\n\nThe next set of feelings which we have to consider, in relation to our\nperception of distance, belong to a class, of the importance of which\nI have had frequent occasion to speak, _the muscular feelings_, in the\ncontraction of those muscles, which adapt the nice refracting apparatus\nin each eye, to the degree of refraction, necessary for distinct vision\nin the particular case, and produce that inclination of the axis of\nvision to each other, which is necessary for directing both eyes\nequally on the object. The muscular feeling may be slight indeed, but\nstill it is sufficient to modify, in some degree, the whole compound\nsensation of the moment. One degree of contraction is attended with a\nparticular feeling; another degree with a different feeling; and, as\nthere are various muscles, subservient to the motions of the eyes, some\nof which are exerted, while others are quiescent,--the feeling, it is\nevident, must vary, not with the degree of contraction merely, but also\nwith the muscles contracted. A certain muscular feeling, however simple\nor complex, accompanies the mere visual sensation, and blends with it;\nand it is with this compound feeling, _muscular_ and _visual_, that the\nnotion of distance is associated.\n\nThe muscular adaptation, however, it may be remarked, seems, in a great\nmeasure, to imply the very knowledge which it is supposed to give;\nsince we cannot, instantly and voluntarily, adapt our eyes to the state\nnecessary for distinct vision, at a particular distance, unless we have\npreviously known that particular distance. The necessary adaptation,\nhowever, if it be not the result of a rapid change of various degrees\nof contraction in each particular case may depend, not on our knowledge\nand will, but on an instinctive connexion of certain motions with\ncertain feelings, in which there is as little consciousness of design,\nas in that very analogous instinct, or connexion of motions with\nfeelings, which increases or diminishes the diameter of the pupil,\naccording to the quantity of light which is poured upon the eye, when\nthe individual, far from willing the contraction, does not know even\nthat such a contraction has taken place.\n\nA third element, in the calculation of the distance of an object, is\nthe previous knowledge of the distance of other objects, which form\ntogether with it one compound perception. Thus, when we look along a\nroad, and observe a man on horseback, who has nearly approached a house\nwhich we know, we have of course little difficulty in determining the\ndistance of the rider. Every one must have felt how much easier his\njudgments of the distance of moving objects are, in scenes with which\nhe is in some degree acquainted, than in a country which is new to him;\nand what aid the interposition of a variety of objects gives, even\nthough we may not be well acquainted with the exact extent and distance\nof each. To an inexperienced eye, therefore, in a first voyage, a ship\nat a distance seems far nearer than it truly is, from the absence of\nvaried intervening objects in the line between. Even in the case of\na river, which is not so broad as to prevent us from distinguishing\nobjects on the opposite side, it is with great difficulty that we\nattempt to guess the distance, with any approach to exactness. There is\na constant tendency to suppose the breadth of the river less than it\nis, and consequently the objects on the opposite bank nearer than they\nare. For the same reason, the horizontal line, in which innumerable\nobjects intervene between the eye and the horizon, appears so much\nlonger than the line of altitude of the meridian, that the vault of the\nsky does not seem a hemisphere, but a far smaller segment of a great\nsphere. On this subject, however, rich as it is in illustration, my\ntime will not allow me to dwell longer. But I regret this the less, as\nthe subject is one of those, which in the department of optics, come\nunder the consideration of one of my Colleagues, whose happy Genius has\nthe art of describing fully what the narrow compass of his lectures may\nhave obliged him to state briefly; and who leaves little for others\nto add, even on subjects to which he alludes only for incidental\nillustration.\n\nThese few very slight remarks, however, will be sufficient to show, in\nwhat manner the notion of distance may be associated with mere _visual\nfeelings_, that in themselves originally involve no notion of distance,\nas the words of a language, which, in themselves, either as sounds or\ncharacters, involve no relation to one object more than to another,\nbecome instantly significant of particular objects, and excite emotions\nof love or joy, or hate, or indignation, like the very presence of some\nliving friend or foe.\n\nIt has been very justly remarked, that, if all men had uniformly spoken\nthe same language, in every part of the world, it would be difficult\nfor us not to think that there is a natural connexion of our ideas\nand the words which we use to denote them; and it is not wonderful,\ntherefore, that a similar illusion should take place with respect to\nwhat may be termed the universal language of vision; since, in the\ncase of visual perception, all men may be truly said to have the same\nlanguage; the same sensations of sight, being to all significant of\nmagnitude and distance. And it is well that the judgments which we\nform, on these important points, are thus prompt and spontaneous; for,\nif we had to wait till we had calculated the distance and magnitude of\nevery thing around us, by a measurement of angles, we should be cut\noff, in our optical career, before we could, with all our geometry,\ndetermine, with precision, whether the things which we needed most,\nor the objects of greatest peril to us, were ten or a thousand paces\ndistant, and whether they were of the bulk of a mole hill or of a\nmountain.\n\nA miniature image of the objects which we see, is pictured on the\nretina, in an inverted position; and though an image is pictured in\neach eye, we see not _two_ objects but _one_. To philosophers, who are\neven more expert in finding mysteries than in solving them, this single\nvision of the erect object, from a double image of the object inverted,\nhas usually seemed very mysterious; and yet there is really nothing\nin it at all mysterious, to any one, who has learned to consider how\nmuch of the visual perception is referable to association. If the\nlight, reflected from a single object touched by us, had produced not\ntwo merely, but two thousand separate images in our eyes, erect or\ninverted, or in any intermediate degree of inclination, the visual\nfeeling, thus excited, however complex, would still have accompanied\nthe touch of a single object; and if only it had accompanied it\nuniformly, the single object would have been suggested by it, precisely\nin the same manner as it is now suggested by the particular visual\nfeeling that attends the present double inverted image. To this\nsupposed anomaly in the language of vision, a perfect analogy is to\nbe found in the most obvious cases of common language. The two words\n_he conquered_ excite exactly the same notion as the single Latin\nword _vicit_; and if any language were so paraphrastic as to employ\n_ten_ words for the same purpose, there would be no great reason for\nphilosophic wonder at the unity of the notion suggested by so many\nwords. The two images of the single object, in the arbitrary language\nof visual perception, are, as it were, two words significant of one\nnotion.\n\nWhatever the simple original sensation of vision may be, then, it\nis capable of being associated with other notions, so as to become\nsignificant of them. But to what does the simple original sensation\nitself amount? Is it mere colour,--or is it something more?\n\nThe universal opinion of philosophers is, that it is not _colour_\nmerely which it involves, but _extension_ also,--that there is a\nvisible figure, as well as a tangible figure--and that the visible\nfigure involves, in our instant original perception, superficial length\nand breadth, as the tangible figure which we learn to see, involves\nlength, breadth, and thickness.\n\nThat it is impossible for us, at present, to separate, in the sensation\nof vision, the colour from the extension, I admit; though not more\ncompletely impossible, than it is for us to look on the thousand\nfeet of a meadow, and to perceive only the small inch of greenness\non our retina; and the one impossibility, as much as the other, I\nconceive to arise only from intimate association, subsequent to the\noriginal sensations of sight. Nor do I deny, that a certain part of\nthe retina,--which, being limited, must therefore have figure,--is\naffected by the rays of light that fall on it, as a certain breadth of\nnervous expanse is affected in all the other organs. I contend only,\nthat the perception of this limited figure of the portion of the retina\naffected, does not enter into the sensation itself, more than in our\nsensations of any other species, there is a perception of the nervous\nbreadth affected.\n\nThe immediate perception of visible figure has been assumed as\nindisputable, rather than attempted to be proved,--as, before the\ntime of Berkeley, the immediate visual perception of distance, and of\nthe three dimensions of matter, was supposed, in like manner, to be\nwithout any need of proof;--and it is, therefore, impossible to refer\nto arguments on the subject. I presume, however, that the reasons,\nwhich have led to this belief, of the immediate perception of a figure\ntermed visible, as distinguished from that tangible figure, which we\nlearn to see, are the following two,--the only reasons which I can even\nimagine,--that it is absolutely impossible, in our present sensations\nof sight, to separate colour from extension,--and that there are, in\nfact, a certain length and breadth of the retina, on which the light\nfalls.\n\nWith respect to the first of these arguments, it must be admitted, by\nthose who contend for the immediate perception of visible figure, that\nit is now impossible for us to refer to our original feelings, and that\nwe can speak, with absolute certainty, only of our present feelings,\nor, at least, of those which we remember, as belonging to a period long\nafter our first sensations.\n\nWhat may, or may not, have been originally separable, we cannot then,\ndetermine. But what, even now, is the _species of extension_, which\nit is impossible for us, in our visual perceptions, to separate from\ncolour? Is there the slightest consciousness of a perception of visible\nfigure, corresponding with the affected portion of the retina,--or is\nnot the superficial magnitude, and the only magnitude, which we connect\nwith colour, in any case, the very superficial magnitude which we\nterm tangible,--a magnitude, that does not depend on the diameter of\nthe retina, but is variously, greater or less, depending only on the\nmagnitude and distance of the external object.\n\nThe mere length and breadth, then, which we cannot separate from\ncolour, are not the length and breadth of the figure termed\nvisible,--for of the perception of these limited dimensions, we\nhave no consciousness,--but the length and breadth that are truly\ntangible;--and there is not a single moment of visual perception, in\nwhich the slightest evidence is afforded by our consciousness of that\ndifficulty of separation, with respect to the affected portion of\nthe expanse of the retina, on which the supposed argument, as to the\nperception of visible figure, is founded.\n\nEven though the superficial dimensions of length and breadth, connected\nwith colour in vision, were those of the figured retina affected, and\nwere necessarily limited to its small expanse, there would still be no\ngreater impossibility of separating the colour from mere length and\nbreadth in vision, than of separating it from the triple dimensions of\nlength, breadth, and thickness: and the argument, therefore, if it had\nany force, would be equally applicable to these.\n\nI open my eyes, in the light of day, with a wide landscape around me. I\nhave a sensation, or perception, of varieties of colour, and of all the\ndimensions of matter. I cannot separate the colour from the length and\nbreadth of the trunk of a large oak before me; but equally impossible\nis it for me, to separate the colour from the convexity and the\nmagnitude; and, from this equal impossibility, I might conclude, with\nequal force, that the perception of the convexity and the magnitude is\nimmediate and original, as the perception of mere length and breadth.\nWhere all things are equal, we cannot justly deny to one what we allow\nto another. He who affirms, that, in looking at a sphere, he can\nseparate, as elements of his sensation, the colour and the convexity,\nmay be allowed to use this argument of impossibility, as proof of\noriginal connexion, in the other case. But it is only a person so\nprivileged by nature,--and where is such a person to be found?--who can\nfairly use it.\n\nWe are able, indeed,--not while we continue to look at the sphere,\nbut with a sort of mental effort, afterwards to separate the colour\nfrom the convexity, and to imagine the same colour united with any\nother surface, plane or concave,--the reason of which is very evident.\nOur sensation of colour has not been uniformly associated with one\nspecies of extension, but with all its varieties; and may, therefore,\nbe suggested in possible coexistence with all. In all these varieties,\nhowever, two dimensions have been constantly implied; and, therefore,\nthe association of colour with _these_ is complete and indissoluble. If\nevery surface in nature had been convex, it is by no means improbable,\nthat we should have found the same difficulty, in attempting to\nseparate colour from convexity, which we now find, in attempting to\nseparate it from mere length and breadth.\n\nIt is the same, in various other affections of the mind, as in our\nsensations. There are feelings, which we cannot separate from other\nfeelings, and which, we yet know, must have been originally separate. I\nmight refer to the silent growth and maturity of almost every passion,\nof which the mind is susceptible. But there is sufficient proof, even\nin affections, which seem instantaneous. The mother, when she looks at\nher babe, cannot behold it without feelings, very different from those,\nwhich the same form and colour, in another infant, would have excited;\nand yet, impossible as it is to separate, in this case, the mere visual\nsensation, from that emotion of happy and instant fondness which\naccompanies it, there is surely no natural connexion of the emotion,\nwith the mere length, and breadth, and colour.\n\nThe impossibility of separating the sensation of colour from the notion\nof extension, it appears, then, is not a decisive proof of an original\nconnexion of these; for, if it were decisive, it would prove still\nmore;--and we might, from this alone, assert with equal confidence, the\noriginal visual perception of three dimensions, as that of two, and\nof the magnitude and figure, which we term _tangible_, as much as of\nthose, which we have chosen to term _visible_. It is surely as little\npossible for us, when we open our eyes on some wide and magnificent\nlandscape, to separate the colour, as a mere visual sensation, from the\nfield, the mountain, the forest, the stream, the sky, as to separate it\nfrom the half inch, or inch of our retina, of the perception of which\nwe have no consciousness in any case; and it is too much for those who\ndeny the immediate perception of those greater magnitudes, to urge, in\nproof of the necessary original perception of this inch or half inch,\nwhat, if valid in any respect, must establish no less the proposition\nwhich they deny, than the proposition which they affirm.\n\nBut, it will be said, there is truly a certain figure of the part of\nthe retina, on which the light falls. The fact is undeniable. But\nthe question is, not whether such a figure exist, but whether the\nperception of the figure necessarily form a part of the sensation. The\nbrain, and nervous system in general, are of a certain form, when they\nare affected in any manner. But it does not therefore, follow,--as the\nfact sufficiently shows,--that the knowledge of this form constitutes\nany part of the changeful feeling of the moment. To confine ourselves,\nhowever, to the mere senses,--it is not in the organ of sight only,\nthat the nervous matter is of a certain shape:--it is expanded into\nsome shape or other, in every organ. When the whole, or a part,\ntherefore, of the olfactory organ, is affected by the rays of odour,\nif I may so term them, we might, with exactly the same ground for\nour belief, suppose, that the knowledge of a certain extension must\naccompany the fragrance, because a certain nervous expanse is, in this\ncase, affected, as that the notion of a certain extension must, for the\nsame reason, and for the same reason alone, accompany the sensation\nof colour. It is because the same light, which acts upon the organ of\none person, may be made visible to another, that we conceive it more\npeculiarly to be figured, as it were, on the nervous expanse, when it\nis not in itself truly more figured, than the number of coexisting\nparticles of odour, which affect the nerve of smell. We cannot exhibit\nthe particles of odour, however, acting on the nostril of any one. But,\nwhen the eye is dissected from its orbit, we can show the image of a\nluminous body, distinctly formed upon the retina. _We_, the observers\nof the dissected eye, have thus a clearer notion of the length and\nbreadth of the nervous matter affected in the one case than in the\nother. But it is not in the dissected eye that vision takes place; and\nas the living eye, and the living nostrils, are alike affected in more\nthan one physical point, we must surely admit, that in both cases, and\nin both cases equally, a certain length and breadth are affected, and\nthat there is an olfactory figure as truly as a visible figure. The\nmere visibility of the image to another person cannot alter the nature\nof the organic affection itself to the sentient individual. If the\nolfactory figure be not necessarily accompanied with the perception\nof extension, there is no stronger reason _a priori_, to suppose that\nwhat is termed the visible figure,--which is nothing more than a\nsimilar affection of a nervous expanse,--should be accompanied with the\nknowledge of the part of the retina affected.\n\nThese arguments, however, though they seem to me to invalidate\ncompletely the only arguments which I can imagine to be urged in\nsupport of our original perception of figure by the eye, are negative\nonly. But there is also a _positive_ argument, which seems to me\ntruly decisive, against the supposed necessary perception of visible\nfigure,--that it implies the blending of things which cannot be\nblended. If the mere visual sensation of colour imply, in itself, no\nfigure, I can conceive it to be blended with any figure; but not so, if\nit imply, in itself, a fixed definite figure, so essential to the very\nsensation of the colour, that without it the colour could not for a\nsingle moment be perceived. During the whole time, then, in which I am\ngazing on a wide landscape, there is, according to the opinion of those\nwho contend for the necessary perception of visible figure, not colour\nmerely, but a certain small coloured expanse, of definite outline,\nconstantly perceived--since, without this, colour itself could not\nbe perceived; and, during all this time, there is also a notion of a\nfigure of a very different kind, of three dimensions, and of magnitude\nalmost infinitely greater, combined, not with colour merely, but with\nthe same coloured expanse. There must, therefore, be some possible\ncombination of these forms and magnitudes; since it is the colour which\nwe perceive that is blended with the tangible magnitudes suggested.\nNow, though there are certain feelings which may coexist and unite, it\nappears to me, that there are others which cannot be so blended. I may\ncombine, for example, my notion of a plane or convex surface, with my\nnotion of whiteness or blueness, hardness or softness, roughness or\nsmoothness; but I cannot blend my notions of these two surfaces, the\nplane and the convex, as one surface, both plane and convex, more than\nI can think of a whole which is less than a fraction of itself, or a\nsquare, of which the sides are not equal, and the angles equal only\nto three right angles. The same blue or white surface cannot appear\nto me, then, at once plane and convex, as it must do if there be a\nvisible figure of one exact outline coexisting with the tactual figure\nwhich is of a different outline; nor, even though the surface were in\nboth cases _plane_, can it appear to me, at the same moment, half an\ninch square, and many feet square. All this must be done, however, as\noften as we open our eyes, if there be truly any perception of visible\nfigure coexisting with the mere suggestions of touch. The visible\nfigure of the sphere, on which I fix my gaze, is said to be a plane of\ntwo dimensions inseparable from colour, and this inseparable colour\nmust yet be combined with the sphere, which I perceive distinctly to\nbe convex. According to the common theory, therefore, it is at once,\nto my perception, _convex_ and _plane_; and, if the sphere be a large\none, it is perceived, at the same moment, to be a sphere of many feet\nin diameter, and a plane circular surface of the diameter of a quarter\nof an inch. The assertion of so strange a combination of incongruities\nwould, indeed, require some powerful arguments to justify it; yet\nis has been asserted, not merely without positive evidence, as if\nnot standing in need of any proof, but in absolute opposition to our\nconsciousness; and the only arguments which we can ever imagine to be\nurged for it, are, as we have seen, of no weight,--or would tend as\nmuch to prove the original visual perception of tangible figures, as of\nthe figure that is termed visible.\n\nIs it not at least more probable, therefore, that though, like the\nparticles of odour when they act upon our nostrils, the rays of light\naffect a portion of the retina, so as to produce on it an _image_,\nwhich, if the eye were separated from its orbit, and its coats\ndissected, might be a distinct visible figure to the eye of another\nobserver; this figure of the portion of the retina affected, enters\nas little into the simple original sensation of sight, as the figure\nof the portion of the olfactory nervous expanse, when it is affected,\nenters into the sensations of smell?--and that, when the simple\naffection of sight is blended with the ideas of suggestion, in what are\ntermed the acquired perceptions of vision,--as, for example, in the\nperception of a sphere,--it is colour only which is blended with the\nlarge convexity, and not a small coloured plane?--which small coloured\nplane being necessarily limited in extent and form, so as never to be\nlarger than the retina itself, cannot blend with various forms and\nmagnitudes, and which, if it could even be supposed to constitute a\n_part_ of the convexity of a sphere perceived by us, still could not\ndiffuse its own limited and inseparable colour over the whole magnitude\nof the sphere.\n\nI have stated to you my own opinion with respect to visible figure,--an\nopinion, which to myself, I confess, appears almost certain, or, at\nleast, far more probable than the opinion generally entertained, that\nhas no evidence in our consciousness at any one moment of vision to\nsupport it. But on subjects of this kind, which are in themselves so\nvery subtile, and, therefore, so liable to error, I must beg you, at\nall times, and especially when the opposite sentiment has the authority\nof general belief, to consider any opinion, which I may submit to you,\nas offered more to your _reflection_, than for your passive adoption\nof it. If I wish you,--reverently, indeed, but still freely,--to weigh\nthe evidence of doctrines of philosophy, which are sanctioned even by\nthe greatest names of every age, I must wish you still more, because it\nwill be still more your duty, to weigh well the evidence of opinions\nthat come to you, with no other authority than that of _one_ very\nfallible individual.\n\nIn looking back on the senses which we have been considering, what\na boundless field do we seem already to have been endeavouring to\ntraverse? and how admirable would the mind have been, even though it\nhad been capable of no other office than that of representing, in the\nunion of all its sensations, as in a living mirror of the universe, the\nsplendid conceptions of the great Being who formed it; or, rather of\ncreating a-new in itself, that very universe which it represents and\nadmires?\n\nSuch is the power of the senses;--of\n\n ----\u201csenses, that inherit earth and heavens,\n Enjoy the various riches Nature yields;--\n Far nobler, _give_ the riches they enjoy;\n Give taste to fruits, and harmony to groves,\n Their radiant beams to gold, and gold's bright fire;\n Take in at once the landscape of the world,\n At a small inlet, which a grain might close,\n And half create the wonderous world they see.\n But for the magic organ's powerful charm,\n Earth were a rude, uncoloured chaos still;--\n Like Milton's Eve, when gazing on the lake,\n Man makes the matchless image, man admires.\u201d[125]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[122] Judicium Paridis, v. 146--158. Ap. Mus. Anglican, vol. II. p.\n274. EDIT. 1741.\n\n[123] Inquiry into the Human Mind, &c. c. 6. sect. 1.\n\n[124] Reid's Inquiry into the Human Mind, &c. c. 6. sect. 2.\n\n[125] Young's Night Thoughts, VI. v. 420-427, 429-430, and 435-436.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XXX.\n\nHISTORY OF OPINIONS REGARDING PERCEPTION.\n\n\nGentlemen, in my last Lecture, I brought to a conclusion my remarks\non Vision, with an inquiry into the justness of the universal belief,\nthat, in the perception of objects by this sense, there are two\nmodifications of extension, a visible as well as a tangible _figure_;\nthe one originally and immediately perceived by the eye, the other\nsuggested by former experience. I stated, at considerable length, some\narguments which induce me to believe, in opposition to the universal\ndoctrine,--that, in what are termed the acquired perceptions of\nsight, there is not this union of two separate figures of different\ndimensions, which cannot be combined with each other, more than the\nmathematical conceptions of a square and a circle can be combined in\nthe conception of one simple figure; that the original sensations of\ncolour, though, like the sensations of smell or taste, and every other\nspecies of sensation, arising from affections of definite portions\nof nervous substance, do not involve the perception of this definite\noutline, more than mere fragrance or sweetness, but that the colour is\nperceived by us as _figured_, only in consequence of being blended by\nintimate associations with the feelings commonly ascribed to touch.\nPhilosophers, indeed, have admitted, or, at least, must admit, that we\nhave no consciousness of that which they yet suppose to be constantly\ntaking place, and that the _only figure_ which does truly seem to\nus, in vision, to be combined with colour, is that which they term\ntangible,--that, for example, we cannot look at a coloured sphere, of\nfour feet diameter, without perceiving a coloured figure, which is that\nof a sphere four feet in diameter, and not a plain circular surface\nof the diameter of half an inch; yet, though we have no consciousness\nof perceiving any such small coloured circle, and have no reason to\nbelieve that such a perception takes place, they still contend, without\nany evidence whatever, that we see at every moment what we do not\nremember to have ever seen.\n\nAfter our very full discussion of the general phenomena of\nperception,--as common to all our senses, and as peculiarly modified in\nthe different tribes of our sensations,--I might now quit a subject,\nto which its primary interest as the origin of our knowledge, has\nled me to pay, perhaps, a disproportionate attention. But besides\nthe theories, to the consideration of which our general inquiry has\nincidentally led us, there are some hypothetical opinions on the\nsubject, of which it is necessary that you should know at least the\noutline,--not because they throw any real light on the phenomena of\nperception, but because, extravagantly hypothetical as they are,\nthey are yet the opinions of philosophers, whose eminence, in other\nrespects, renders indispensable some slight knowledge even of their\nvery errors.\n\nIn reviewing these hypotheses, it will be necessary to call your\nattention to that doctrine of causation, which I before illustrated\nat great length, and which I trust, therefore, I may safely take for\ngranted that you have not forgotten.\n\nIn sensation, I consider the feeling of the mind to be the simple\neffect of the presence of the object; or, at least, of some change,\nwhich the presence of the object produces in the sensorial organ.\nThe _object_ has the power of affecting the mind; the _mind_ is\nsusceptible of being affected by the object,--that is to say, when the\norgan, in consequence of the presence of the external object, exists\nin a certain state, the affection of the mind immediately follows.\nIf the object were absent, in any particular case, the mind would\nnot exist in the state which constitutes the sensation produced by\nit; and, if the susceptibility of the mind had been different, the\nobject might have existed, as now, without any subsequent sensation.\nIn all this series of mere changes, or affections, in consequence of\ncertain other preceding changes, or affections, though a part of the\nseries be material, and another part mental, there is truly, as I have\nrepeatedly remarked to you, no more mystery than in any other series of\nchanges, in which the series is not in matter and mind successively,\nbut exclusively in one or the other. There is a change of state of\none substance, in consequence of a change of some sort in another\nsubstance; and this mere sequence of change after change is all\nwhich we know in either case. The same Almighty Being, who formed the\nvarious substances to which we give the name of _matter_, formed also\nthe substance to which we give the name of _mind_; and the qualities\nwith which he endowed them, for those gracious ends which he intended\nthem to answer, are mere susceptibilities of change, by which, in\ncertain circumstances, they begin immediately to exist in different\nstates. The weight of a body is its tendency to other bodies, varying\naccording to the masses and distances;--in this instance, the quality\nmay be said to be strictly material. The greenness or redness ascribed\nto certain rays of light, are words expressive merely of changes that\narise in the _mind_ when these rays are present on the retina; in this\ncase, the quality, though ascribed to the material rays as antecedent,\ninvolves the consideration of a certain change of state in the mind\nwhich they affect. But the greenness or redness, though involving the\nconsideration both of mind affected, and matter affecting, is not less\nconceivable by us as a quality of matter than the weight, which also\ninvolves the consideration of two substances, affecting and affected,\nthough both go under the name of matter alone. _All_ the sequences of\nphenomena are mysterious, or _none_ are so.\n\nIt is wonderful, that the presence of a loadstone should cause a\npiece of iron to approach it; and that the presence of the moon, in\ndifferent parts of the heavens, should be continually altering the\nrelative tendencies of all the particles of our earth. In like manner,\nit is, indeed, wonderful, that a state of our bodily organs should be\nfollowed by a change of state of the mind, or a state of our mind by\na change of state of our bodily organs; but it is not more wonderful,\nthan that matter should act on distant matter, or that one affection of\nthe mind, should be followed by another affection of the mind, since\nall which we know in either case, when matter acts upon matter, or\nwhen it acts upon mind, is, that a certain change of one substance has\nfollowed a certain change of another substance,--a change which, in all\ncircumstances exactly similar, it is expected by us to follow again. We\nhave experience of this sequence of changes alike in both cases; and,\nbut for experience, we could not, in either case, have predicted it.\n\nThis view of causation, however,--as not more unintelligible in the\nreciprocal sequences of events in matter and mind than in their\nseparate sequences,--could not occur to philosophers while they\nretained their mysterious belief of secret links, connecting every\nobserved antecedent with its observed consequent; since mind and matter\nseemed, by their very nature, unsusceptible of any such common bondage.\nA peculiar difficulty, therefore, as you may well suppose, was felt,\nin the endeavour to account for their mutual successions of phenomena,\nwhich vanishes, when the necessity of any connecting links in causation\nis shewn to be falsely assumed.\n\nIn their views of perception, therefore, as a mental effect produced\nby a material cause, philosophers appear to have been embarrassed\nby two great difficulties:--the production of this effect by remote\nobjects,--as when we look at the sun and stars, in their almost\ninconceivable distances above our heads; and the production of this\neffect by a substance, which has no common property that renders it\ncapable of being linked with the mind in the manner supposed to be\nnecessary for causation. These two _supposed_ difficulties appear, to\nme, to have led to all the wild hypotheses that have been advanced with\nrespect to perception.\n\nThe former of these difficulties,--in the remoteness of the object\nperceived,--even though the principle had not been false which\nsupposes, that a change cannot take place in any substance, in\nconsequence of the change of position of a distant object,--a\nprinciple, which the gravitation of every atom disproves,--arose, it is\nevident, from false views of the real objects of perception. It is on\nthis account, that I was at some pains, when we entered on our inquiry\ninto the nature of perception, to shew the futility of the distinction\nwhich is made of objects that act immediately on the senses, and those\nwhich act on them through a medium,--the medium, in this case, as light\nin vision, and the vibrating air in sound, being the real object of\nthe particular sense,--and the reference to a more remote object being\nthe result, not of the simple original sensation, but of knowledge\npreviously acquired.\n\nThe mistake as to the real object of perception, and the supposed\ndifficulty of action at a distance, must have had very considerable\ninfluence in producing the Peripatetic doctrine of perception by\nspecies, of which the cumbrous machinery seems to have been little more\nthan a contrivance for destroying, as it were, the distance between the\nsenses and the objects that were supposed to act on them. According to\nthis doctrine, every object is continually throwing off certain shadowy\nfilms or resemblances of itself, which may be directly present to our\norgans of sense, at whatever distance the objects may be, from which\nthey flowed. These species or phantasms,--the belief of the separate\nexistence of which must have been greatly favoured by another tenet of\nthe same school, with respect to _form_ as essentially distinct from\nthe _matter_ with which it is united, were supposed to be transmitted,\nin a manner, which there was no great anxiety to explain, to the\nbrain and to the mind itself. I need not detail to you the process by\nwhich these sensible species, through the intervention of what were\ntermed the active and passive intellect, were said to become, at last,\nintelligible species, so as to be objects of our understanding. It is\nwith the mere _sensitive_ part of the process, that we have at present\nany concern; and in this, of itself, there is sufficient absurdity,\nwithout tracing all the further modifications, of which the absurdity\nis capable, if I may speak so lightly of follies that have a name,\nwhich, for more than a thousand years, was the most venerable of\nhuman names, to pass them current as wisdom,--and which were read and\nhonoured as wisdom by the wise of so many generations.\n\nI cannot pay you so very poor a compliment, as to suppose it necessary\nto employ a single moment of your time in confuting what is not only\na mere hypothesis, (and an hypothesis which leaves all the real\ndifficulties of perception precisely as before,) but which, even as an\nhypothesis, is absolutely inconceivable. If vision had been our _only\nsense_, we might, perhaps, have understood, at least, what was meant\nby the species, that directly produce our visual images. But what is\nthe phantasm of a sound or an odour? or what species is it, which, at\none moment, produces only the feeling of cold, or hardness, or figure,\nwhen a knife is pressed against us, and the next moment, when it\npenetrates the skin, the pain of a cut? The knife itself is exactly the\nsame unaltered knife, when it is merely pressed against the hand, and\nwhen it produces the incision; and the difference, therefore, in the\ntwo cases, must arise, not from any _species_ which it is constantly\nthrowing off, since these would be the same, at every moment, but from\nsome state of difference in the mere _nerves affected_.\n\nI fear, however, that I have already fallen into the folly which\nI professed to avoid,--the folly of attempting to confute, what,\nconsidered in itself, is not worthy of being seriously confuted,\nand scarcely worthy even of being proved to be ridiculous. It must\nbe remembered, however, in justice to its author, that the doctrine\nof perception, by intermediate phantasms, is not a single opinion\nalone, but a part of a system of opinions, and that there are many\nerrors, which, if considered singly, appear too extravagant for the\nassent of any rational mind, that lose much of this extravagance, by\ncombination with other errors, as extravagant. Whatever difficulties\nthe hypothesis of species involved, it at least seemed to remove the\nsupposed difficulty of perception at a distance, and by the half\nspiritual tenuity of the sensible images, seemed also to afford a\nsort of intermediate link, for the connexion of matter with mind;\nthus appearing to obviate, or at least to lessen, the two great\ndifficulties, which I suppose to have given occasion to the principal\nhypothesis on this subject.\n\nWhen the doctrine of _species_, as modified, in the dark and barren age\nof Dialectics, by all the additional absurdities, which the industrious\nsagacity of the schoolmen could give to it, had, at length, lost that\nempire, which it never should have possessed, the original difficulty\nof accounting for perception, remained as before. If the cause was to\nbe linked, in some manner or other, with its effect, how was matter, so\ndifferent in all its properties, to be connected with mind?\n\nThe shortest possible mode of obviating this difficulty, was, by\ndenying that any direct causation whatever took place between our\nmind and our bodily organs? and hence arose the system of _occasional\ncauses_, as maintained by the most distinguished of the followers of\nDes Cartes,--a system, which supposed, that there is no direct agency\nof our mind on matter, or of matter on our mind,--that we are as\nlittle capable of moving our own limbs by our volition, as of moving,\nby our volition, the limbs of any other person,--as little capable\nof perceiving the rays of light, that have entered our own eyes, as\nthe rays which have fallen on any other eyes,--that our perception or\nvoluntary movement is, therefore, to be referred, in every case, to the\nimmediate agency of the Deity, the presence of rays of light, within\nour eye, being the mere occasion on which the Deity himself affects\nour mind with vision, as our desire of moving our limbs is the mere\noccasion, on which the Deity himself puts our limbs in motion.\n\nIt is of so much importance to have a full conviction of the dependence\nof all events on the _great Source of Being_, that it is necessary\nto strip the doctrine, as much as possible, of every thing truly\nobjectionable, lest, in abandoning what is objectionable, we should\nbe tempted to abandon also the important truth associated with it.\nThe _power of God_ is so magnificent in itself, that it is only when\nwe attempt to add to it in our conception, that we run some risk of\n_degrading_ what it must always be impossible for us to _elevate_.\n\nThat the changes which take place, whether in mind or in matter, are\nall, ultimately, resolvable into the will of the Deity, who formed\nalike the spiritual and material system of the universe, making the\nearth a habitation worthy of its noble inhabitant,--and _man_ an\ninhabitant almost worthy of that scene of divine magnificence, in\nwhich he is placed, is a truth, as convincing to our reason, as it is\ndelightful to our devotion. What confidence do we feel, _in our joy_,\nat the thought of the Eternal Being, from whom it flows, as if the\nvery thought gave at once _security_ and _sanctity_ to our delight;\nand how consolotary, in our little hour of suffering, to think of\n_Him_ who _wills_ our happiness, and who knows how to produce it, even\nfrom sorrow itself, by that power which called light from the original\ndarkness, and still seems to call, out of a similar gloom, the sunshine\nof every morning. Every joy thus becomes gratitude,--every sorrow\nresignation. The eye which looks to Heaven seems, when it turns again\nto the scenes of earth, to bring down with it a purer radiance, like\nthe very beaming of the presence of the Divinity, which it sheds on\nevery object on which it gazes,--a light\n\n \u201cThat gilds all forms\n Terrestrial, in the vast, and the minute;\n The unambiguous footsteps of the God,\n Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing,\n And wheels His throne upon the rolling worlds.\u201d[126]\n\nThat the Deity, in this sense, as _the Creator_ of the world, and\n_willer_ of all those great ends, which the laws of the universe\naccomplish,--is the author of the physical changes which take place in\nit, is then most true,--as it is most true also, that the same Power,\nwho gave the universe its laws, can, for the particular purposes of\nhis providence, vary these at pleasure. But there is no reason to\nsuppose, that the objects which he has made surely for some ends,\nhave, as made by him, no efficacy, no power of being instrumental,\nto his own great purpose, merely because whatever power they can be\nsupposed to have, must have been derived from the Fountain of all\npower. It is, indeed, only as possessing this power, that we know them\nto exist; and their powers, which the doctrine of occasional causes\nwould destroy altogether, are, relatively to us, their whole existence.\nIt is by affecting us that they are known to us. Such is the nature\nof the mind, and of light, for example, that light cannot be present,\nor, at least, the sensorial organ cannot exist in a certain state, in\nconsequence of its presence, without that instant affection of mind,\nwhich constitutes vision. If light have not this power of affecting\nus with sensation, it is, with respect to us, nothing,--for we know\nit only as the cause of the visual affection. That which excites in\nus the feelings of extension, resistance, and all the qualities of\nmatter, is matter; and, to suppose that there is nothing, without us,\nwhich excites these feelings, is to suppose, that there is no matter\nwithout, as far as we are capable of forming any conception of matter.\nThe system of occasional causes seems, therefore, to be only a more\nawkward and complicated modification of the system of Berkeley; for,\nas the Deity is, in this system, himself the author of every change,\nthe only conceivable use of matter, which cannot affect us, more than\nif it were not in existence, must be as a _remembrance_, to Him who\nis _Omniscience itself_, at what particular moment he is to excite a\nfeeling in the mind of some one of his sensitive creatures, and of\nwhat particular kind that feeling is to be; as if the _Omniscient_\ncould stand in need of any memorial, to excite in our mind any\nfeeling, which it is His wish to excite, and which is to be traced\nwholly to his own immediate agency. Matter then, according to this\nsystem, has no relations to us; and all its relations are to the Deity\nalone. The assertors of the doctrine, indeed, seem to consider it, as\nrepresenting, in a more sublime light, the divine Omnipresence, by\nexhibiting it to our conception, as the only power in nature; but they\nmight, in like manner, affirm, that the creation of the infinity of\nworlds, with all the life and happiness that are diffused over them,\nrendered less instead of more sublime, the existence of Him, who, till\nthen, was the sole existence; for power, that is derived, derogates\nas little from the primary power, as derived existence derogates from\nthe Being from whom it flows. Yet the assertors of this doctrine, who\nconceive, that light has no effect in vision, are perfectly willing\nto admit that light exists, or rather, are strenuous affirmers of\nits existence, and are anxious only to prove, in their zeal, for the\nglory of Him, who made it, and who makes nothing in vain, that this,\nand all His works, exist for no purpose. Light, they contend, has no\ninfluence whatever. It is as little capable of exciting sensations of\ncolour, as of exciting a sensation of melody or fragrance; but still\nit exists. The production of so very simple a state as that of vision,\nor any other of the modes of perception, with an apparatus, which\nis not merely complicated, but, in all its complication, absolutely\nwithout efficacy of any sort, is so far from adding any sublimity to\nthe divine nature, in our conception, that it can scarcely be conceived\nby the mind, without lessening, in some degree, the sublimity of the\nAuthor of the universe, by lessening, or rather destroying, all the\nsublimity of the universe which he has made. What is that idle mass\nof matter, which cannot affect us, or be known to us, or to any other\ncreated being, more than if it _were not_? If the Deity produces, in\nevery case, by his own immediate operation, all those feelings which we\nterm sensations or perceptions, he does not first create a multitude\nof inert and cumbrous worlds, invisible to every eye but his own, and\nincapable of affecting any thing whatever, that _he_ may know when\nto operate, as he would have operated before. This is not the awful\nsimplicity of that Omnipresence,\n\n \u201cWhose word leaps forth at once to its effect;\n Who calls for things that are not, and they come.\u201d[127]\n\nIf, indeed, the complication of the process could remove any difficulty\nwhich truly exists, or even any difficulty which is supposed to exist,\nthe system might be more readily adopted by that human weakness, to\nwhich the removal of a single difficulty is of so much value. But the\nvery attempt to remove the difficulty, is merely by presenting it in\nanother form. Omnipresent, as the Creator is, he is still, like that\nmind which he has formed after his own image, a _spiritual Being_;\nand though there can be no question as to the extent of his power over\nmatter, the operation of this infinite power is as little conceivable\nby us, in any other way than as a mere antecedence of change, as the\nreciprocal limited action of mind and matter, in man, and the objects\nwhich he perceives and moves. It is itself indeed, a proof of action\nof this very kind; and to state it, with the view of obviating any\ndifficulty that may be supposed to be involved in the mutual influence\nof mind and matter, seems as absurd, as it would be for a sophist, who\nshould profess to believe, from an examination of the wings of birds,\nthat their heavy pinions are incapable of bearing them through the air,\nto illustrate his paradox by the majestic soaring _of the eagle_, when\nhe mounts still higher and higher through the sunshine that encircles\nhim, before he stoops from his height above the clouds, to the cliffs\nwhich he deigns to make his _lowly home_.\n\nThe system of _occasional causes_, though it ceased to be known, or at\nleast to be adopted, under that name, has not the less continued, by\na mere change of denomination, to receive the assent of philosophers,\nwho rejected it under its ancient name. It is, indeed, the spirit of\nthis system alone, which gives any sense whatever to the distinction\nthat is universally made of causes, as _physical_ and _efficient_,--a\ndistinction which implies, that, beside the antecedents and\nconsequents, in a series of changes, which are supposed to have no\nmutual influence, and might, therefore, be antecedent and consequent\nin any other order,--there is some intervening agency, which is, in\nevery event of the series, the true efficient. Matter, in short,\ndoes _not act_ on mind, nor mind on matter. The _physical cause_, in\nthis nomenclature, that exists for no purpose, as being absolutely\ninsufficient; or, in other words, absolutely incapable of producing any\nchange whatever, is the _occasional cause_ of the other nomenclature,\nand nothing more; and all which was cumbrous and superfluous in the\none, is equally cumbrous and superfluous in the other. On this subject,\nhowever, which I have discussed at large in my Work on Cause and\nEffect, I need not add any remarks to those which I offered in an early\npart of the course. It is sufficient, at present, to point out the\nabsolute identity of the two doctrines in every thing but in name.\n\nThe next system to which I would direct your attention, is that of\n_Malebranche_, who is, indeed, to be ranked among the principal\nasserters of the doctrine of _occasional causes_, which we have now\nbeen considering, but who, in addition to this general doctrine, had\npeculiar views of the nature of perception.\n\nHis opinions, on this subject, are delivered, at great length, in the\nsecond volume of his Search of Truth--La Recherche de la Verit\u00e9--a\nwork which is distinguished by much eloquence, and by many very\nprofound remarks on the sources of human error, but which is itself an\nexample, in the great system which it supports, of error as striking\nas any of those which it eloquently and profoundly discusses. It is\ntruly unfortunate for his reputation as a philosopher, that these\ndiscussions do not form a separate work, but are blended with his own\nerroneous system, the outline of which every one knows too well, to\nthink of studying its details. All that is necessary, to give him his\njust reputation, is merely that he _should have written less_. He is\nat present known, chiefly as the author of a very absurd hypothesis.\nHe would have been known, and studied, and honoured, as a very acute\nobserver of our nature, if he had never composed those parts of his\nwork, to which, probably, when he thought of other generations, he\nlooked as to the basis of his philosophic fame.\n\nHis hypothesis, as many of you probably know, is, that we perceive not\n_objects themselves_, but the _ideas_ of them which are in God.\n\nHe begins his supposed demonstration of this paradox with a sort of\n_negative_ proof, by attempting to shew the inadequacy of every other\nmode of accounting for our perception of the ideas of things; for I\nneed scarcely state to you, what is involved in the very enunciation\nof his metaphysical theorem,--that he regards _ideas_ as distinct from\nperception itself, not the mind affected in a certain manner, but\nsomething separate and independent of the mind.\n\nHe then proceeds to his _positive_ proof, asserting, in the first\nplace, that it is \u201cabsolutely necessary that God should have in himself\nthe ideas of all the beings which he has created, since otherwise he\ncould not have produced them;\u201d[128] and, in the second place, that God\nis united to our soul by his presence, \u201cso that he may be said to have\nthat relation of place to the mind, which space has to body.\u201d[129]\nWherever the human mind is, there God is, and consequently all the\nideas which are in God. We have thus a fund of all the ideas necessary\nfor perception, and a fund, which, in consequence of the _ubiquity_\nof the divine mind, is ever present, requiring, therefore, for our\nperception of them, only that divine will, without which no change can\ntake place.\n\nThat perception takes place, by the presence of this one stock of ideas\neternally present in the divine mind, with which every other mind is\nunited,--rather than by the creation of an infinite number of ideas in\neach separate mind,--he conceives to be proved, by various reasons,--by\nthe greater simplicity of this mode,--by its peculiar consistency\nwith that state of dependence on the divine Being, as the source of\nall light, in which the mind of man is represented in many passages\nof Scripture,--by various notions, such as those of _infinity_,\n_genera_, _species_, &c. the universality of which he conceived to be\ninconsistent with the absolute unity and limitation of every idea,\nthat does not derive a sort of infinity from the mind in which it\nexists,--and by some other reasons, very mystical and very feeble, in\nwhich, though it may not be difficult to discover what their author\nmeant, it is certainly very difficult to conceive, how a mind so acute\nas his, could have been influenced by them.\n\nIt is, indeed, only this relation of the mind of Malebranche to his\nown very strange hypothesis, which there is any interest in tracing;\nfor, though I have thought it my duty to give you a slight sketch of\nthe hypothesis itself, as a part of the general history of our science,\nwith which the reputation and genius of its author render it necessary\nfor you to have some acquaintance, I am far from thinking, that it can\nthrow any light on our speculations, in the present improved state\nof the Science of Mind. I shall not waste your time, therefore, with\npointing out to you the innumerable objections to his hypothesis,\nwhich, after the view already given by me of the simple process of\nperception, are, I trust, so manifest, as not to require to be pointed\nout. It may be more interesting to consider, in the history of the\nPhilosophy of Mind, what circumstances led to the formation of the\nhypothesis.\n\nIn the first place I may remark, that, notwithstanding his veneration\nfor the greater number of the opinions of Des Cartes, Malebranche\nunfortunately had not adopted the very enlightened views of that\neminent philosopher, with respect to the nature of _ideas_. He\nconsidered them as existing distinct from the sentient or percipient\nmind,--and, reasoning very justly from this error, inferred their\npresence in the mind of the Deity,--who formed the universe, not\ncasually, but according to conceptions, that must have preceded\ncreation,--the archetypes, or exemplars, of all that was to be created.\nThis opinion, as to the eternal forms subsisting in the divine mind,\nagrees exactly with that of Plato, in one of the most celebrated\nof his doctrines, and certainly one of the most poetical,--which,\nthough a term of praise that usually does not imply much excellence\nof philosophy, is the species of praise to which the philosophy of\nPlato has the justest claim. It has been delivered, in very powerful\nverse, by one of our own poets, who describes himself as, in science,\na follower of the genius of ancient Greece, and who was worthy of the\ninspiring presence of that majestic guide:\n\n \u201cEre the radiant sun\n Sprang from the east, or 'mid the vault of night\n The moon suspended her serener lamp;\n Ere mountains, woods, or streams, adorn'd the globe,\n Or Wisdom taught the sons of men her lore,--\n Then lived the Almighty One, then, deep retired\n In his unfathom'd essence, view'd the forms,\n The forms eternal of created things;\n The radiant sun, the moon's nocturnal lamp,\n The mountains, woods, and streams, the rolling globe,\n And Wisdom's mien celestial. From the first\n Of days, on them, his love divine, he fix'd\n His admiration, till, in time complete,\n What he admired and loved, his vital smile\n Unfolded into being. Hence, the breath\n Of life, informing each organic frame;\n Hence, the green earth, and wild resounding waves;\n Hence, light and shade alternate, warmth and cold,\n And clear autumnal skies, and vernal showers,\n And all the fair variety of things.\u201d[130]\n\nIt is in the writings of St Augustine, however,--who had himself\nimbibed a considerable portion of the spirit of the Platonic\nphilosophy,--that the true source of the hypothesis, which we are\nnow reviewing, is to be found. This very eminent father of the\nchurch,--whose acuteness and eloquence would have entitled him\nto very high consideration, even though his works had related to\nsubjects less interesting to man, than those noble subjects of which\nthey treat,--seems to have met with peculiar honour from the French\ntheologians, and to have given a very evident direction to their\nintellectual inquiries. It is indeed impossible to read the works of\nany of the theological metaphysicians of that country, without meeting\nwith constant references to the opinions of St Austin, and an implied\nreference, even where it is not expressed,--particularly to the very\nopinions most analogous to those of Malebranche.\n\nThe opinion of Augustine, to which I particularly allude, is that which\nforms the principal doctrine of his metaphysical philosophy,--that\nthere is a supreme eternal universal _Truth_, which is internally\npresent to every mind, and in which all minds alike perceive the\ntruths, which all alike are, as it were, necessitated to believe,--the\ntruths of arithmetic and geometry, for example, and the primary\nessential truths of morality.\n\nThese truths we feel to be _eternal_, because we feel that they are\nnot contingent on the existence of those who perceive them, but were,\nand are, and must forever be the same; and we feel also, that the\n_truth_ is _one_, whatever be the number of individuals that perceive\nit, and is not converted into many truths, merely by the multitude of\nbelievers. \u201cIf,\u201d says he, \u201cin discoursing of any truth, I perceive that\nto be true which _you_ say, and you perceive that to be true which _I_\nsay,--where, I pray you, do we both see this at the very moment? I\ncertainly see it not in you, nor you in me,--but both see it in that\nunchangeable truth, which is beyond and above our individual minds.\u201d \u201cSi\nambo videmus verum esse quod dicis, et ambo videmus verum esse quod\ndico, ubi, qu\u00e6so, id videmus? Nec ego utique in te, nec tu in me; sed\nambo in ipsa qu\u00e6 supra mentes nostras est, incommutabili veritate.\u201d\n\nYou must not conceive that I am contending for the justness of\nthe opinion which I am now stating to you--I state it merely as\nillustrative of the system of Malebranche. If we suppose, with\nAugustine, that there is _one eternal Truth_, which contains all\ntruths, and is present to all minds that perceive in it the truths\nwhich it contains, it is but one step more, and scarcely one step more,\nto believe that our ideas of all things are contained and perceived in\none omnipresent Mind, to which all other minds are united, and which is\nitself the eternal Truth, that is present to all. Indeed, some of the\npassages which are quoted in the Search of Truth, from St Austin, show\nhow strongly the author conceived his own opinions to be sanctioned by\nthat ancient authority.\n\nFor some of the happiest applications which have been made of this very\nancient system of Christian metaphysics, I may refer you particularly\nto the works of Fenelon,--to his demonstration of the existence of\nGod, for example,--in which many of the most abstract subtleties of\nthe Metaphysics of Augustine become _living_ and _eloquent_, in the\nreasonings of this amiable writer, who knew so well how to give, to\nevery subject which he treated, the tenderness of his own heart, and\nthe persuasion and devout confidence of his own undoubting belief.\n\nIn this Protestant country, in which the attention of theologians\nhas been almost exclusively devoted to the Scriptures themselves,\nand little comparative attention paid to the writings of the\nFathers,--unless, as strictly illustrative of the texts of Scripture,\nor of the mere History of the Church,--the influence of the\nmetaphysical opinions of St Austin is less to be traced; and the\nargument drawn from the eternal omnipresent ideas of unity, and number\nand infinity, on which so much stress is laid by Catholic philosophers,\nin demonstrating the existence of God, is hence scarcely to be found\nat all, or, at least, occupies a very inconsiderable place, in the\nnumerous works of our countrymen, on the same great subject. The system\nof Malebranche, might, indeed have arisen in this country; for we\nhave had writers, who, without his genius, have adopted his errors;\nbut there can be no doubt, that it was, by its very nature, much more\nlikely to arise, in the country which actually produced it.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[126] Cowper's Task, Book V. v. 810-814.\n\n[127] Cowpers Task, Book V. v. 686-7.\n\n[128] Recherche de la Verit\u00e9, Liv. III. c. vi.\n\n[129] Recherche de la Verit\u00e9, Liv. III. c. vi.\n\n[130] Pleasures of Imagination, Book I. v. 59-78.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XXXI.\n\nHISTORY OF OPINIONS REGARDING PERCEPTION, CONCLUDED--ON THE EXTERNAL\nAFFECTIONS COMBINED WITH DESIRE, OR ON ATTENTION.\n\n\nIn my last Lecture, Gentlemen, I gave you a slight sketch\nof some theories,--or, to speak more accurately, of some\nhypothetical conjectures, which have been formed with respect to\nperception,--pointing out to you, at the same time, the two supposed\ndifficulties which appear to me to have led to them, in false views of\nthe real objects of perception, and of the nature of causation; the\ndifficulty of accounting, with these false views, for the supposed\nperception of objects at a distance, and for the agency of matter on a\nsubstance, so little capable as mind, of being linked with it, by any\ncommon bond of connexion.\n\nOf such hypotheses, we considered three,--the doctrine of the\nPeripatetics as to perception by _species_, or shadowy films, that flow\nfrom the object to the organ,--the Cartesian doctrine of the indirect\nsubserviency of external objects, as the mere occasions on which the\nDeity himself, in every instance, produces in the mind the state which\nis termed perception,--and the particular doctrine of Malebranche,\nhimself a zealous defender of that general doctrine of _occasional\ncauses_, as to the perception of objects, or rather of the ideas of\nobjects in the divine mind.\n\nThe only remaining hypothesis, which deserves to be noticed, is a very\ncelebrated one, of Leibnitz, the doctrine of the _pre-established\nharmony_, which, I have no doubt, originated in the same false view of\nthe necessity of some connecting link in causation; and was intended,\ntherefore, like the others, to obviate the supposed difficulty of the\naction of matter on mind, and of mind on matter.\n\nAccording to this doctrine, the body never acts on the mind, nor the\nmind on the body, but the motions of the one, and the feelings of the\nother, are absolutely independent, having as little influence on each\nother, as they have on any other mind and body. The mind feels pain,\nwhen the body is bruised, but, from the pre-established order of its\nown affections, it would have felt exactly the same pain, though the\nbody, at that moment, had been resting upon roses. The arm, indeed,\nmoves at the very moment, when the mind has _willed_ its motion;\nbut, it moves of _itself_, in consequence of its own pre-established\norder of movement, and would move, therefore, equally, at that very\nmoment, though the mind had wished it to remain at rest. The exact\ncorrespondence of the motions and feelings, which we observe, arises\nmerely from the exactness of the choice of the Deity, in uniting with\na body, that was formed by Him, to have of itself, a certain order\nof independent motions, a mind, that was formed of itself to have\na certain order of independent but corresponding feelings. In the\nunerring exactness of this choice, and mutual adaptation, consists the\nexquisiteness of the harmony. But, however exquisite, it is still a\n_harmony_ only, without the slightest reciprocal action.\n\nThe mind, and its organic frame, are, in this system,--to borrow the\nillustration of it which is commonly used,--like two _time-pieces_,\nwhich have no connexion with each other, however accurately they\nmay agree,--and each of which would indicate the hour, in the very\nsame manner, though the other had been destroyed. In like manner,\nthe soul of Leibnitz,--for the great theorist himself may surely be\nused to illustrate his own hypothesis,--would, though his body had\nbeen annihilated at birth, have felt and acted, as if with its bodily\nappendage,--studying the same works, inventing the same systems, and\ncarrying on, with the same warfare of books and epistles, the same\nlong course of indefatigable controversy;--and the _body_ of this\ngreat philosopher, though his soul had been annihilated at birth,\nwould not merely have gone through the same process of growth,\neating, and digesting, and performing all its other ordinary animal\nfunctions,--but would have achieved for itself the same intellectual\nglory, without any consciousness of the works which it was writing\nand correcting,--would have argued, with equal strenuousness, for\nthe principle of the sufficient reason,--claimed the honours of the\ndifferential calculus,--and laboured to prove this very system of the\n_pre-established harmony_, of which it would, certainly, in that case,\nhave been one of the most illustrious examples.\n\nTo say of this hypothesis, which was the dream of a great mind,--but\nof a mind, I must confess, which was very fond of dreaming, and very\napt to dream,--that it is a _mere hypothesis_, is to speak of it too\nfavourably. Like the doctrine of occasional causes, it supposes a\nsystem of external things, of which, by the very principle of the\nhypothesis, there can be no evidence, and which is absolutely of\nno utility whatever, but as it enables a philosopher to talk, more\njustly, of pre-established harmonies, without the possibility, however,\nof knowing that he is talking more justly. If the mind would have\nexactly the same feelings as now,--the same pleasures, and pains, and\nperceptions of men and houses, and every thing external, though every\nthing external, comprehending of course the very organs of sense, had\nbeen annihilated ages of ages before itself existed, what reason can\nthere be to suppose, that this useless system of bodily organs, and\nother external things, exist at present? The universal irresistible\nbelief of mankind, to which philosophers of a different school might\nappeal, cannot be urged in this case, since the admission of it, as\nlegitimate evidence, would at once, disprove the hypothesis. We do\nnot more truly believe, that light exists, than we believe, that it\naffects us with vision, and that, if there had been no light, there\nwould have been no sensation of colour. To assert the pre-established\nharmony, is, indeed, almost the same thing, as to affirm and deny the\nsame proposition. It is to affirm, in the first place, positively, that\n_matter exists_, since the harmony, which it asserts, is of matter\nand mind; and then to affirm, as positively, that its _existence\nis useless_, that it cannot be perceived by us, and that we are,\ntherefore, absolutely incapable of knowing whether it exists or not.\n\nAfter stating to you so many hypotheses, which have been formed on this\nsubject, I need scarcely remark, what a fund of perpetual conjecture,\nand, therefore, of perpetual controversy, there is in the varied\nwonders of the external and internal universe, when it is so very\ndifficult for a few philosophers to agree, as to what it is which gives\nrise to the simplest sensation of warmth, or fragrance, or colour. It\nmight be thought, that, in the _intellectual opera_, if I may revert\nto that ingenious and lively allegory, of which I availed myself in\none of my early Lectures, in treating of general physical inquiry,--as\nthe whole spectacle which we behold, is passing within our minds, we\nare, in _this_ instance at least, fairly behind the scenes, and see the\nmechanism of Nature truly as it is. But though we are really behind the\nscenes, and even, in one sense of the word, may be said to be ourselves\nthe movers of the machinery, by which the whole representation is\ncarried on, still the minute parts and arrangements of the complicated\nmechanism are concealed from _our_ view, almost as completely as from\nthe observation of the distant spectators. The primary springs and\nweights, indeed, by the agency of which Phaeton seemed to be carried\noff by the winds, are left visible to us; and we know, that when we\ntouch a certain spring, it will put in motion a concealed set of\nwheels, or that when we pull a cord, it will act upon a system of\npullies, which will ultimately produce a particular effect desired\nby us; but what is the number of wheels or pullies, and how they are\narranged and adapted to each other so as to produce the effect,--are\nleft to our penetration to divine. On this subject we have seen, that\nas many grave absurdities have been formed into systems, and honoured\nwith commentaries and confutations, as in the opera of external nature,\nat which, in the quotation formerly made to you, the Pythagorases and\nPlatos were supposed to be present. \u201cIt is not a system of cords and\npullies which we put in motion,\u201d says Aristotle, \u201c--for to move such a\nheavy and distant mass would be beyond our power,--but only a number of\nlittle phantasms connected with them, which have the _form_, indeed, of\ncords and pullies, but not the _substance_, and which are light enough,\ntherefore, to fly at our very touch.\u201d--\u201cWe do not truly move any\nwheels,\u201d says the great inventor of the System of Occasional Causes;\n\u201cfor, as we did not make the wheels, how can we know the principle\non which their motion is to depend, or have such a command over them\nas to be capable of moving them? But when we touch a spring, it is\nthe occasion on which the Mechanist himself, who is always present,\nthough invisible, and who must know well how to move them, sets them\ninstantly in motion.\u201d--\u201cWe see the motion,\u201d says Malebranche, \u201cnot by\nlooking at the wheels or pullies,--for there is an impenetrable veil\nwhich hides them from us, but by looking at the Mechanist himself, who\n_must_ see them, because He is the mover of them: and whose eye, in\nwhich they are imaged as he gazes on them, must be a living mirror of\nall which he moves.\u201d--\u201cIt is not a spring that acts upon the wheels,\u201d\nsays Leibnitz; \u201cthough, when the spring is touched, the wheels begin\nto move immediately, and never begin to move at any other time. This\ncoincidence, however, is not owing to any connexion of one with the\nother; for, though the spring were destroyed, the wheels would move\nexactly as at present, beginning and ceasing at the same precise\nmoments. It is owing to a _preestablished harmony of motion_ in the\nwheels and spring; by which arrangement the motion of the wheels,\nthough completely independent of the other, always begins at the very\nmoment when the spring is touched.\u201d--\u201cNo,\u201d exclaims Berkeley, \u201cit\nis all illusion. The wheels, and cords, and weights, are not seen\nbecause they exist, but exist because they are seen; and, if the whole\nmachinery is not absolutely annihilated when we shut our eyes, it is\nonly because it finds shelter in the mind of some other Being whose\neyes are never shut,--and are always _open_, therefore, at the time\nwhen ours are closing.\u201d\n\nFrom all this variety of conjectural speculations, the conclusion which\nyou will perhaps have drawn most readily, is that which is too often\nthe result of our researches in the History of Science,--that there\nmay, as D'Alembert truly says, be a great deal of _philosophizing_, in\nwhich there is very little of _philosophy_.\n\nI have now finished the remarks which I had to make on the very\nimportant class of our _external affections of mind_, as they may be\nconsidered _simply_; but it is not always simply that they exist; and,\nwhen they occur in combination with other feelings, the appearance\nwhich they assume is sometimes so different, as to lead to the\nerroneous belief, that the complex feeling is the result of a distinct\npower of the mind.\n\nWhen, in my attempt to arrange the various feelings of which the mind\nis susceptible, I divided these into our _external_ and _internal_\naffections, according as their causes are, in the one case, objects\nwithout the mind, and, in the other case, previous feelings, or\naffections of the mind itself: and subdivided this latter class of\ninternal affections into the two orders of our _intellectual states_ of\nmind, and our _emotions_; I warned you, that you were not to consider\nthese as always arising separately, and as merely successive to each\nother;--that, in the same manner, as we may both see and smell a rose,\nso may we see, or compare, or remember, while under the influence of\nsome or other of our emotions; though, at the same time, by analysis,\nor at least by a reflective process that is similar to analysis, we may\nbe able to distinguish the emotion from the coexisting perception, or\nremembrance, or comparison,--as we are able, by a very easy analysis,\nin like manner, when we both see and smell a rose, to distinguish in\nour complex perception, the fragrance from the colour and form.\n\nThere is _one_ emotion, in particular, that is capable of so many\nmodifications, and has so extensive a sway over human life, which it\nmay be said almost to occupy from the first wishes of our infancy to\nthe last of our old age, that it cannot fail to be combined with many\nof our other feelings, both sensitive and intellectual. The emotion\nto which I allude is _desire_; a feeling which may exist of various\nspecies and degrees, from the strongest passion of which the mind is\nsusceptible, to the slightest wish of knowing a little more accurately\nthe most trifling object before us;--and though, in speaking of it\nat present, I am anticipating what, according to the strict division\nwhich we have made, should not be brought forward till we consider the\nemotions in general, this anticipation is absolutely unavoidable for\nunderstanding some of the most important phenomena, both of perception,\nwhich we have been considering, and of those intellectual faculties\nwhich we are soon to consider. I need not repeat to you, that Nature\nis not to be governed by the systems which we form; that though our\nsystematic arrangements ought not to be complicated, her phenomena\nare almost always so; and that, while every thing is thus intermixed\nand connected with every thing in the actual phenomena of mind as\nwell as of matter, it would be vain for us to think of accommodating\nour physical discussions with absolute exactness, even to the most\nperfect divisions and subdivisions which we may be capable of forming.\nAll that is necessary is, that we should not depart from our order of\narrangement without some advantage in view, and an advantage greater\nthan the slight evil which may arise from the appearance of temporary\nconfusion.\n\nThe reason of my anticipation, in the present instance, is to explain\nto you what I conceive to constitute the phenomena of attention,--a\nstate of mind which has been understood to imply the exercise of a\npeculiar intellectual power, but which, in the case of attention to\nobjects of sense, appears to be nothing more than the coexistence of\ndesire, with the perception of the object to which we are said to\nattend; as, in attention to other phenomena of the mind, it is, in like\nmanner, the coexistence of a particular desire with these particular\nphenomena. The desire, indeed, modifies the perception, rendering our\nfeeling more intense, as any other emotion would do, that has equal\nrelation to the object. But there is no operation of any power distinct\nfrom the desire and perception themselves.\n\nTo understand this fully, however, it may be necessary to make some\nprevious remarks on the coexistence of sensations.\n\nIn the circumstances in which we are placed by our beneficent Creator,\nin a world of objects capable of exciting in us various feelings, and\nwith senses awake to the profusion of delight,--breathing and moving\nin the midst of odours, and colours, and sounds, and pressed alike in\ngentle reaction, whether our limbs be in exercise or repose, by that\nfirm soil which supports us, or the softness on which we rest,--in all\nthis mingling action of external things, there is scarcely a moment in\nwhich any one of our feelings can be said to be truly simple.\n\nEven when we consider but _one_ of our organs, to the exclusion of all\nthe others, how innumerable are the objects that concur in producing\nthe complex affections of a single sense? In the eye, for example, how\nwide a scene is open to us, wherever our glance maybe turned?--woods,\nfields, mountains, rivers, the whole atmosphere of light, and that\nmagnificent luminary, which converts into light the whole space through\nwhich it moves, as if incapable of existing but in splendour. The mere\nopening of our eyelid is like the withdrawing of a veil, which before\ncovered the universe:--It is more; it is almost like saying to the\nuniverse, which had perished, Exist again!\n\nInnumerable objects, then, are constantly acting together on our organs\nof sense; and it is evident, that many of these can, at once, produce\nan effect of some sort in the mind, because we truly perceive them as a\ncoexisting whole. It is not a single point of light only which we see,\nbut a wide landscape; and we are capable of comparing various parts of\nthe landscape with each other,--of distinguishing various odours in the\ncompound fragrance of the meadow or the garden,--of feeling the harmony\nof various coexisting melodies.\n\nThe various sensations, then, may _coexist_, so as to produce one\ncomplex affection. When they do coexist, it must be remarked, that\nthey are individually less intense. The same sound, for example, which\nis scarcely heard in the tumult of the day, is capable of affecting\nus powerfully if it recur in the calm of the night; not that it is\nthen absolutely louder, but because it is no longer mingled with\nother sounds, and other sensations of various kinds, which rendered\nit weaker, by coexisting with it. It may be regarded, then, as a\ngeneral law of our perceptions, that when many sensations coexist, each\nindividually is less vivid than if it existed alone.\n\nIt may be considered almost as another form of the same proposition\nto say, that when many sensations coexist, each is not merely weaker,\nbut less distinct from the others with which it is combined. When a\nfew voices sing together, we easily recognize each separate voice. In\na very full chorus, we distinguish each with more difficulty; and, if\na great multitude were singing together, we should scarcely be able to\ndistinguish any one voice from the rest, more than to distinguish the\nnoise of a single billow, or a single dashing of a few particles of\nagitated air, in the whole thunders of the ocean and the storm.\n\nWhen many sensations coexist, and are, therefore, of course weaker and\nless distinct, if any one were suddenly to become much more intense,\nthe rest would fade in proportion, so as scarcely to be felt. A\nthousand faint sounds murmur around us, which are instantly hushed by\nany loud noise. If, when we are looking at the glittering firmament of\nsuns in a winter night, any one of those distant orbs were to become as\nradiant as our own sun, which is itself but the star of our planetary\nsystem, there can be no question, that, like our sun on its rising, it\nwould quench with its brilliancy, all those little glimmering lights,\nwhich would still shine on us, indeed, as before, but would shine on us\nwithout being perceived. It may be regarded, then, as another general\nlaw of the mind, that when many sensations coexist of equal intensity,\nthe effect of the _increased_ intensity of _one_ is a _diminished_\nintensity of those which coexist with it.\n\nLet us now, for the application of these remarks, consider, what it\nis which takes place in attention, when many objects are together\nacting on our senses, and we attend, perhaps, only to a single\nsensation. As a mere description of the process, I cannot use a\nhappier exemplification, than that which Condillac has given us in his\n_Logique_.\n\nLet us imagine a castle, which commands, from its elevation, an\nextensive view of a domain, rich with all the beauties of nature\nand art. It is night when we arrive at it. The next morning our\nwindow-shutters open at the moment when the sun has just risen above\nthe horizon,--and close again the very moment after.\n\nThough the whole sweep of country was shewn to us _but for an instant_,\nwe must have seen every object which it comprehends within the sphere\nof our vision. In a second or a third instant we could have received\nonly the same impressions which we received at first; consequently,\nthough the window had not been closed again, we should have continued\nto see but what we saw before.\n\nThis first instant, however, though it unquestionably shewed us all\nthe scene, gave us no real knowledge of it; and, when the windows were\nclosed again, there is not one of us who could have ventured to give\neven the slightest description of it,--a sufficient proof, that we may\nhave seen many objects, and yet have learned nothing.\n\nAt length the shutters are opened again, to remain open while the sun\nis above the horizon; and we see once more what we saw at first. Even\nnow, however, if, in a sort of ecstacy, we were to continue to see\nat _once_, as in the first instant, all this multitude of different\nobjects, we should know as little of them when the night arrived, as we\nknew when the window shutters were closed again after the very moment\nof their opening.\n\nTo have a knowledge of the scene, then, it is not sufficient to behold\nit _all at once_, so as to comprehend it in a single gaze; we must\nconsider it in _detail_, and pass successively from object to object.\nThis is what Nature has taught us all. If she has given us the power\nof seeing many objects at once, she has given us also the faculty of\nlooking but at one,--that is to say, of directing our eyes on one only\nof the multitude; and it is to this faculty,--which is a result of our\norganization, says Condillac,--that we owe all the knowledge which we\nacquire from sight.\n\nThe faculty is common to us all: and yet, if afterwards we were to talk\nof the landscape which we had _all_ seen, it would be very evident,\nthat our knowledge of it would not be exactly the same. By some of us,\na picture might be given of it with tolerable exactness, in which there\nwould be many objects such as they were, and many, certainly, which had\nvery little resemblance to the parts of the landscape which we wished\nto describe. The picture which _others_ might give, would probably be\nso confused, that it would be quite impossible to recognize the scene\nin the description, and yet all had seen the same objects, and nothing\nbut the same objects. The only difference is, that some of us had\nwandered from object to object irregularly, and that others had looked\nat them in a certain order.\n\nNow, what is this order? Nature points it out to us herself. It is the\nvery order in which she presents to us objects. There are some which\nare more striking than others, and which, of themselves, almost call to\nus to look at them; they are the _predominant objects_, around which\nthe others seem to arrange themselves. It is to them, accordingly, that\nwe give our _first_ attention; and when we have remarked their relative\nsituations, the others gradually fill up the intervals.\n\nWe begin, then, with the principal objects; we observe them in\nsuccession; we compare them, to judge of their relative positions.\nWhen these are ascertained, we observe the objects that fill up the\nintervals, comparing each with the principal object, till we have fixed\nthe positions of all.\n\nWhen this process of successive, but regular observation, is\naccomplished, we know all the objects and their situations, and can\nembrace them with a single glance. Their order, in our mind, is no\nlonger an order of mere succession; it is _simultaneous_. It is that in\nwhich they exist, and we see it at once distinctly.\n\nThe comprehensive knowledge thus acquired, we owe to the mere skill\nwith which we have directed our eyes from object to object. The\nknowledge has been acquired in parts successively; but, when acquired,\nit is present at once to our mind, in the same manner, as the objects\nwhich it retraces to us, are all present to the single glance of the\neye that beholds them.\n\nThe description which I have now given you, very nearly after the words\nof Condillac, is, I think, a very faithful representation of a process\nof which we must all repeatedly have been conscious. It seems to me\nhowever, faithful as it is, as a mere description, to leave the great\ndifficulty unexplained, and even unremarked. We see a multitude of\nobjects, and we have one complex indistinct feeling. We wish to know\nthe scene more accurately, and in consequence of this wish, though the\nobjects themselves continue as before, we no longer seem to view them\nall, but only one, or a few; and the few, which we now see, we see more\ndistinctly. Such I conceive to be the process; but the difference is,\nthat though we seem to view only a few objects, and these much more\ndistinctly, the field of the eye still comprehends a wide expanse, the\nlight from which scarcely affects us, while the light from other parts\nof it, though not more brilliant, produces in us distinct perception.\nIt is vain for Condillac to say, that it is in consequence of a faculty\nwhich we have of directing our eyes on one subject, a faculty which is\nthe result of our organization, and which is common to all mankind;\nfor, in the first place, if this direction of our eyes, of which he\nspeaks, on a single object, be meant, in its strict sense, of the\neye itself, which we direct, it is not true that we have any such\nfaculty. We cannot direct our eyes so as not to comprehend equally\nin our field of vision, many objects beside that single object which\nis supposed to have fixed our attention; and if, by the direction of\nour eyes, be meant the exclusive or limited perception by our mind\nitself, there remains the difficulty,--how it happens, that while light\nfrom innumerable objects falls on our retina as before, it no longer\nproduces any distinct vision relatively to the objects from which it\ncomes,--while light certainly not more brilliant, from other objects,\nproduces vision much more distinct than before. Let us consider this\ndifficulty which, in truth, constitutes the principal phenomenon of\nattention, a little more fully.\n\nWhen Condillac speaks of the faculty of the mind, by which he supposes\nit capable of directing the eye, exclusively, on certain objects, he\nmust speak of that only, of which we are conscious, previously to the\nmore distinct perception of those objects, as certain parts of the\nscene.\n\nWhat is it, then, of which we are conscious, between the indistinct\nperception of the wide scene, and the distinct perception of parts of\nthe scene?\n\nIn the first place, there is a general desire of knowing the scene\nmore accurately. This is the primary feeling of the process of\nattention. But this primary feeling is soon succeeded by others.\nIndistinct as the whole complex scene may be, some parts of it more\nbrilliant, or more striking in general character, are less indistinct\nthan others. There are a few _more prominent parts_, as Condillac says,\naround which the rest are indistinctly arranged.\n\nWith some _one_ of these, then, as in itself more impressive and\nattractive, we begin; our general desire of knowing the whole scene\nhaving been followed by a wish to know this principal part more\naccurately.\n\nThe next step is to prevent the eye itself from wandering, that no new\nobjects may distract it, and that there may be as little confusion\nas possible of the rays from different objects, on that part of the\nretina, on which the rays fell from the particular object which we\nwish to consider. We fix our eyes, therefore, and our whole body, as\nsteadily as we can, by the muscles subservient to these purposes.\n\nSo far, unquestionably, no new faculty is exercised. We have merely\n_the desire_ of knowing the scene before us,--the selection of some\nprominent object, or rather the mere perception of it, as peculiarly\nprominent,--the desire of knowing it particularly,--and the contraction\nof a few muscles, in obedience to our volition.\n\nNo sooner, however, has all this taken place, than instantly, or almost\ninstantly, and without our consciousness of any new and peculiar state\nof mind intervening in the process, the landscape becomes to our vision\naltogether different. Certain parts only, those parts which we wished\nto know particularly, are seen by us; the remaining parts seem almost\nto have vanished. It is as if every thing before had been but the\ndoubtful colouring of enchantment, which had disappeared, and left to\nus the few prominent realities on which we gaze; or rather, it is as if\nsome instant enchantment, obedient to our wishes, had dissolved every\nreality besides, and brought closer to our sight the few objects which\nwe desired to see.\n\nStill, however, all of which we are truly conscious, as preceding\nimmediately the change of appearance in the scene, is the mere desire,\nof which I have spoken, combined certainly with expectation of that\nmore distinct vision which follows. There may be a combination of\nfeelings, but no new and peculiar feeling, either as simple, or\ncoexisting with other feelings,--no indication, in short, of the\nexercise of _new power_.\n\nEven though we should be incapable, therefore, of understanding how\nthe desire should have this effect, it would not be the less true,\nthat the desire of knowing accurately a particular object in a group,\nis instantly,--or, at least, instantly after some organic change which\nmay probably be necessary,--followed by a more vivid and distinct\nperception of the particular object, and a comparative faintness and\nindistinctness of the other objects that coexist with it; and that what\nwe call attention is nothing more.\n\nAre the comparative distinctness and indistinctness, however, a result\nwhich we had no reason to expect? or are they not rather what might,\nin some degree at least, have been expected, from our knowledge of the\nfew physical facts with respect to our co-existing sensations, which\nI have already pointed out to you, and from the circumstance which we\nare next to consider? We have seen, in the observations already made\nby us, that many co-existing perceptions are indistinct, and that when\n_one_ becomes more vivid, the others become still fainter. All that is\nnecessary, therefore, is to discover some cause of increased vividness\nof that one to which we are said to attend.\n\nIf we can discover any reason why _this_ should become more vivid,\nthe comparative indistinctness of the other parts of the scene may be\nconsidered as following of course.\n\nSuch a cause exists, unquestionably, in that feeling of desire, without\nwhich there can be no attention. To attend, is to have a desire of\nknowing that to which we attend, and attention without desire is a\nverbal contradiction,--an inconsistency, at least, as great as if we\nwere said to desire to know without any desire of knowing, or to be\nattentive without attention.\n\nWhen we attend, then, to any part of a complex group of sensations,\nthere is always an emotion of desire, however slight the emotion may\nbe, connected exclusively with that particular part of the group to\nwhich we attend; and whatever effect our emotions produce on the\ncomplex feelings that accompany them, we may expect to be produced, in\nsome greater or less degree, by the desire in the complex process which\nwe term attention.\n\nThe effect which our expectation might anticipate, is the very effect\nthat is truly found to take place,--an increased liveliness of that\npart of the complex group, to which alone the desire relates.\n\nThat it is the nature of our _emotions_ of every sort, to render\n_more vivid_ all the mental affections with which they are peculiarly\ncombined, as if their own vivacity were in some measure divided\nwith these, every one who has felt any strong emotion, must have\nexperienced. The eye has, as it were, a double quickness, to perceive\nwhat we love or hate, what we hope or fear. Other objects may be seen\nslightly; but these, if seen at all, become instantly permanent, and\ncannot appear to us without impressing their presence, as it were, in\nstronger feeling on our senses and our soul.\n\nSuch is the effect of emotion, when combined even with sensations that\nare of themselves, by their own nature, vivid; and mark, therefore,\nless strikingly, the increase of vividness received. The vivifying\neffect, however, is still more remarkable, by its relative proportion,\nwhen the feelings with which the emotion is combined, are in themselves\npeculiarly faint, as in the case of mere memory or imagination. The\nobject of any of our emotions, thus merely conceived by us, becomes, in\nmany cases, so vivid, as to render even our accompanying perceptions\ncomparatively faint. The mental absence of _lovers_, for example, is\nproverbial; and what is thus termed in popular language _absence_, is\nnothing more than the greater vividness of some mere conception, or\nother internal feeling, than of any, or all of the external objects\npresent at the time, which have no peculiar relation to the prevailing\nemotion.\n\n \u201cThe darkened sun\n Loses his light; The rosy-bosom'd Spring\n To weeping Fancy pines; and yon bright arch\n Contracted, bends into a dusky vault.\n All nature fades, extinct; and she alone,\n Heard, felt, and seen, possesses every thought,\n Fills every sense, and pants in every vein.\n Books are but formal dulness,--tedious friends,\n And sad amid the social band he sits\n Lonely and unattentive. From his tongue\n The unfinished period falls; while, borne away\n On swelling thought, his wafted spirit flies\n To the vain bosom of his distant Fair;\n And leaves the semblance of a lover, fix'd\n In melancholy site, with head declined\n And love-dejected eyes.\u201d[131]\n\nWhat brighter colours the fears of _superstition_ give to the dim\nobjects perceived in twilight, the inhabitants of the village who have\nto pass the churchyard at any late hour, and the little students of\nballad lore, who have carried with them, from the nursery, many tales\nwhich they almost tremble to remember, know well. And in the second\nsight of this northern part of the island, there can be no doubt, that\nthe objects which the seers conceive themselves to behold, truly are\nmore vivid, as conceptions, than, but for the superstition and the\nmelancholy character of the natives, which harmonize with the objects\nof this gloomy foresight, they would have been; and that it is in\nconsequence of this brightening effect of the emotion, as concurring\nwith the dim and shadowy objects which the vapoury atmosphere of our\nlakes and vallies presents, that fancy, relatively to the individual,\nbecomes a temporary reality. The _gifted eye_, which has once believed\nitself favoured with such a view of the future, will, of course, ever\nafter have a _quicker foresight_, and more frequent revelations; its\nown wilder emotion communicating still more vivid forms and colours to\nthe objects which it dimly perceives.\n\nOn this subject, however, I need not seek any additional illustration.\nI may fairly suppose you to admit, as a general physical law of the\nPhenomena of Mind, that the influence of every emotion is to render\n_more vivid_ the perception or conception of its object.\n\nI must remark, however, that when the emotion is _very violent_, as in\nthe violence of any of our fiercer passions, though it still renders\nevery object, with which it harmonizes, more vivid and prominent, it\nmingles with them some degree of its own confusion of feeling. It\nmagnifies and distorts; and what it renders brighter, it does not\ntherefore render more distinct.\n\n \u201cThe flame of passion, through the straggling soul\n Deep-kindled, shews across that sudden blaze\n The object of his rapture, vast of size,\n With fiercer colours and a night of shade.\u201d[132]\n\nThe species of desire which we are considering, however, is not of this\nfierce and tempestuous kind.\n\nEmotions of a calmer species have the _vivifying_ effect, without the\n_indistinctness_; and precisely of this degree is that desire which\nconstitutes attention as coexisting with the sensations, or other\nfeelings to which we are said to attend.\n\nWe have found, then, in the desire which accompanies attention, or\nrather which chiefly constitutes it, the cause of that increased\nintensity which we sought.\n\nWhen all the various objects of a scene are of themselves equally,\nor nearly equally, interesting or indifferent to us, the union of\n_desire_, with any particular perception of the group, might be\nsupposed, _a priori_, to render this perception in some degree more\nvivid than it was before. It is not necessary that this difference of\nvividness should take place _wholly_, or even be very striking, in the\nfirst instant; for, by becoming in the first instant even slightly\nmore vivid, it acquires additional colouring and prominence, so as\nto increase that interest, which led us originally to select it for\nour first minute observation, and thus to brighten it more and more\nprogressively. Indeed, when we reflect on our consciousness during what\nis called _an effort of attention_, we feel that some such progress as\nthis really takes place, the object becoming gradually more distinct\nwhile we gaze, till at length it requires a sort of effort to turn\naway to the other coexisting objects, and to renew with them the same\nprocess.\n\nAttention, then, is not a simple mental state, but a process, or a\ncombination of feelings. It is not the result of any peculiar power of\nthe mind, but of those mere laws of perception, by which the increased\nvividness of one sensation produces a corresponding faintness of others\ncoexisting with it, and of that law of our emotions, by which they\ncommunicate greater intensity to every perception, or other feeling,\nwith which they coexist and harmonize.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[131] Thomson's Seasons--Spring, v. 1006-1021.\n\n[132] Pleasures of Imagination, Book II. v. 137-140.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XXXII.\n\nON THE EXTERNAL AFFECTIONS OF MIND COMBINED WITH DESIRE, CONTINUED.--ON\nTHE INTERNAL AFFECTIONS OF MIND.--CLASSIFICATION OF THEM.\n\n\nIn my last Lecture, Gentlemen, I concluded my sketch of the different\nhypotheses of philosophers with respect to perception, with an\naccount of that Pre-established Harmony, by which Leibnitz, excluding\nall reciprocal agency of mind and matter, endeavoured to account\nfor the uniform coincidence of our mental feelings with our bodily\nmovements,--an hypothesis which, though it does not seem to have\ngained many followers out of Germany, produced the most enthusiastic\nadmiration in the country of its author. I may remark by the way,--as\na very striking example of the strange mixture of seemingly opposite\nqualities, which we frequently find in the character of nations,--that,\nwhile the country, of which I speak, has met with ridicule,--most\nunjust in degree, as national ridicule always is,--for the heaviness\nof its laborious erudition, it must be allowed to surpass all other\ncountries in the passionate enthusiasm of its philosophy, which,\nparticularly in metaphysics, from the reign of Leibnitz to the more\nrecent worship paid to the transcendentalism of Kant, seems scarcely\nto have admitted of any calm approbation, or to have known any other\ninquirers than violent partisans and violent foes.\n\nAfter my remarks on this hypothesis, which closed my view of our\nexternal affections of mind, as they exist simply, I next proceeded to\nconsider them, as they exist, combined with desire, in that state of\nthe mind, which is termed _attention_,--a state which has been supposed\nto indicate a peculiar intellectual power, but which, I endeavoured to\nshew you, admits of being analyzed into other more general principles.\n\nIt is to our consciousness, of course, that we must refer for the\ntruth of any such analysis; and the process which it reveals to us,\nin attention, seems, I think, to justify the analysis which I made,\nindicating a combination of simpler feelings, but not any new and\ndistinct species of feeling, to be referred to a peculiar faculty.\n\nWe see many objects together, and we see them indistinctly. We wish\nto know them more accurately,--and we are aware, that this knowledge\ncan be acquired only in detail. We select some one more prominent\nobject, from the rest,--or rather, without any selection on our part,\nthis object excites, in a higher degree, our desire of observing\nit particularly, merely by being more prominent, or, in some other\nrespect, more interesting than the rest. To observe it particularly, we\nfix our body, and our eyes,--for it is a case of vision which I have\ntaken for an example,--as steadily as possible, that the light from the\nsame points of the object may continue to fall on the same points of\nthe retina. Together with our wish, we have an expectation, the natural\neffect of uniform past experience, that the object will now be more\ndistinctly perceived by us; and, in accordance with this expectation,\nwhen the process, which I have described, is completed, the object,\nas if it knew our very wish, and hastened to gratify it, does become\nmore distinct; and, in proportion as it becomes thus more vivid, the\nother objects of the group become gradually fainter, till at length\nthey are scarcely felt to be present. Such, without the intervention\nof any new and peculiar state of mind, is the mental process, as far\nas we are conscious of it; and, if this be the process, there is no\nreason to infer in it the operation of any power of the mind different\nfrom those which are exercised in other cases. The general capacities\nof perception, and desire, and expectation, and voluntary command of\ncertain muscles, which, on every view of the phenomena of attention,\nwe must allow the mind to possess, are, of themselves, sufficient to\nexplain the phenomena, and preclude, therefore, any further reference.\n\nThe brightening of the objects to which we attend, that is to say, of\nthe objects which have interested us, and which we feel a _desire_ of\nknowing, and the consequent fading of the other coexisting objects, I\nexplained, by the well known influence, not of desire merely, but of\nall our emotions, in rendering more vivid those objects of perception\nor fancy, with which they harmonize; and I illustrated this influence\nby various examples.\n\nThe phantasms of imagination, in the reveries of our waking hours,\nwhen our external senses are still open, and quick to feel, are, as\nmere conceptions, far less vivid than the primary perceptions, from\nwhich they originally flowed; and yet, under the influence of any\nstrong emotion, they become so much more bright and prominent than\nexternal things, that, to the impassioned muser, on distant scenes\nand persons, the scenes and persons truly around him, are almost, as\nif they were not in existence. If a mere conception, then, faint as\nit must always be by its own nature, can thus be rendered more vivid\nthan reality, by the union of any strong _desire_, it is surely less\nwonderful, that the same cause should communicate the same superior\nvividness to the brighter realities of perception. If what we remember\nwith interest, and wish to see again, become so much more vivid in our\nfancy, merely by this very wish, that we scarcely perceive any one of\nthe innumerable objects before our eyes, what we truly see, in its own\nlively colouring, and feel a strong desire of knowing more intimately,\nmay well be supposed to render us less sensible to the other coexisting\nobjects, which the very shadows of our imagination, when brightened by\na similar desire, were able mutually to annihilate or eclipse.\n\nIn addition to this direct vivifying influence of the desire itself,\nsome part,--and, perhaps a very considerable part--of the brightening\nof the object, during attention, may arise indirectly from the mere\nmuscular adaptation of the organ. I do not speak merely of that\n_internal_ adaptation, whatever it may be, which accommodates the\norgan to the object, and, therefore, varies with the distance of the\nobject, but of that simpler contraction, which keeps the organ, as\na whole, steadily fixed. It is proved by many facts, that a certain\ntime is necessary, for vision, and, probably, in like manner, for\nall our perceptions. A cannon ball, for example, though it must have\nreflected light to us, during its passage, may yet pass before our\neyes, so rapidly, as not to be perceived; and, if a part of the eye be\naffected, in a certain manner, by one colour, and a different colour\nfall upon it so rapidly after the first, that the former affection has\nnot previously ceased, the result is not the visual affection, which\nthe second colour alone would have produced, but that which would have\narisen at once from a mixture of the two colours. In this way, in\nan experiment which has been often performed, for the demonstration\nof this simple and beautiful fact; if a cylinder be painted in\nlongitudinal bars, with the prismatic colours, in certain proportions,\nand be revolved rapidly on its axis, its surface to the eye will not\nseem to present any one of the colours, which are really painted on it,\nbut an uniform _whiteness_, which it has not, on a single point of its\nwhole surface.\n\nIf rays of different colours, falling in rapid succession, on the same\npoints of the retina, thus seem to mingle with each other, and produce\none confused effect, it must evidently be of great importance, for\ndistinct vision, that the eyes should be so fixed, that the rays from\nthe objects which we wish to observe, may not fall, on some parts of\nthe retina, previously affected by the light of other objects, but,\nas much as possible, on the same parts, during the whole time of our\nobservation. This can be done, as I have said, only by the continued\nagency of certain muscles; and hence arises that feeling of _muscular\neffort_, of which we are conscious in the process. How difficult is it\nfor us, to keep a muscle, for any length of time, in the same exact\npoint of contraction, without the slightest deviation from this point,\nis well known to physiologists; and, it is not wonderful, therefore,\nthat in attention, we should be conscious of a considerable effort,\nin endeavouring to fix steadily any of our organs. The power of thus\nfixing our muscles, is a power which improves by habitual exercise; and\nit is probably very much in this way, that the _practised_ eye is able\nso rapidly to distinguish the minute parts of objects, which require\nfrom others a much longer effort of attention.\n\nBut, whatever the effect of the _muscular adaptation_ may be, it is\nnot the less certain, if we reflect on our feelings, that the mental\npart of the process of attention involves nothing more, in addition\nto the primary perception, which is its object, than _desire with\nexpectation_. This is all of which we are truly conscious, previously\nto the brightening of the perception itself, to which we are said\nto attend;--a brightening, which, from the general laws of emotion,\nmight very naturally be expected as the result of the union of desire,\nwith any of our sensations. In such circumstances, then, it is not\nwonderful, that we should remember best the objects to which we pay\nmost attention, since this is only to say, that we remember best the\nobjects on which we have dwelt longest, and with greatest interest, and\nwhich we have, therefore, known most accurately.\n\nSuch are our sensations or perceptions, when united with desire,\nexhibiting appearances, which seem, at first, to indicate, though they\ndo not truly indicate, a peculiar power or susceptibility of the mind.\nWe shall find, in considering our intellectual states of mind, the\norder of mental phenomena, to which we next proceed, that the union of\n_desire_ with these, has led, in like manner, to the belief of many\ndistinct intellectual powers, which yet, like _attention_, admit of\nbeing analyzed into simpler elements. These intellectual phenomena\nthemselves, in their simple state, must, however, be first examined by\nus.\n\nHaving now, then, offered all the observations for which our limited\ncourse allows me room, on the very important _primary_ class of\nexternal affections of the mind, I proceed according to our general\ndivision, to consider the _secondary_ class of its internal affections;\nthose states of it, which are not the result of causes foreign to the\nmind itself, but immediate consequents of its own preceding feelings.\n\nThe Divine Contriver of our mental frame, who formed the soul to\nexist in certain states, on the presence of external things, formed\nit also to exist, in certain successive states, without the presence\nor direct influence of any thing external; the one state of the mind,\nbeing, as immediately the cause of the state of mind which follows it,\nas, in our external feelings, the change produced, in our corporeal\norgan of sense, is the cause of any one of the particular affections\nof that class. In the one class, that of our internal affections, the\nphenomena depend on the laws which regulate the successive changes of\nstate of the mind itself. In the other class, that of our external\naffections, they depend on the laws of the _mind_, indeed, which is\nsusceptible of these peculiar changes of state; but they depend, in\nan equal degree, on the laws which give to _matter_ its peculiar\nqualities, and, consequently, its peculiar influence on this mental\nsusceptibility. If light were to be annihilated, it is very evident,\nthat, though our mind itself were to continue endowed with all its\npresent susceptibilities, it never again could behold the sun, around\nwhose cold and gloomy mass our earth might still revolve as now;\nnor, in such circumstances, is there any reason to suppose that it\nwould exist in any one of those various states, which constitute the\ndelightful sensations of vision. These sensations, then, depend on\n_external_ things, as much as on the _mind_ itself. But, though after\nwe have once been enriched with the splendid acquisitions, which our\nperceptive organs afford us, every thing external were to vanish, not\nfrom our sight merely, but from all our senses, and our mind alone were\nto exist in the infinity of space, together with that Eternal Majesty\nwhich formed it,--still thought after thought, and feeling after\nfeeling, would arise, as it were, spontaneously, in the disembodied\nspirit,--if no change in its nature were to take place; and the whole\nworld of light, and fragrance, and harmony, would, in its remembrance,\nalmost rise again, as if outliving annihilation itself. It is by this\ncapacity of internal change of state, indeed, that the soul is truly\nimmortal, which, if it were capable of no affections, but those which\nI have termed external, would itself be virtually as mortal as all\nthe mortal things that are around it; since, but for them, as causes\nof its feelings, it could not, in these circumstances, of complete\ndependence, have any feelings whatever, and could, therefore, exist\nonly in that state of original insensibility, which preceded the first\nsensation that gave it consciousness of existence. It is, in the true\nsense of immortality of life, immortal, only because it depends for\nits feelings, as well as for its mere existence, not on the state of\nperishable things, which are but the atmosphere that floats around it,\nbut on its own independent laws; or, at least,--for the laws of mind,\nas well as the laws of matter, can mean nothing more,--depends, for\nthe successions of its feelings, only on the provident arrangements,\nof that _All-foreseeing Power_ whose will, as it existed at the very\nmoment at which it called every thing from nothing, and gave to mind\nand matter their powers and susceptibilities, is thus, consequently, in\nthe whole series of effects, from age to age, the eternal legislation\nof the universe.\n\nEven while our soul is united to this bodily frame, and continually\ncapable of being affected by the objects that are continually present\nwith it, by far the greater number of our feelings are those which\narise from our _internal_ successions of thought. Innumerable as our\nperceptions are, they are but a small part of the varied consciousness\nof a day. We do not see, or feel, objects merely, for this alone would\nbe of little value,--but we compare them with each other,--we form\nplans of action, and prosecute them with assiduous attention,--or we\nmeditate on the means by which they may most effectually be prosecuted;\nand with all our perceptions of external things, and plans of serious\nthought, a continued fairy work of involuntary fancy, is incessantly\nmingling, in consequence of the laws of suggestion in the mind itself,\nlike the transient shadows, on a stream, of the clouds that fled over\nit, which picture on it their momentary forms, as they pass in rapid\nvariety, without affecting the course of the busy current, which glides\nalong in its majestic track, as if they had never been. If we had the\npower of _external_ sense only, life would be as passive as the most\nunconnected dream, or rather far more passive and irregular than the\nwildest of our dreams. Our remembrances, comparisons, our hopes, our\nfears, and all the variety of our thoughts and emotions, give a harmony\nand unity to our general consciousness, which make the consciousness\nof each day a little drama, or a connected part of that still greater\ndrama, which is to end only with the death of its hero, or rather with\nthe commencement of his glorious apotheosis.\n\nHow wide a field the internal affections of the mind present, without\ndependence on the system of material things,--with which we are\nconnected, indeed, by many delightful ties, but by ties that have\nrelation only to this mortal scene,--is proved in a very striking\nmanner, by the increased energy of thought which we often seem to\nacquire in those hours of the quiet of the night, when every _external_\ninfluence is nearly _excluded_,--the hours of inward meditation, in\nwhich the mind has been poetically said, to retire into the sanctuary\nof its own immense abode, and to feel there and enjoy its spiritual\ninfinity, as if admitted to the etherial dwellings and the feasts of\nthe Gods.\n\n \u201cNonne vides, quoties nox circumfunditur atra\n Immensi terga Oceani terramque polumque,\n Cum rerum obduxit species obnubilus Aer\n Nec fragor impulsas aut vox allabitur aures,\n Ut nullo intuitu mens jam defixa, recedit\n In sese, et vires intra se colligit omnes?\n Ut magno hospitio potitur, seque excipit ipsa\n Totam intus; seu jussa Deum discumbere mensis.\n Nam neque sic illam solido de marmore tecta\n Nec cum porticibus capiunt laquiaria centum\n Aurea, tot distincta locis, tot regibus apta,\n Qu\u00e6sit\u00e6que epul\u00e6, Tyrioque instructus ab ostro;\n Ut gaudet sibi juncta, sibique intenditur ipsa,\n Ipsa sibi tota incumbens, totamque pererrans\n Immensa immensam spatio longeque patentem.\n Seu dulces inter latebras Heliconis am\u00e6ni,\n Et sacram Ph\u0153bi nemorum divertitur umbram,\n F\u0153cundum pleno exercens sub pectore numen;\n Seu causas rerum occultas, et semina volvit,\n Et queis f\u0153deribus conspirent maximus \u00c6ther\n Neptunusque Pater, Tellusque, atque omnia gignant;\n Sive altum virtutis iter subducit, et almus\n Molitur leges, queis fortunata juventus\n Pareat, ac pace imperium tutetur et armis.\u201d[133]\n\nThe _internal_ states of mind, then, which form the class next to be\nconsidered by us, present to our inquiry no narrow or uninteresting\nfield. We are to find in these again every thing, though in fainter\ncolours, which delighted and interested us in the former class; while\nwe are, at the same time, to discover, an abundant source of feelings\nstill more delightful and sublime in themselves, and still more\ninteresting to our analysis. We are no longer mere _sensitive_ beings,\nthat _gaze_ upon the universe, and feel pain or pleasure as a few of\nits elementary particles touch our nerves. We are the discoverers of\nlaws, which every element of the universe obeys,--the tracers of events\nof ages that are past,--the calculators and prophets of events, that\nare not to occur till generation after generation of the prophetic\ncalculators that succeed us shall themselves have passed away;--and,\nwhile we are thus able to discover the innumerable relations of created\nthings, we are, at the same time, by the medium of these internal\nstates of our own mind, the _discoverers_ also of that _Infinite\nBeing_, who framed every thing which it is our glory to be capable\nmerely of observing, and who, without acting directly on any of our\norgans of sense, is yet present to our intellect with as bright a\nreality of perception, as the suns and planets which he has formed are\npresent to our corporeal vision.\n\nThe species of philosophical inquiry, which our _internal_ affections\nof mind admit, is exactly the same as that which our _external_\naffections admit; that is to say, we are in our inquiry, to consider\nthe circumstances in which they arise, and the circumstances which\nfollow them, with the relations which they appear to us mutually\nto bear to our _external_ feelings, and to each other, and nothing\nmore. It is as little possible for us, independently of experience,\nto discover _a priori_, any reason that one state of mind should be\nfollowed directly by another state of mind, as, in the case of our\nexternal feelings, to discover any reason, that the presence of light\nshould be followed by that particular mental state which constitutes\nthe sensation of colour, not by that which constitutes the perception\nof the song of a nightingale, or the fragrance of a violet,--or that\nthose external causes should be followed by their peculiar sensations,\nrather than by the perception of colour. It is equally vain for us to\nthink of discovering any reason, in the nature of the mind itself,\nwhich could have enabled us to _predict_, without actual experience,\nor, at least, without analogy of other similar instances, any of the\nmere intellectual changes of state,--that the sight of an object,\nwhich we have seen before in other circumstances, should recal, by\ninstant spontaneous suggestion, those other circumstances which\nexist no longer;--that in meeting, in the most distant country, a\nnative of our own land, it should be in our own power, by _a single\nword_ to _annihilate_, as it were, for the moment, all the seas and\nmountains between him and his home;--or, in the depth of the most\ngloomy dungeon, where its wretched tenant, who has been its tenant for\nhalf a life, sees, and scarcely sees, the few faint rays that serve\nbut to speak of a sunshine, which he is not to enjoy, and which they\ndeprive him of the comfort of forgetting, and to render visible to his\nvery eyes that wretchedness which he feels at his heart,--that even\nthis creature of misery,--whom no one in the world perhaps remembers\nbut the single being, whose regular presence, at the hour at which\nhe gives him, day by day, the means of adding to his life another\nyear of wretchedness like the past, is scarcely felt as the presence\nof another living thing,--should yet, by the influence of a single\nthought, enter into the instant possession of a freedom beyond that\nwhich the mere destruction of his dungeon could give,--a freedom which\nrestores him not merely to the _liberty_, but to the very _years_\nwhich he had lost,--to the woods, and the brook, and the fields of his\nboyish frolics, and to all the happy faces which were only as happy as\nhis own. The innumerable examples of such successions of thought we\nknow from experience, but from experience only. It is enough for us,\nhowever, to ascertain the simple fact, that the internal suggestions\nof thought after thought, without the recurrence of any external\nobject _does_ take place, as truly as sensation itself, when external\nobjects recur,--to observe the general circumstances relating to the\nsuggestion,--and to arrange the principle on which it seems to depend,\nas a principle of our intellectual constitution. While we attempt no\nmore than this, we are certain at least that we are not attempting any\nthing which is beyond the sphere of human exertion. To attempt _more_,\nand to strive to discover, in any one of the series of our internal\nfeelings, some reason which might have led us originally to _predict_\nits existence, or the existence of the other mental affections which\nsucceed it, would be to hope to discover, what is not merely beyond our\npower even to divine, but what we should be incapable of knowing that\nwe _had_ divined, even though we should _casually_ have succeeded in\nmaking the discovery.\n\nIn the classification of our internal feelings, as in every\nclassification, and, indeed, in every thing, intellectual or moral,\nwhich can exercise us, it is evident, that we may err in _two_ ways,\nby excess or deficiency. We may multiply divisions without necessity,\nor we may labour in vain to force into one division individual\ndiversities, which cannot, by any labour, be made to correspond. The\n_golden mean_, of which moralists speak, is as important in _science_,\nas in our practical views of happiness; and the habit of this cautious\nspeculative moderation, is, probably, of as difficult attainment in the\none, as the habitual contentment which is necessary to the enjoyment of\nthe other.\n\nWhen we think of the infinite variety of the physical objects around\nus, and of the small number of classes in which they are at present\narranged, it would seem to us, if we were ignorant of the history of\nphilosophy, that the regular progress of classification must have been\nto simplify, more and more, the general circumstances of agreement, on\nwhich arrangement depends; that, in this progressive simplification,\nmillions of diversities must have been originally reduced to\nthousands,--these, afterwards, to hundreds,--and these again,\nsuccessively, to divisions still more minute. But, the truth is, that\nthis simplicity of division is far from being so progressive in the\narrangement even of external things. The first steps of classification\nmust, indeed, uniformly be, to reduce the great multitude of obvious\ndiversities to some less extensive tribes. But the mere guess-work of\nhypothesis soon comes in to supply the place of laborious observation\nor experiment, and of that slow and accurate reasoning on observations\nand experiments, which, to minds of very rapid imagination, is perhaps,\na labour as wearisome, as, in the long observation itself, to watch for\nhours, with an eye fixed like the telescope through which it gazes,\none constant point of the heavens, or to minister to the furnace, and\nhang over it in painful expectance of the transmutations which it\ntardily presents. By the unlimited power of an hypothesis, we in a\nmoment range together, under one general name, myriads of diversities\nthe most obstinately discordant; as if the mere giving of a name could\nof itself alter the qualities of things, making similar what was\ndissimilar before, like words of magic, that convert any thing into any\nthing. When the hypothesis is proved to be false, the temporary magic\nof the spell is of course dissolved; and all the original diversities\nappear again, to be ranged once more in a wider variety of classes.\nEven where, without any such guess-work of hypothetical resemblance,\ndivisions and arrangements have been formed on the justest principles,\naccording to the qualities of objects known at the time, some new\nobservation, or new experiment, is continually shewing differences\nof composition or of general qualities, where none were conceived\nbefore; and the same philosophy is thus, at the same moment, employed\nin uniting and disuniting,--in reducing many objects to a few, and\nseparating a few into many,--as the same electric power, at the moment\nin which it is _attracting_ objects nearer to it, _repels_ others which\nwere almost in contiguity, and often brings the same object close to\nit, only to throw it off the next moment to a greater distance. While a\nnicer artificial analysis, or more accurate observation, is detecting\nunsuspected resemblances, and, still more frequently, unsuspected\ndiversities, there is hence no fixed point nor regular advance, but a\nsort of ebb and flow of wider and narrower divisions and subdivisions;\nand the classes of an intervening age maybe fewer than the classes both\nof the age which preceded it, and of that which comes after it. For a\nvery striking example of this alternation, I may refer to the history\nof that science, which is to matter what our intellectual analysis is\nto mind. The elements of bodies have been more and fewer successively,\nvarying with the analyses of almost every distinguished chemist; far\nfrom having fewer principles of bodies, as chemistry advances, how many\nmore _elements_ have we now than in the days of Aristotle! There can be\nno question, that when man first looked around him with a philosophic\neye, and saw, in the sublime rudeness of nature, something more than\nobjects of savage rapacity, or still more savage indifference, he\nmust have conceived the varieties of bodies to be innumerable; and\ncould as little have thought of comprehending them all under a few\nsimple names, as of comprehending the whole earth itself within his\nnarrow grasp. In a short time, however, this narrow grasp, if I may\nventure so to express myself, did strive to comprehend the whole\nearth; and soon after man had made the first great advance in science,\nof wondering at the infinity of things in which he was lost, we had\nsages, such as Thales, Anaximenes, and Heraclitus, who were forming\nevery thing of a _single principle_,--water, or air, or fire. The four\nelements, which afterwards reigned so long in the schools of physics,\ngave place to a _single principle_ with the alchemists; or to three\nprinciples,--_salt_, _sulphur_, and _mercury_,--with chemists less\nbold in conjecture. These, again, were soon multiplied by observers of\nstill nicer discrimination; and modern chemistry, while it has shewn\nsome bodies, which we regarded as different, to be composed of the\nsame elements, has, at the same time, shewn, that what we regarded as\n_elements_, are themselves compounds of elements which we knew not\nbefore.\n\nTo him who looks back on the history of our own science, the analytic\nscience of mind, which, as I have already said, may almost be\nregarded, in its most important aspects, as a sort of intellectual\nchemistry,--there will appear the same alternate widening and narrowing\nof classification. The mental phenomena are, in one age or country, of\nmany classes; in a succeeding age, or in a different country, they are\nof fewer; and again, after the lapse of another age, or the passage of\na river or a mountain, they are of many more. In our own island, after\nthe decay of scholastic metaphysics, from _Hobbes_ to _Hume_,--if I\nmay use these names, as dates of eras, in a science, on which, with\nall their unfortunate errors on many of the most important points of\nhuman belief, they both unquestionably threw a degree of light, which\nrendered their errors on these subjects the more to be lamented,--in\nthis long and brilliant period,--which, of course, includes, with\nmany other eminent names, the very eminent author of the _Essay on\nthe Human Understanding_,--there was a tendency to simplify, as much\nas possible, the classification of the phenomena of mind; and more\nregard, perhaps, was paid to the similarities of phenomena, than to\ntheir differences. Subsequently to this period, however, the philosophy\nof Dr Reid, and, in general, of the metaphysicians of this part of the\nisland, has had the opposite tendency,--to enlarge, as I conceive, far\nbeyond what was necessary, the number of classes which they considered\nas too limited before;--and, in proportion, more regard has perhaps\nbeen paid to the differences, or supposed differences of phenomena,\nthan to their resemblances. There can be no doubt, at least, that we\nare now accustomed to speak of more powers or operations of the mind,\nthan even the schoolmen themselves, fond as they were of all the nicest\nsubtleties of infinitesimal subdivision.\n\nThe difference in this respect, however, is not so striking, when we\nconsider successions of ages, in which, of course, from our general\nnotion of the effects of time, we are accustomed to expect variety, as\nwhen we look to neighbouring countries at the same period, especially\nif we consider the advantage of that noble art, which might have been\nsupposed, by the wide diffusion which it gives to opinion, to have\nremoved, as to human sentiment, all the boundaries of mere geographic\ndistance. Slight, however, as the distance is which separates the two\ncountries, the philosophy of France, in its views of the phenomena\nof mind, and the philosophy of Britain, particularly of this part of\nBritain, have for more than half a century differed as much, as in\nthe philosophy of different ages; certainly in a degree far greater,\nthan, but for experience, it would have been easy for us to suppose.\nIn France, all the phenomena of mind have been, during that period,\nregarded as sensations, or transformed sensations, that is to say, as\nsensations variously simplified or combined. The works of Condillac,\nwho professed to have founded his system on that of Locke, but who\nevidently did not understand fully what Locke intended, gave the\nprincipal tone to this philosophic belief; and it has been fostered\nsince by that passion for the simple and the wonderful, which, when\nthese two objects can be united, is perhaps the strongest of all our\nintellectual passions. In the system of the French metaphysicians,\nthey are united in a very high degree. That this universal presence of\nsensation, whether true or false, is at least very _simple_, cannot\nbe denied; and there is certainly abundant matter of wonder in the\nsupposed discovery, that all the variety of our internal feelings are\nthose very feelings of a different class, to which they have so little\nappearance of belonging. It is a sort of perpetual masquerade, in which\nwe enjoy the pleasure of recognizing a familiar friend in a variety of\ngrotesque dresses, and the pleasure also of enjoying the mistakes of\nthose around us, who take him for a different person, merely because\nhe has changed his robe and his mask. The fallacy of the doctrine is\nprecisely of that kind, which, if once admitted, is most difficult\nto be shaken off. It relates to a system which is very simple, very\nwonderful, and obviously true in part. Indeed, when there are so many\nactual transformations of our feelings, so many emotions, of which the\nprincipal elements are so little recognizable, in the complex affection\nthat results from them,--the supposition that all the varieties of\nour consciousness may be only modes of one simple class of primary\nfeelings, false as it is, is far from being the most striking example\nwhich the history of our science presents of the extravagance of\nphilosophic conjecture.\n\nThe speculations of the French school of philosophers, to which I have\nnow alluded, as to the supposed universal transmutations of feeling,\nbear, as you can scarcely fail to have remarked, a very obvious\nresemblance, in extreme simplicity, to the speculations of alchemists\non transmutations of another kind. The resemblance is stated with great\nforce by a living French author, himself a metaphysician of no humble\nrank. I allude to a passage which you will find quoted by Mr Stewart,\nin one of the valuable preliminary dissertations of his volume of\nEssays, from a work of De Gerando.\n\n\u201cIt required nothing less,\u201d--says this ingenious writer,--\u201cthan the\nunited splendour of the discoveries brought to light by the new\nchemical school, to tear the minds of men from the pursuit of a\nsimple and primary element; a pursuit renewed in every age, with an\nindefatigable perseverance, and always renewed in vain. With what\nfeelings of contempt would the physiologists of former times have\nlooked down on the chemists of the present age, whose timid and\ncircumscribed system admits nearly _forty_ different principles in\nthe composition of bodies! What a subject of ridicule would the new\nnomenclature have afforded to an alchemist!\n\n\u201cThe Philosophy of Mind has its alchemists also; men whose studies are\ndirected to the pursuit of _one single principle_, into which the whole\nscience may be resolved; and who flatter themselves with the hope of\ndiscovering the _grand secret_, by which the pure gold of truth may be\nproduced at pleasure.\u201d[134]\n\nThis secret of the intellectual _opus magnum_, Condillac conceived\nhimself to have found; or, rather, as I have already said, he ascribed\nthe grand discovery to our own illustrious countryman. In this\nreference the whole school of French metaphysicians have very strangely\nagreed; conferring on Mr Locke a praise which they truly meant to do\nhim honour, but praise which the object of it would have hastened to\ndisclaim. He certainly was _not_ that _alchemist_ in the science of\nmind which they conceived him to be; though he was a _chemist_ in it,\nunquestionably, and a chemist of the highest rank.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[133] D. Heinsius. De Contemptu Mortis, Lib. i.\n\n[134] Chap. I. Sect. ii. p. 15, 16. 4to. Edit.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XXXIII.\n\nON THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE MENTAL PHENOMENA, BY LOCKE--BY\nCONDILLAC--BY REID--A NEW CLASSIFICATION.\n\n\nGentlemen, in the conclusion of my last Lecture, I alluded to the\nsystem of the French metaphysicians, as an instance of error from\n_extreme simplification_ in the analysis of that class of our feelings\nwhich we are now considering.\n\nOf this system,--which deserves some fuller notice, on account both\nof the great talents which have stated and defended it, and of its\nvery wide diffusion,--I may remark, in the first place, that it is\nfar from being, what its author and his followers consider it to be,\na mere developement of the system of our illustrious countryman. On\nthe contrary, they agree with Locke only in one point, and that a\nnegative one,--as to which all philosophers may now be considered as\nunanimous,--the _denial_ of what were termed _innate ideas_. In every\nthing which can be strictly said to be _positive_ in his system, this\ngreat philosopher is nearly as completely opposed to Condillac and his\nfollowers, as to the unintelligible wranglers of the ancient schools.\nTo convince you of this, a very slight statement of the two systems\nwill be sufficient.\n\nAccording to Locke, the mind, to whose existence thought or feeling is\nnot essential, might, but for sensation, have remained forever without\nfeeling of any kind. From _sensation_ we acquire our first _ideas_,--to\nuse a word, which, from its ambiguity I am not very fond of using, but\nwhich, from its constant occurrence, is a very important one in his\nsystem. These ideas we cannot merely remember as past, and compound or\ndecompound them in various ways, but we can compare them in all their\nvariety of relations; and according as their objects are agreeable or\ndisagreeable, can love or hate those objects, and fear or hope their\nreturn. We remember not external things only, so as to have ideas of\nthem,--ideas of sensation,--but we remember also our very _remembrance\nitself_,--our abstractions, comparisons, love, hate, hope, fear, and\nall the varieties of reflex thought, or feeling; and our remembrance\nof these internal feelings, or operations of our mind, furnishes\nanother abundant source of ideas, which he terms ideas of reflection.\nThe _comparison_, however,--and it is this point alone which can be of\nany consequence in reference to the French system,--the comparison, as\na state of the mind, even when it is exercised on our sensations or\nperceptions, is not itself a sensation or perception,--nor is our hope,\nor fear, or any other of our reflex feelings; for then, instead of\nthe two sources of our ideas, the distinction of which forms the very\ngroundwork of the Essay on the Human Understanding, we should truly\nhave but one source, and our ideas of reflection would themselves be\nthe very ideas of sensation to which they are opposed. Our sensations,\nindeed, directly or indirectly give rise to our reflex feelings,\nbut they do not _involve_ them; they are only prior in order,--the\noccasions, on which certain powers or susceptibilities of feeling in\nthe mind evolve themselves.\n\nSuch is the system of Locke, on those very points, on which the French\nphilosophers most strangely profess to regard him as their great\nauthority. But it is surely very different from the system, which they\naffect to found on it. According to them, sensation is not merely that\nprimary affection of mind, which gives occasion to our other feelings,\nbut is itself, as variously composed or decomposed, all the variety\nof our feelings. \u201cIf we consider,\u201d says Condillac, in a paragraph,\nwhich may be said to contain a summary of his whole doctrine, with\nrespect to the mind--\u201cif we consider that to remember, to compare, to\njudge, to distinguish, to imagine, to be astonished, to have abstract\nideas, to have ideas of number and duration, to know truths, whether\ngeneral or particular, are but so many modes of being attentive; that\nto have passions, to love, to hate, to hope, to fear, to will, are but\nso many different modes of desire; and that _attention_, in the one\ncase, and _desire_, in the other case, of which all these feelings\nare modes, are themselves, in their origin, nothing more than modes\nof sensation, we cannot but conclude, that sensation _involves_ in\nitself--_enveloppe_--all the faculties of the soul.\u201d[135]\n\nWhatever we may think of this doctrine, as true or false, ingenious or\nabsurd, it seems, at least, scarcely possible, that we should regard\nit as the doctrine of Locke--of him, who sets out, with a primary\ndivision of our ideas, into two distinct classes, one class of which\nalone belongs to sensation; and who considers even this class of our\nmere ideas, not as involving all the operations of the mind with\nrespect to them, but only as the objects of the mind, in these various\noperations;--as being what we compare, not the very feeling of our\ncomparison itself--the _inducements_ to passion, not what constitutes\nany of our passions, as a state, or series of states, of the mind.\nTo render the paragraph, which I have quoted from Condillac, at all\naccordant with the real doctrine of Locke, it would be necessary to\nreverse it, in almost every proposition which it involves.\n\nThe doctrine, then, as exhibited by Condillac and his followers,\nwhatever merit it may have in itself, or however void it may be of\nmerit of any kind, is _not_ the doctrine of him from whom it is said to\nbe derived. But its agreement or disagreement with the system of any\nother philosopher, is comparatively, of very little consequence. The\ngreat question is, whether it be _just_,--whether it truly have the\nmerit of presenting a faithful picture of the mental phenomena, which\nit professes to develope to us more clearly.\n\nHave we reason to believe, then, that all the various feelings of our\nmind, which form the classification of its internal affections, are\nmerely, to use Condillac's phrase, _transformed sensations_?\n\nTransformed sensations, it is evident, on his own principles, though\nthe phrase might seem vague and ambiguous, in any other system, can\nmean nothing more than sensations more or less lively, or more or less\ncomplex. It cannot signify any thing that is absolutely different or\nsuperadded; for, if there be any thing, in any complex feeling of\nthe mind, which did not originally form a sensation, or a part of a\ncomplex sensation, this addition, however slight, is itself a proof,\nthat all the phenomena of the mind are not mere sensations, variously\nrepeated--that sensation, in short, does not \u201c_involve_\u201d all the\naffections and faculties of the soul.\n\nIs every feeling, then, in the whole series of our varied\nconsciousness, referable, in all its parts, to _sensation_, as its\noriginal source?--not its source merely, in one very evident respect,\nas that which is, in order, truly primary to all our other feelings,\nbut as that which essentially constitutes them all, in the same manner\nas the waters of the fountain are afterwards the very waters which flow\nalong the mead?\n\nTo prove the affirmative of this, it is astonishing, with what\nreadiness Condillac,--who is generally regarded as a nice and subtile\nreasoner, and who certainly, as his work on that subject shows, had\nstudied with attention the great principles of logic,--passes from\nfaculty to faculty, and from emotion to emotion, professing to find\nsensation everywhere, without exhibiting to us even the semblance of\nwhat he seeks, and yet repeating the constant affirmative, that he\n_has_ found it,--as if the frequent repetition, were itself a proof\nof what is frequently repeated,--but proving only that the various\nfeelings of the mind agree, as might be supposed, in being feelings of\nthe mind--not that they agree in being _sensations_, as that word is\nused by himself, and as it is, in common philosophic use, distinguished\nfrom the other more general term. Except the mere frequency of the\naffirmation, and the unquestionable priority in order of time, of our\nsensations to our other feelings,--there is not the slightest evidence,\nin his system, of that universal transmutation which it affirms.\n\nIt may be necessary to mention, that, in these remarks on the system\nof the illustrious preceptor of the Prince of Parma, I allude, in\nparticular, to his Treatise \u201c_of Sensations_,\u201d which contains his\nmore mature opinions on the subject--not to his earlier work, on _the\norigin of human knowledge_, in which he has not ventured on so bold\na simplification; or at least, has not expressed it in language so\nprecise.\n\nThe great error of Condillac, as it appears to me, consists in\nsupposing that, when he has shown the circumstance from which any\neffect _results_, he has shown this result to be essentially the _same_\nwith the circumstance which produced it.\n\nCertain sensations have ceased to exist, certain other feelings have\nimmediately arisen;--these new feelings are therefore _the others_\nunder another shape. Such is the secret, but very false, logic, which\nseems to pervade his whole doctrine on the subject.\n\nIf all that is meant were merely, that whatever may be the varying\nfeelings of the mind, the mind itself, in all this variety, when it\nremembers or compares, hates or loves, is still the same substance,\nas that which saw, heard, smelled, tasted, touched, there could be\nnothing objectionable in the doctrine, but there would then certainly\nbe nothing new in it;--and, instead of thinking either of Locke or of\nCondillac, we might think, at pleasure, in stating such a doctrine\nof any of the innumerable assertors of the spirituality of the\nthinking principle. Such, however, is not the meaning of the French\nmetaphysician. He asserts this identity of substance, indeed, like the\nphilosophers who preceded him, but he asserts still more. It is not the\npermanent substance of _mind_ only which is the same. Its _affections_,\nor states, which seem, in many respects, absolutely different, are\nthe same as those very affections, or states, from which they seem to\ndiffer--and are the _same_, merely because they have succeeded them;\nfor, as I have already said, except the frequency of his affirmation,\nthat they are the same, there is no other evidence but that of the mere\nsuccession in order of time, by which he attempts to substantiate their\nsameness.\n\nThe origin of this false reasoning I conceive to be the analogy of\nMATTER, to which his system, by reducing _all_ the affections of mind\nto that class which is immediately connected with external things,\nmust have led him to pay peculiar attention. Yet, in justice to him,\nI must remark, that, although a system which reduces every feeling to\nmere sensation, and consequently connects every feeling, in its origin,\nwith the qualities of matter, must be favourable to materialism,\nand has unquestionably fostered this, in a very high degree, in the\nFrench school of metaphysics, there is no reason to consider Condillac\nhimself as a materialist; on the contrary, his works contain many very\njust remarks on the errors of materialism. But still his system, as I\nhave said, by leading him continually to our organs of sense, and to\nthe objects which act upon them, must have rendered the phenomena of\nmatter peculiarly apt to recur to his mind in all its speculations.\nNow, in _matter_, there can be no question as to the reality of that\ntransmutation, which, as applied to mind, forms the chief principle\nof his intellectual analysis. In the chemistry of the material\nelements, the compounds are the very elements themselves. When any\ntwo substances, present together, vanish as it were from our view,\nand a third substance, whether like or unlike to either of the former,\npresents itself in their place, we believe this third substance,\nhowever dissimilar it may appear, to be only the coexistence of the two\nothers; and indeed, since we have no reason to believe that any change\ntakes place, in the number of the corpuscles of which our planet is\ncomposed, the whole series of its corpuscular changes can be only new\ncombinations of particles that existed before.\n\nThe doctrine of Pythagoras, in its application to the material world,\nis in this respect philosophically accurate:\n\n Tempus edax rerum, tuque invidiosa vetustas\n Omnia destruitis, vitiataque dentibus \u00e6vi\n Paulatim lenta consumitis omnia morte.\n Nec species sua cuique manet; rerumque novatrix\n Ex aliis alias reparat natura figuras.\n Nec perit in toto quicquam, mihi credite, mundo,\n Sed variat faciemque novat; _nascique_ vocatur\n Incipere esse aliud quam quod fuit ante,--_morique_\n Desinere illud idem. Cum sint hue forsitan illa,\n H\u00e6c translata illuc, summa tamen omnia constant.[136]\n\nWith respect to the mere elements of matter, therefore, the _present_\nmay be said, and truly said, to be exactly the _past_; and, in the\nwhole series of phenomena of the material universe, from the moment of\nits creation to this present moment, there has been nothing new, but\nmere changes of relative position. This absolute sameness of result,\nin all the apparent changes of matter, Condillac applies, by a most\nunwarrantable extension, to the mere affections of the mind; and,\nbecause two affections of mind are followed by a third, he considers\nthis _third_ to be the two former _co-existing_, or, as he terms it,\n_transformed_. The feeling which follows another feeling, however\nseemingly different, is thus, in his system, the same, because it\nresults from it; and it is very easy for him, in this way, to prove\n_all_ our feelings to be _sensations_, by this simplest of arguments,\nthat sensation was the first state induced in mind, and that, hence,\nsince all our other feelings, of every species, must have followed\nit, they must have originated in it, and therefore, been this very\nsensation under a mere change of form. It is number one of the long\nseries; and, if number two be a transformed sensation, because it\nresults from number one, which was a sensation, number three must be\nequally so, because it follows number two; and thus, successively,\nthe whole series. I perceive a hare; I perceive a sheep:--each of\nthese separate states of my mind is a sensation. I cannot attend to\nthem long, he says, without comparing them, and perceiving those\ncircumstances of agreement, which lead me to apply to both the word\nquadruped. All this is most indubitably true. It is impossible, or,\nat least, it is not very common for us to observe any two animals\nlong, together, without thinking of some of the circumstances in\nwhich they agree or differ. The one state of mind is a consequence of\nthe other state of mind. But this is far from proving the comparison\nitself, as a subsequent state or phenomenon of the mind, to be the\nsame mental state as the mere perception of the two animals which\nsimply preceded it. If the evidence of our consciousness is to be\ntrusted, it is very different; and in what other evidence can the\nassertion of their sameness be founded? We do not feel the state of\nmind, which constitutes the comparison, to be virtually equal to\nthe two states of mind which constituted the separate perception,\nas we feel the relation of virtual equality between our notion of\nthe number eight, and our notions of six and two combined; the one\nfeeling does not _virtually_ comprehend the two others, and it surely\ndoes not comprehend them in any grosser physical sense; for there\ncertainly is nothing in the absolute spiritual unity of our thinking\nprinciple which can lead us to believe that the state or affection of\nmind which constitutes the perception of a horse, and the state or\naffection of mind which constitutes the perception of a sheep, unite,\nin that different state or affection of mind, which constitutes the\ncomparison of the two, in the same manner as the solid chrystals of\nany salt unite, in solution, with the liquid which dissolves them.\nThey do not involve or constitute, they merely give occasion to\nthis third state, and give occasion to it, merely in consequence of\nthe peculiar susceptibilities of the mind itself, as formed, by its\ndivine Author, to be affected in this particular manner, after being\naffected in those different manners, which constitute the separate\nperceptions, as sensation itself, the primary feeling, was made, to\ndepend on some previous organic affection produced by an external\nobject. It is not, therefore, as being susceptible of _mere sensation_,\nbut as being susceptible of _more_ than mere sensation, that the mind\nis able to compare its sensations with each other. We may see, and\ncertainly do see, objects together, without forming uniformly the\nsame comparison; which could not be the case if the mere coexistence\nof the two perceptions constituted or involved the comparison itself.\nIn the case of a _horse_ and _sheep_, for example, though these, in\nthe sensations which they excite, cannot, at different times, be\nvery different, we compare, at different times, their colour, their\nforms, their magnitudes, their functions, and the uses to which we\nput them, and we consider them as related in various other ways. The\nperceptions being the same, the comparisons, or subsequent feelings\nof relation, are different; and though the relation cannot be felt\nbut when both objects are considered together, it is truly no part of\nthe perception of each. According to the French system, the science,\nwhich we now strangely regard as of difficult acquirement, would be\nnothing more than the mere opening of our eyes. Were we to shew to a\npeasant, absolutely unacquainted with the very elements of geometry,\n_diagrams_ representing two right angles, and a plane triangle, he\nmight certainly, though he could not give them names, perceive these\nfigures as clearly as the most expert mathematician. Every thing which\nmere sensation could produce, in this case, would be the same in both;\nand nothing can be added to this primary sensation, since every thing\nis said to be actually involved in the sensation itself. Yet, with all\nhis accurate perception of the figures, however clear, and vivid, and\nlasting, the peasant would not find, in this immediate perception, the\n_equality_ of the two right angles taken together to the three angles\nof the triangle, or any other geometrical relation. The comparison,\nthen, and the belief of an universal truth of proportion, which\nresults from that comparison, are certainly something more than the\nmere sensation itself. They are, in short, new states of mind, as\ndistinct from the mere perception of the figures in the diagram, as the\nperception of a circle itself differs from the perception of a square.\nTo compare one animal with another, is, indeed, to have different\nvisual images; but the mere coexistence of visual images is only a\ngroup, larger, or smaller, as the images are more or fewer, and all\nwhich transformation can do is to add to this group or take away from\nit. Innumerable objects may be, and are, continually present to us _at\nonce_, so as to produce one complex affection of mind,--fields, groves,\nmountains, streams,--but the mere _coexistence_ of these, so as to form\nin our thought one scene, involves no feeling of comparison; and if the\nmind had not been susceptible of other affections than those of sense,\nor of mere remembrance of the past objects of sense, either in whole or\nin part, it might, when such a scene was present, have existed forever\nin the state which forms the complex perception of the scene, without\nthe slightest notion of the RELATION of its parts to the whole, or to\neach other.\n\nWhen I thus attempt to prove, by so many wearying arguments, that the\nfeeling which constitutes our comparison of our sensations, or, in\nother words, our belief of their agreement or disagreement, is itself\na state of mind, different from either of the separate sensations\nwhich we compare, and different from both, as merely coexisting, I\ncannot but feel, what many of you have probably felt already, as if I\nwere labouring to demonstrate a mere truism. Indeed, when I consider\nthe argument as any thing more, it is necessary for me to call to\nmind the great name, and great talents, of the author whose system I\noppose,--the praise which the system has received, of extreme subtlety\nof analysis, combined with extreme simplicity, and its wide diffusion,\nas the universal, or nearly universal, metaphysical creed, of one of\nthe most enlightened nations of Europe.\n\nBut for these remembrances, I must confess, that the system which\nsupposes our comparison to be the ideas compared, and nothing more,\nas if these had flowed together into one, would appear to me to\ncorrespond almost exactly with an ironical theory of the same process,\nand, indeed, of all the intellectual processes, proposed in our own\ncountry,--not in the Essay on Human Understanding, but in a very\ndifferent work,--a theory which supposes comparison, or judgment, to be\nonly the _conflux_ of two ideas, in one _propositional canal_.\n\n\u201cSimple ideas are produced by the motion of the spirits in one simple\ncanal: when two of these canals disembogue themselves into one, they\nmake what we call a proposition: and when two of these propositional\nchannels empty themselves into a third, they form a syllogism, or a\nratiocination. Memory is performed in a distinct apartment of the\nbrain, made up of vessels similar, and like situated to the ideal,\npropositional, and syllogistical vessels, in the primary parts of the\nbrain. After the same manner, it is easy to explain the other modes of\nthinking; as also why some people think so wrong and perversely, which\nproceeds from the bad configuration of those glands. Some, for example,\nare born without the propositional or syllogistical canals; in others,\nthat reason ill, they are of unequal capacities; in dull fellows, of\ntoo great a length, whereby the motion of the spirits is retarded; in\ntrifling geniuses, weak and small; in the over-refining spirits, too\nmuch intorted and winding; and so of the rest.\u201d[137]\n\nIn examining the system of Condillac, which must certainly be allowed\nto bear a considerable resemblance to this system, I have instanced the\nfeeling of relation, in comparison, merely as being one of the simplest\nexamples which I could select. I might, with equal reason, have\ninstanced other states of mind; in particular, all the variety of our\nemotions,--_astonishment_ or _desire_, for example, which are as little\nsensations, in the philosophical meaning of the term, as they are fear\nor sorrow. The feeling of pleasure, in all its degrees of vividness\nor faintness, is a state of mind very different from that which\nconstitutes desire of the recurrence of its object; for, otherwise, the\ndesire would be itself the very gratification, which it supposes to be\nabsent. It is induced, indeed, by the remembrance of the pleasure; but\nit is a consequence of the remembrance, not a part of it. It is like\nthat general activity of life, to which amid the mild breathings of\nspring, the torpid animal awakes, that, in continual winter would have\nslumbered forever in insensibility,--or, like the bud, which, without\nwarmth and moisture, never could have burst from the leafless stem; but\nwhich is still, in itself, something very different from the sunshine\nand the shower.\n\nIt seems to me not improbable, that the error of Condillac, and of the\nother French metaphysicians, who have adopted his leading doctrine,\nmay have arisen in part, or, at least, may have escaped detection\nmore readily, from the ambiguous signification of the word _sentir_,\nwhich is a verb originally, indeed, and strictly expressive of mere\nsensation; but applied also, by a sort of metaphorical extension, to\nour emotions and other affections of mind, that do not originate\ndirectly like sensation, in an external cause. Though this mere\narbitrary word, however, may be applicable to a variety of feelings,\nit does not, therefore, follow, that these are all modifications of\nthat small class of feelings, to which the word was, in its primary\nsense, confined,--any more than from the still wider use, in our\nlanguage, of the term _feeling_, as applicable to all the states of\nthe mind, it would follow, that these are all modes of affection of\nour sense of touch. Still, however, I cannot but think, that, if the\nterm _sentir_ had been of less vague application, a mind, so acute as\nthat of Condillac, could not have failed to discover, in the imaginary\nproof which he offers of the intellectual transmutations of his simple\nand universal principles, those unwarrantable assumptions, which, even\nto humbler minds, seem so obvious, as scarcely to require for the\ndetection of them, many moments' thought.\n\nThese observations, I flatter myself, have shown sufficiently the error\nof the system, which would convert all our feelings into _sensations_,\nin some indescribable state of metamorphosis. The system, I confess,\nappears to me a very striking example of an extreme, into which we are\nmore apt to fall, from the very false notion, that it is characteristic\nof philosophic genius,--the extreme of excessive simplification,--which\nis evil, not merely as being false in itself, but, I may remark also,\nas being productive of the very confusion, to which simplicity is\nsupposed to be adverse. When we think of love, or hate, or fear, or\nhope, as fundamentally and truly nothing more than affections of\nexternal sense, we try to recognize the original sensations of smell,\ntaste, hearing, touch, and sight, which have been transformed into\nthem; but we try in vain to recognize what is essentially _different_,\nand lose ourselves, therefore, in the attempt. We perceive every thing,\nas it were, through a mist, which it is impossible for our vision\nto penetrate, and we are at least as much perplexed by having only\none object to seek amid the multitude, as if we considered all the\nphenomena of mind, without any classification whatever.\n\nBefore closing this slight review of the theory of transformed\nsensations, I must remark, that, even though it were strictly true,\nthat all the feelings of the mind, if considered simply as feelings of\nthe mind, are mere sensations varied or transformed by some strange\ninternal process, undescribed and indescribable,--still, in conformity\nwith every just principle of philosophizing, it would be necessary to\nform two classes of these mental phenomena, corresponding with the\nprimary classification which we have made of them. That the mind should\nbegin immediately to exist in a certain state, in consequence of the\npresence of external objects, so that it would not, at that moment,\nhave existed in that state, but for the presence of the external\nobject, is a proof of one set of laws, which connect mind directly and\nimmediately with matter. That it should afterwards begin to exist in a\nsimilar state, without the recurrence of any external cause whatever,\nin consequence of its own susceptibilities only, is a proof of another\nset of laws peculiar to the mind itself. The complete difference of\nthe cause, in the two instances, would justify, or rather require a\ndifferent arrangement of the effect; as, when the same motion of a\npiece of iron is produced, at one time by impulse, at another by the\npresence of a magnet, at another by its mere gravity, we consider the\nmotion, though itself the same in velocity and direction, as referable\nto different physical powers. With the same states of mind variously\nproduced, we should still have to speak of external and internal mental\nsusceptibilities of affection, as, with the same motions of a piece of\niron variously produced, we speak of magnetism, impulse, gravitation.\n\nThe very celebrated system which I have now been combating,--a system,\nwhich, by the universality of transmutation supposed in it, truly\ndeserves the name of _intellectual alchymy_,--may then be regarded\nas exemplifying one species of error in arrangement,--the error of\na simplification beyond what the phenomena allow. This species of\nerror, in the philosophy of mind, has not prevailed very generally in\nour country,--by far the more general tendency, especially on this\npart of the island, being to _excessive amplification_. Instead of\nwasting the labour of our analysis on elements that do not admit of\nany further decomposition, we have given up this labour too soon, and\nhave classed, in many cases, as ultimate principles, what appear to me\nto be susceptible of still nicer analysis. The phenomena of mind are,\naccordingly, in the general technical language of the science, referred\nby us to many powers, which I cannot but think, are not so different as\nto furnish ground of ultimate distinction, but are truly only varieties\nof a few more simple powers or susceptibilities.\n\nWhile I am far from conceiving, therefore, with Condillac and his\nfollowers, that all our states of mind are mere sensations modified or\ntransformed, since this belief appears to me to be a mere assumption\nwithout even the slightest evidence in our consciousness, I am equally\nunwilling to admit the variety of powers, of which Dr Reid speaks. In\none sense, indeed, the susceptibilities, or powers, which the mind\npossesses, may be said, with propriety, to be still more numerous,--as\nnumerous as its feelings themselves,--for it must never be forgotten,\nthat what we term classes, are only words of our own invention,--that\nthe feelings which we arrange as belonging to one class, are truly\ndifferent in themselves, precisely in the same manner as the feelings\narranged in different classes are reciprocally different,--that each\nfeeling is, and must be, indicative of a peculiar susceptibility\nof being affected in that particular manner,--and that the mind\nhas, therefore, truly, as many susceptibilities, as, in various\ncircumstances, it can have different feelings. But still, when we\narrange these different phenomena in certain classes, it is an error in\nclassification to give a new name to varieties that can be referred to\nother parts of the division already made; and it is on this account I\nobject to the unnecessary amplification of our intellectual systems, in\narranging the phenomena of mind under so many powers as those of which\nwe are accustomed to speak.\n\nOur various states or affections of the mind, I have already divided\ninto two classes, according to the nature of the circumstances which\nprecede them,--the _External_ and the _Internal_,--and this latter\nclass into two orders,--our _Intellectual States of Mind_, and our\n_Emotions_. It is with the intellectual phenomena that we are at\npresent concerned; and this order I would arrange under two generic\ncapacities, that appear to me to comprehend or exhaust the phenomena\nof the order. The whole order, as composed of feelings, which arise\nimmediately, in consequence of certain former feelings of the mind,\nmay be technically termed, in reference to these feelings which have\ninduced them, Suggestions; but, in the suggested feelings themselves,\nthere is one striking difference. If we analyse our trains of\nintellectual thought exclusively of the _Emotions_ which may coexist or\nmingle with them, and of sensations that may be accidentally excited\nby external objects, we shall find them to be composed of two very\ndistinct sets of feelings,--one set of which are mere conceptions or\nimages of the past, that rise, image after image, in regular sequence,\nbut simply in succession, without any feeling of relation necessarily\ninvolved,--while the perceptions of relation, in the various objects\nof our thought, form another set of feelings, of course as various as\nthe relations perceived. Conceptions and relations,--it is with these,\nand with these alone, that we are intellectually conversant. There is\nthus an evident ground for the arrangement of the internal suggestions,\nthat form our trains of thought, under two heads, according as the\nfeeling excited directly by some former feeling, may be either a simple\nconception, in its turn, perhaps, giving place to some other conception\nas transient; or may be the feeling of a relation which two or more\nobjects of our thought are considered by us as bearing to each other.\nThere is, in short, in the mind, a capacity of _association_; or as,\nfor reasons afterwards to be stated, I would rather term it,--the\ncapacity of _Simple Suggestion_,--by which feelings, formerly existing,\nare revived, in consequence of the mere existence of other feelings,\nas there is also a capacity of feeling resemblance, difference,\nproportion, or relation in general, when two or more external\nobjects, or two or more feelings of the mind itself, are considered\nby us,--which mental capacity in distinction from the former, I would\nterm the capacity of _Relative Suggestion_; and of these simple and\nrelative suggestions, our whole intellectual trains of thought are\ncomposed. As I am no lover of new phrases, when the old can be used\nwithout danger of mistake, I would very willingly, substitute for\nthe phrase relative suggestion, the term _comparison_, which is more\nfamiliar, and expresses very nearly the same meaning. But comparison,\nthough it involve the feeling of relation, seems to me also to imply\na voluntary seeking for some relation, which is far from necessary to\nthe mere internal suggestion or feeling of the relation itself. The\n_resemblance_ of two objects strikes me, indeed, when I am studiously\ncomparing them; but it strikes me also, with not less force, on many\nother occasions, when I had not previously been forming the slightest\nintentional comparison. I prefer, therefore, a term which is applicable\nalike to both cases, when a relation is sought, and when it occurs,\nwithout any search or desire of finding it.\n\nThe term _judgment_, in its strict philosophic sense, as the mere\nperception of relation, is more exactly synonymous with the phrase\nwhich I have employed, and might have been substituted with safety,\nif the vulgar use of the term, in many vague significations, had not\ngiven some degree of indistinctness even to the philosophical use of\nit. I may remark, too, that in our works of logic and intellectual\nphysiology, _judgment_ and _reasoning_ are usually discussed\nseparately, as if there were some essential difference of their nature;\nand, therefore, since I include them both, in the relative suggestions\nof which I shall afterwards have to treat, it seems advisable, not to\nemploy for the whole, a name which is already appropriated, and very\ngenerally limited, to a part. As the rise in the mind of the feeling\nof relation, from the mere perception or conception of objects, is,\nhowever, what I mean to denote by the phrase _Relative Suggestion_;\nand as _judgment_, in its strictest sense, is nothing more than this\nfeeling of relation,--of any two or more objects, considered by us\ntogether,--I shall make no scruple, to use the shorter and more\nfamiliar term, as _synonymous_, when there can be no danger of its\nbeing misunderstood.\n\nThe intellectual states of the mind, then, to give a brief\nillustration of my division, I consider as all referable to two\ngeneric susceptibilities,--those of _Simple Suggestion_ and _Relative\nSuggestion_. Our perception or conception of one object excites,\nof itself, and without any known cause, external to the mind, the\nconception of some other object, as when the mere sound of our friend's\nname, suggests to us the conception of our friend himself,--in which\ncase, the conception of our friend, which follows the perception of the\nsound, involves no feeling of any common property, with the sound which\nexcites it, but is precisely the same state of mind, which might have\nbeen induced, by various other previous circumstances, by the sight of\nthe chair on which he sat,--of the book which he read to us,--of the\nlandscape which he painted. This is _Simple Suggestion_.\n\nBut, together with this capacity of Simple Suggestion, by which\nconception after conception arises in the mind,--precisely in the same\nmanner, and in the same state, as each might have formed a part of\nother trains, and in which the particular state of mind that arises by\nsuggestion does not necessarily involve any consideration of the state\nof mind which preceded it,--there is a suggestion of a very different\nsort, which, in every case, involves the consideration, not of one\nphenomenon of mind, but of two or more phenomena, and which constitutes\nthe feeling of agreement, disagreement, or relation of some sort. I\nperceive, for example, a horse and a sheep at the same moment. The\nperception of the two is followed by that different state of mind which\nconstitutes the feeling of their agreement in certain respects, or of\ntheir disagreement in certain other respects. I think of the square of\nthe hypotenuse of a rightangled triangle, and of the squares of the\ntwo other sides;--I feel the relation of equality. I see a dramatic\nrepresentation; I listen to the cold conceits which the author of the\ntragedy, in his omnipotent command over warriors and lovers of his own\ncreation, gives to his hero, in his most impassioned situations;--I am\ninstantly struck with their unsuitableness to the character and the\ncircumstances. All the intellectual successions of feeling, in these\ncases, which constitute the perception of relation, differ from the\nresults of simple suggestion in necessarily involving the consideration\nof two or more objects or affections of mind that immediately preceded\nthem. I may think of my friend, in the case of simple suggestion,--that\nis to say, my mind may exist in the state which constitutes the\nconception of my friend, without that previous state which constitutes\nthe perception of the sound of his name; for the conception of him\nmay be suggested by various objects and remembrances. But I cannot,\nin the cases of relative suggestion, think of the resemblance of a\nhorse and a sheep; of the proportion of the squares of the sides of a\nright-angled triangle; or of the want of the truth of nature in the\nexpressions of a dramatic hero, without those previous states of mind,\nwhich constitute the conceptions of a horse and a sheep--of the sides\nof the triangle,--or of the language of the warrior or lover, and the\ncircumstances of triumph, or hope, or despair, in which he is exhibited\nto us by the creative artist.\n\nWith these two capacities of suggested feelings, simple and relative,\nwhich are all that truly belong to the class of intellectual states\nof the mind,--various emotions may concur, particularly that most\ngeneral of all emotions, the emotion of desire, in some one or other\nof its various forms. According as this desire does or does not\nconcur with them, the intellectual states themselves appear to be\ndifferent; and, by those who do not make the necessary analysis, are\nsupposed, therefore, to be indicative of different powers. By simple\nsuggestion, the images of things, persons, events, pass in strange\nand rapid succession; and a variety of names, expressive of different\npowers,--conception, association, memory,--have been given to this one\nsimple law of our intellectual nature. But, when we _wish_ to remember\nsome object; that is to say, when we wish our mind to be affected\nin that particular manner, which constitutes the conception of a\nparticular thing, or person, or event,--or when we wish to combine new\nimages, in some picture of fancy, this coexistence of desire, with the\nsimple course of suggestion, which continues still to follow its own\nlaws, as much as when no desire existed with it,--seems to us to render\nthe suggestion itself different; and recollection, and imagination or\nfancy, which are truly, as we shall afterwards find, nothing more than\nthe union of the suggested conceptions, with certain specific permanent\ndesires, are to us, as it were, distinct additional powers of our mind,\nand are so arranged in the systems of philosophers, who have not made\nthe very simple analysis, which alone seems to me to be necessary for a\nmore precise arrangement.\n\nIn like manner, those suggestions of another class, which constitute\nour notions of proportion, resemblance, difference, and all the variety\nof relations, may, as I have already remarked, arise, when we have had\nno previous desire of tracing the relations, or may arise _after_ that\nprevious desire. But, when the feelings of relation seem to us to arise\nspontaneously, they are not in themselves, different from the feelings\nof relation, that arise, in our intentional comparisons or judgments,\nin the longest series of ratiocination. Of such ratiocination, they are\ntruly the most important elements. The permanent desire of discovering\nsomething unknown, or of establishing, or confuting, or illustrating,\nsome point of belief or conjecture, may coexist, indeed, with the\ncontinued series of relations that are felt, but does not alter the\nnature of that law, by which these judgments, or relative suggestions,\nsucceed each other.\n\nThere is no power to be found, but only the union of certain\nintellectual states of the mind, with certain desires,--a species of\ncombination not more wonderful in itself, than any other complex mental\nstate, as when we, at the same moment, see and smell a rose,--or listen\nto the voice of a friend, who has been long absent from us, and see,\nat the same moment, that face of affection, which is again giving\nconfidence to our heart, and gladness to our very eyes.\n\nOur intellectual states of mind, then, are either those resemblances\nof past affections of the mind, which arise by _simple_ suggestion,\nor those feelings of relation, which arise by what I have termed\n_relative_ suggestions,--the one set resulting, indeed, from some prior\nstates of the mind, but not involving necessarily, any consideration of\nthese previous states of mind, which suggested them,--the other set,\nnecessarily, involving the consideration of two or more objects, or two\nor more affections of mind, as subjects of the relation which is felt.\n\nHow readily all the intellectual states of mind, which are commonly\nascribed to a variety of powers, may be reduced to those two, will\nappear more clearly, after we have considered and illustrated the\nphenomena of each set.\n\nI shall proceed, therefore, in the first place, to the phenomena of\n_simple suggestion_, which are usually referred to a principle of\nassociation in our ideas.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[135] Traite des Sensations, Part I. Chap. vii. Sect. 2.\n\n[136] Ovid. Metamorph. Lib. XV. v. 234-6, and 252-8.\n\n[137] Mart. Scrib. c. xii.\n\n\n\n\nLECTURE XXXIV.\n\nCLASSIFICATION OF THE INTERNAL AFFECTIONS OF MIND, CONTINUED,--ON\nSIMPLE SUGGESTION,--ADVANTAGES RESULTING FROM THE PRINCIPLE OF\nSUGGESTION,--ON MR HUME'S CLASSIFICATION OF THE CAUSES OF ASSOCIATE\nFEELINGS.\n\n\nGentlemen, my general arrangement of the various phenomena, or states\nof the mind, is, I trust, now sufficiently familiar to you. We know the\nmind only in the succession of these states, as they vary, from moment\nto moment; and you have learned to class them, as, in the first place,\nExternal or Internal Affections, according as the mental changes of\nstate that are induced, have arisen immediately from the presence of\nexternal objects, or from some preceding state of the mind itself,--and\nthe latter of these classes, you have learned also to subdivide into\nits two distinct orders of _Intellectual States of the Mind_ and\n_Emotions_. Thus far we have proceeded, I trust, without much risk of\nmisconception.\n\nIn my last Lecture, I proceeded to consider the former of these orders,\nand arranged all the variety of our Intellectual States of Mind\nunder two generic capacities,--those of _Simple_ and of _Relative_\nsuggestion. Intellectually, we conceive or we judge; our _past_\nfeelings, in _Simple Suggestion_, of image after image, arise again,\nin colours more or less faint, without any known cause exterior to\nthe mind. By our capacity of the other species of Suggestion, we are\nimpressed with feelings of a different order, that arise when two or\nmore objects are contemplated together,--feelings of their agreement,\nproportion, or some one or other of the variety of their relations. Of\nthese two orders of feelings, and of these alone, consists the whole\nvaried tissue of our trains of thought. All the intellectual powers, of\nwhich writers on this branch of science speak, are, as we shall find,\nonly modes of these two, as they exist simply, or as they exist in\ncombination with some desire more or less permanent,--with the desire\nof prosecuting a continued inquiry, for example, or of evolving its\nresults to others,--as in the long series of our ratiocination; or of\nframing some splendid succession of images and incidents, as in the\nmagic pictures of poetry and romance. The simplification may, perhaps,\nat present appear to you excessive; but I flatter myself, that after\nthe two generic capacities themselves shall have been fully considered\nby us, it will not appear to you more than is absolutely necessary for\naccuracy of analysis and arrangement.\n\n\nSIMPLE SUGGESTION.\n\nThe intellectual phenomena which we are, in the first place, to\nconsider, then, are those of Simple Suggestion, which are usually\nclassed under the general term of the _Association of Ideas_,--a term\nemployed to denote that tendency of the mind, by which feelings,\nthat were formerly excited by an external cause, arise afterwards,\nin regular successions to each other, as it were spontaneously, or\nat least without the immediate presence of any known external cause.\nThe limitation of the term, however, to those states of mind, which\nare exclusively denominated ideas, has, I conceive, tended greatly to\nobscure the subject, or at least to deprive us of the aid which we\nmight have received from it in the analysis of many of the most complex\nphenomena. The influence of the associating principle itself extends,\nnot to ideas only, but to every species of affection of which the mind\nis susceptible. Our internal joys, sorrows, and all the variety of our\nemotions, are capable of being revived in a certain degree by the mere\ninfluence of this principle, and of blending with the ideas or other\nfeelings which awakened them, in the same manner as our conceptions of\nexternal things. These last, however, it must be admitted, present the\nmost striking and obvious examples of the influence of the principle,\nand are, therefore, the fittest for illustrating it. The faint and\nshadowy elements of past emotions, as mingling in any present feeling,\nit may not be easy to distinguish; but our remembrances of things\nwithout are clear and definite, and are easily recognized by us as\nimages of the past. We have seen, in the history of our senses, by\nwhat admirable means Nature has provided for communicating to man\nthose first rude elements of knowledge, which are afterwards to be the\nmaterials of his sublimest speculations,--and with what still more\nadmirable goodness she has ministered to his pleasure in these primary\nelements of thought, and in the very provision which she has formed\nfor the subsistence of his animal frame,--making the organs by which\nhe becomes acquainted with the properties of external things, not the\nfountain of knowledge only, but an ever-mingling source of enjoyment\nand instruction.\n\nIt is through the medium of perception, as we have seen,--that is\nto say, through the medium of those _sensitive capacities_ already\nso fully considered by us,--that we acquire our knowledge of the\nproperties of external things. But if our knowledge of these properties\nwere limited to the moment of perception, and were extinguished forever\nwith the fading sensation from which it sprang, the acquisition of this\nfugitive knowledge would be of little value. We should still, indeed,\nbe sensible of the momentary pleasure or pain; but all experience of\nthe past, and all that confidence in the regular successions of future\nevents, which flows from experience of the past, would of course, be\nexcluded by universal and instant forgetfulness. In such circumstances,\nif the common wants of our animal nature remained, it is evident, that\neven life itself, in its worst and most miserable state, could not be\nsupported; since, though oppressed with thirst and hunger, and within\nreach of the most delicious fruits and the most plentiful spring-water,\nwe should still suffer without any knowledge of the means by which the\nsuffering could be remedied. Even if, by some provision of Nature, our\nbodily constitution had been so framed, as to require no supply of\nsubsistence, or if, instinctively and without reflection, we had been\nled on the first impulse of appetite, to repair our daily waste, and to\nshelter ourselves from the various causes of physical injury to which\nwe are exposed, though our animal life might then have continued to be\nextended to as long a period as at present, still, if but a succession\nof momentary sensations, it would have been one of the lowest forms\nof mere animal life. It is only as capable of looking before and\nbehind,--that is to say, as capable of those spontaneous suggestions\nof thought which constitute _remembrance_ and _foresight_,--that we\nrise to the dignity of intellectual being, and that man can be said\nto be the image of that Purest of Intellects, who looks backward and\nforward, in a single glance, not on a few years only, but on all the\nages of eternity. \u201cDeum te scito esse,\u201d says Cicero, in allusion to\nthese powers,--\u201cDeum te scito esse, siquidem Deus est, qui viget, qui\nsentit,--qui meminit, qui pr\u00e6videt, qui tam regit et moderatur et movet\nid corpus, cui pr\u00e6positus est, quam hunc mundum princeps ille Deus.\u201d\n\n \u201cWere it not so, the Soul, all dead and lost,\n As the fix'd stream beneath the impassive frost,[138]\n Form'd for no end, and impotent to please,\n Would lie inactive on the couch of ease;\n And, heedless of proud fame's immortal lay,\n Sleep all her dull divinity away.\u201d[139]\n\nWithout any remembrance of pleasures formerly enjoyed, or of sorrows\nlong past and long endured,--looking on the persons and scenes\nwhich had surrounded us from the first moment of our birth, as if\nthey were objects altogether unknown to us,--incapable even of as\nmuch reasoning as still gleams through the dreadful stupor of the\nmaniac,--or of conveying even that faint expression of thought with\nwhich the rudest savages, in the rudest language, are still able to\nhold some communication of their passions or designs;--such, but for\nthat capacity which we are considering, would have been the deplorable\npicture of the whole human race. What is now revered by us as the\nmost generous and heroic virtue, or the most profound and penetrating\ngenius, would have been nothing more than this wretchedness and\nimbecility. It is _the suggesting principle_, the reviver of thoughts\nand feelings which have passed away, that gives value to all our other\npowers and susceptibilities, intellectual and moral--not indeed, by\nproducing them, for, though unevolved, they would still, as latent\ncapacities, be a part of the original constitution of our spiritual\nnature,--but by rousing them into action, and furnishing them with\nthose accumulating and inexhaustible materials, which are to be the\nelements of future thought and the objects of future emotion. Every\ntalent by which we excel, and every vivid feeling which animates\nus, derive their energy from the suggestions of this ever-active\nprinciple. We love and hate,--we desire and fear,--we use means for\nobtaining good, and avoiding evil,--because we remember the objects and\noccurrences which we have formerly observed, and because the future, in\nthe similarity of the successions which it presents, appears to us only\na prolongation of the past.\n\nIn conferring on us the capacity of these spontaneous suggestions,\nthen, Heaven has much more than doubled our existence; for, without it,\nand consequently without those faculties and emotions which involve\nit, existence would scarcely have been desirable. The very importance\nof the benefits which we derive from it, however, renders us perhaps\nless sensible of its value; since it is so mingled, with all our\nknowledge, and all our plans of action, that we find it difficult to\nconceive a state of sentient being, of which it is not a part, and\nto estimate, consequently, at a just amount, the advantage which it\naffords. The _future memory of perception_ seems to us almost implied\nin perception itself; and to speculate on that strange state of\nexistence which would have been the condition of man, if he had been\nformed without the power of remembrance, and capable only of a series\nof sensations, has, at first, an appearance almost of absurdity and\ncontradiction, as if we were imagining conditions which were in their\nnature incompatible. Yet, assuredly, if it were possible for us to\nconsider such a subject _a priori_, the real cause of wonder would\nappear to be, not in the _absence_ of the suggestions of memory, as in\nthe case, imagined, but in that remembrance of which we have the happy\nexperience. When a feeling, of the existence of which consciousness\nfurnishes the only evidence, has passed away so completely, that not\neven the slightest consciousness of it remains, it would surely,--but\nfor that experience,--be more natural to suppose that it had perished\naltogether, than that it should, at the distance of many years, without\nany renewal of it by the external cause which originally produced it,\nagain start, as it were of itself, into being. To foresee that which\nhas not yet begun to exist, is, in itself, scarcely more unaccountable,\nthan to see as it were before us, what has wholly ceased to exist. The\npresent moment is all of which we are conscious, and which can strictly\nbe said to have a real existence, in relation to ourselves. That mode\nof time, which we call the _past_, and that other mode of time, which\nwe call the _future_, are both equally unexisting. That the knowledge\nof either should be added to us, so as to form a part of our present\nconsciousness, is a gift of Heaven, most beneficial to us indeed, but\nmost mysterious, and equally, or nearly equally mysterious, whether\nthe unexisting time, of which the knowledge is indulged to us, be the\nfuture or the past.\n\nThe advantage which we derive from the principle of suggestion, it\nmust, however, be remarked, consists, not in its mere revival of\nthoughts and feelings, of which we had before been conscious, but in\nits revival of these in a certain order. If past objects and events\nhad been suggested to us again, not in that series, in which they\nhad formerly occurred, nor according to any of those relations,\nwhich human discernment has been able to discover among them, but\nin endless confusion and irregularity, the knowledge thus acquired,\nhowever gratifying as a source of mere variety of feeling, would avail\nus little, or rather would be wholly profitless, not merely in our\nspeculative inquiries as philosophers, but in the simplest actions\nof common life. It is quite evident, that, in this case, we should\nbe altogether unable to turn our experience to account, as a mode\nof avoiding future evil or obtaining future good; because, for this\napplication of our knowledge, it would be requisite that events, before\nobserved, should occur to us, at the time, when similar events might be\nexpected. We refrain from tasting the poisonous berry, which we have\nknown to be the occasion of death to him who tasted it; because the\nmere _sight_ of it brings again before us the fatal event, which we\nhave heard or witnessed. We satisfy our appetite with a salutary fruit,\nwithout the slightest apprehension; because its familiar appearance\nrecals to us the refreshment, which we have repeatedly received. But,\nif these suggestions were reversed,--if the agreeable images of health\nand refreshment were all that were suggested by the poisonous plant,\nand pain, and convulsions, and death were the only images suggested by\nthe sight of the grateful and nourishing fruit, there can be no doubt,\nto which of the two, our unfortunate preference would be given. To\ntake the most familiar of all instances,--that of language,--which,\neither as written or spoken, is in such constant use, and which is so\nessential, not merely to our first advance, from absolute barbarism,\nbut to the common domestic necessities, even of barbarous life,\nthat, without it, we can scarcely conceive two individuals, however\nrude, to exist together,--this, it is evident, could not have been\ninvented,--nor, if invented, could it serve any other purpose than\nto mislead,--if the words spoken were to have no greater chance of\nsuggesting the meaning intended by the speaker, than any other meaning,\nwhich any other words of the language might be employed to denote. What\nsocial affection could continue for an hour, if the sight of a friend\nwere to suggest, in intimate combination, not the kindnesses which he\nhad conferred, and all the enjoyments of which he had been the source,\nbut the malice, and envy, and revenge of some jealous and disappointed\nenemy?\n\nHe who has given us, in one simple principle, the power of reviving\nthe past, has not made his gift so unavailing. The feelings, which\nthis wonderful principle preserves and restores, arise, not loosely\nand confusedly--for what is there in the whole wide scene of nature,\nwhich does so occur?--but, according to general laws or tendencies of\nsuccession, contrived with the most admirable adaptation to our wants,\nso as to bring again before us the knowledge formerly acquired by us,\nat the very time when it is most profitable that it should return. A\nvalue is thus given to experience, which otherwise would not be worthy\nof the name; and we are enabled to extend it almost at pleasure, so as\nto profit, not merely by that experience which the events of nature,\noccurring in conformity with these general laws, must at any rate have\nafforded to us,--but to regulate this very experience itself,--to\ndispose objects and events, so that, by tendencies of suggestion, on\nthe firmness of which we may put perfect reliance, they shall give us,\nperhaps at the distance of many years, such lessons as we may wish\nthem to yield,--and thus to invent and create, in a great measure,\nthe intellectual and moral history of our future life, as an epic\nor dramatic writer arranges at his will the continued scenes of his\nvarious and magnificent narrative. I need not add, that it is on this\nskilful management of the laws, which regulate our trains of thought,\nthe whole theory and practice of _education_ are founded;--that art,\nwhich I have already repeatedly represented to you as the noblest\nof all the arts of man--itself the animating spirit of every other\nart--which exerts its own immediate operation, not on lifeless things,\nbut on the affections and faculties of the soul itself--and which has\nraised us from the dust, where we slept or trembled, in sluggish, yet\nferocious ignorance, the victims of each other, and of every element\naround us, to be the sharers and diffusers of the blessings of social\npolity, the measurers of the earth and of the skies, and the rational\nworshippers of that eternal Being by whom they and we were created.\n\nThat there is a tendency of ideas to suggest each other, without any\nrenewed perception of the external objects which originally excited\nthem, and that the suggestion is not, altogether loose and indefinite,\nbut that certain ideas have a peculiar tendency to suggest certain\nother relative ideas in associate trains of thought, is too familiar\nto you, as a general fact of our intellectual nature, to require to be\nillustrated by example.\n\nIt has been beautifully compared, by the most philosophic of our poets,\nto the mutual influence of two sympathetic needles, which Strada, in\none of his Prolusions, availing himself of a supposed fact, which was\nthen believed, or scarcely doubted by many philosophers, makes the\nsubject of verses, supposed to be recited by Cardinal Bembo, in the\ncharacter of Lucretius. The needles were fabled to have been magnetized\ntogether, and suspended over different circles, so as to be capable\nof moving along an alphabet. In these circumstances, by the remaining\ninfluence of their original kindred magnetism, they were supposed,\nat whatever distance, to follow each other's motions, and pause\naccordingly at the same point; so that, by watching them at concerted\nhours, the friends, who possessed this happy telegraph, were supposed\nto be able to communicate to each other their feelings, with the same\naccuracy and confidence as when they were together.\n\n \u201cFor when the different images of things,\n By chance combin'd have struck the attentive soul\n With deeper impulse, or, connected long,\n Have drawn his frequent eye; howe'er distinct\n The external scenes, yet oft the ideas gain\n From that conjunction an eternal tie\n And sympathy unbroken. Let the Mind\n Recal one partner of the various league,--\n Immediate, lo! the firm confederates rise,\n And each his former station straight resumes;\n One movement governs the consenting throng,\n And all at once with rosy pleasure shine,\n Or all are sadden'd with the glooms of care.\n 'Twas thus, if ancient fame the truth unfold,\n Two faithful needles, from the informing touch\n Of the same parent-stone, together drew\n Its mystic virtue, and at first conspir'd\n With fatal impulse quivering to the pole,\n Then, though disjoin'd by kingdoms,--though the main\n Roll'd its broad surge betwixt,--and different stars\n Beheld their wakeful motions,--yet preserv'd\n The former friendship, and remember'd still\n The alliance of their birth. Whate'er the line\n Which one possessed, nor pause nor quiet knew\n The sure associate, ere, with trembling speed,\n He found its path, and fixed unerring there.\n Such is the secret union, when we feel\n A song, a flower, a name, at once restore\n Those long connected scenes where first they mov'd\n The attention. Backward through her many walks,\n Guiding the wanton fancy to her scope,\n To temples, courts, or fields,--with all the band\n Of (living)[140] forms, of passions, and designs,\n Attendant; whence, if pleasing in itself,\n The prospect from that sweet accession gains\n Redoubled influence o'er the listening Mind.\n By these mysterious ties, the busy power\n Of Memory her ideal train preserves\n Entire; or, when they would elude her watch,\n Reclaims their fleeting footsteps, from the waste\n Of dark Oblivion.\u201d[141]\n\nWhat then are these _mysterious ties_?--or, to state the question more\nphilosophically, what are the general circumstances which regulate the\nsuccessions of our ideas?\n\nThat there is some regularity in these successions, must, as I have\nalready remarked, have been felt by every one; and there are many\nreferences to such regularity in the works of philosophers of every\nage. The most striking ancient reference, however, to any general\ncircumstances, or _laws_ of suggestion,--though the innumeration of\nthese is hinted, rather than developed at any length,--is that which\nyou will find in a passage, quoted by Dr Beattie and Mr Stewart, from\nAristotle. It is a passage explanatory of the process by which, in\nvoluntary reminiscence, we endeavour to discover the idea of which\nwe are in search. We are said to hunt for it--(\u0398\u03b7\u03c1\u03b5\u1f7a\u03bf\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd is the word\nin the original)--among other ideas, either of objects existing\nat present, or at some former time; and from their resemblance,\ncontrariety, and contiguity--\u1f00\u03c0\u1f78 \u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03bd\u1fe6\u03bd, \u1f22 \u1f02\u03bb\u03bb\u03bf\u03c5 \u03c4\u03b9\u03bd\u1f78\u03c2, \u03ba\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f00\u03c6'\n\u1f41\u03bc\u03bf\u03af\u03bf\u03c5, \u1f22 \u1f10\u03bd\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03af\u03bf\u03c5, \u1f22 \u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6 \u03c3\u03c5\u03bd\u03ad\u03b3\u03b3\u03c5\u03c2. \u0394\u03b9\u1f70 \u03c4\u03bf\u1fe6\u03c4\u03bf \u03b3\u03b9\u03bd\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1\u1f76 \u1f21 \u1f00\u03bd\u03ac\u03bc\u03bd\u03b7\u03c3\u03b9\u03c2.[142]\nThis brief enumeration of the general circumstances which direct us\nin reminiscence is worthy of our attention on its own account; and is\nnot less remarkable on account of the very close resemblance which it\nbears to the arrangement afterwards made by Mr Hume, though there is\nno reason to believe that the modern philosopher was at all acquainted\nwith the classification which had, at so great a distance of time,\nanticipated his own.\n\nI must remark, however, that though it would be in the highest degree\nunjust to the well-known liberality and frankness of Mr Hume's\ncharacter, to suppose him to have been aware of any enumeration of the\ngeneral circumstances on which suggestion appears to depend, prior to\nthat which he has himself given us, his attempt was far from being\nso original as he supposed. I do not allude merely to the passage of\nAristotle, already quoted, nor to a corresponding passage, which I\nmight have quoted, from one of the most celebrated of his commentators,\nDr Thomas Aquinas, but to various passages which I have found in the\nworks of writers of much more recent date, in which the influence\nof _resemblance_ and _contiguity_, the two generic circumstances to\nwhich, on his own principles, his own triple division should have been\nreduced, is particularly pointed out. Thus, to take an example from an\nelementary work of a very eminent author, Ernesti, published in the\nyear 1734,--his _Initia Doctrin\u00e6 Solidioris_,--with what precision has\nhe laid down those very laws of association of which Mr Hume speaks.\nAfter stating the general fact of suggestion, or association, under\nthe Latin term _phantasia_, he proceeds to state the principles which\nguide it. All the variety of these internal successions of our ideas,\nhe says, may be reduced to the following law. When one image is present\nin the mind, it may suggest the image of some absent object--either\nof one that is similar in some respect to that already present--or of\none of which the present is a part--or of one which has been present\ntogether with it on some former occasion. \u201cHujus autem phantasi\u00e6 lex\nh\u00e6c est; Pr\u00e6sentibus animo rerum imaginibus quibuscunque, recurrere et\nredire ad animum possunt rerum absentium olimque perceptarum imagines,\npr\u00e6sentibus similes, vel quarum, qu\u00e6 sunt pr\u00e6sentes, partes sunt,--vel\ndenique, quas cum pr\u00e6sentibus simul hausimus.\u201d[143]\n\nEven the arrangement, as stated by Mr Hume, is not expressed in more\nformal terms. But as it is to his arrangement the philosophers of our\nown country are accustomed to refer, in treating of association, the\nimportance thus attached to it gives it a preferable claim to our\nfuller discussion. It is stated by him briefly in two paragraphs of his\nEssay on the Association of Ideas.\n\n\u201cThough it be too obvious to escape observation,\u201d he says, \u201cthat\ndifferent ideas are connected together, I do not find that any\nphilosopher has attempted to enumerate or class all the principles of\nassociation; a subject, however, that seems worthy of curiosity. To me\nthere appear to be only three principles of connexion among ideas, viz.\n_resemblance_, _contiguity_ in time or place, and _cause_ or _effect_.\n\n\u201cThat these principles serve to connect ideas, will not, I believe, be\nmuch doubted. A picture naturally leads our thoughts to the original.\nThe mention of one apartment in a building naturally introduces an\ninquiry or discourse concerning the others. And if we think of a\nwound, we can scarcely forbear reflecting on the pain which follows\nit. But that the enumeration is complete, and that there are no other\nprinciples of association except these, may be difficult to prove to\nthe satisfaction of the reader or even to a man's own satisfaction.\nAll we can do, in such cases, is to run over several instances, and\nexamine carefully the principle which binds the different thoughts to\neach other,--never stopping, till we render the principle as general as\npossible. The more instances we examine, and the more care we employ,\nthe more assurance shall we acquire, that the enumeration which we form\nfrom the whole is complete and entire.\u201d[144]\n\nOn these paragraphs of Mr Hume, a few obvious criticisms present\nthemselves. In the first place, however, I must observe,--to qualify\nin some degree the severity of the remarks which may be made on his\nclassification,--that it is evident, from the very language now quoted\nto you, that he is far from bringing forward his classification as\ncomplete. He states, indeed, that it appears to him, that there are no\nother principles of connexion among our ideas than the three which he\nhas mentioned; but he adds, that though the reality of their influence\nas connecting principles will not, he believes, be much doubted, it may\nstill be difficult to prove, to the satisfaction of his reader, or even\nof himself, that the enumeration is complete; and he recommends, in\nconsequence, a careful examination of every instance of suggestion, in\nthe successive trains of our ideas, that other principles, if any such\nthere be, may be detected.\n\nBut to proceed to the actual classification, as presented to us by\nMr Hume. A note, which he has added to the paragraph that contains\nhis system, affords perhaps as striking an instance as is to be found\nin the history of science of that illusion, which the excessive love\nof simplicity tends to produce, even in the most acute and subtile\nphilosopher, so as to blind, to the most manifest inconsistencies, in\nhis own arrangement, those powers of critical discernment which would\nhave flashed instant detection on inconsistencies far less glaringly\napparent in the speculations of another. After stating, that there\nappear to him to be only the three principles of connexion already\nmentioned, Mr Hume adds, in a note,--as an instance of other connexions\napparently different from these three, which may, notwithstanding, be\nreduced to them,--\n\n\u201c_Contrast_ or _contrariety_, also, is a species of connexion among\nideas. But it may perhaps be considered as a mixture of causation and\nresemblance. Where two objects are contrary, the one destroys the\nother, _i. e._ is the cause of its annihilation, and the idea of the\nannihilation of an object implies the idea of its former existence.\u201d\n\nWhen we hear or read for the first time this little theory of the\nsuggestions of contrast, there is, perhaps no one who does not feel\nsome difficulty in believing it to be a genuine speculation of that\npowerful mind which produced it. Contrast, says Mr Hume, is a mixture\nof _causation_ and _resemblance_. An object, when contrasted with\nanother, destroys it. In destruction there is causation; and we cannot\nconceive destruction, without having the idea of former existence.\nThus, to take an instance,--Mr Hume does not deny, that the idea of\na _dwarf_ may suggest, by contrast, the idea of a _giant_; but he\nsays that the idea of a dwarf suggests the idea of a giant, because\nthe idea of a dwarf _destroys_ the idea of a giant, and thus, by the\nconnecting principle of causation involved in all destruction, may\nsuggest the idea destroyed; and he adds, as an additional reason for\nthe suggestion, that the idea of the annihilation of a giant implies\nthe idea of the former existence of a giant. And all this strange and\ncomplicated analysis,--this explanation, not of the _obscurum per\nobscurius_, which is a much more intelligible paralogism, but of the\n_lucidum per obscurum_, is seriously brought forward by its very acute\nauthor, as illustrating the simple and familiar fact of the suggestion\nof opposites, in contrast, by opposites.\n\nIn the first place, I may remark, that in Mr Hume's view of contrast,\nit is not easy to discover what the resemblance is of which he\nspeaks, in a case in which the objects in themselves are said by him\nto be so contrary, that the one absolutely destroys the other by\nthis contrariety alone; and, indeed, if there be truly this mixed\nresemblance in contrast, what need is there of having recourse to\nannihilation or causation at all, to account for the suggestion,\nsince the resemblance alone in this, as in every other case, might\nbe sufficient to explain the suggestion, without the necessity of\nany separate division;--as the likeness of a single feature in the\ncountenance of a stranger, is sufficient to bring before us in\nconception the friend whom he resembles, though the resemblance be in\nthe single feature only.\n\nIn the second place, there is no truth, if, indeed, there be any\nmeaning whatever, in the assertion that in contrast one of the\nobjects destroys the other; for, so far is the idea of the dwarf from\ndestroying the idea of the giant, that, in the actual case supposed,\nit is the very reason of the existence of the second idea; nay, the\nvery supposition of a perceived contrast implies that there is no such\nannihilation; for both ideas must be present to the mind together, or\nthey could not appear either similar or dissimilar, that is to say,\ncould not be known by us as contrasted, or contrary, in any respect.\nIt is, indeed, not very easy to conceive, how a mind so acute as that\nof Mr Hume should not have discovered that grossest of all logical and\nphysical errors, involved in his explanation, that it accounts for\nthe existence of a feeling, by supposing it previously to exist as\nthe _cause_ of _itself_. If as he says, the idea of the annihilation\nof an object implies the idea of its former existence--an assertion\nwhich is by no means so favourable as he thinks to his own theory--it\nmust surely be admitted, that no annihilation can take place before\nthe existence of that which is to be annihilated. Whether, therefore,\nwe suppose, that the idea of the dwarf, which suggests the idea of\nthe giant, annihilates that idea, or is itself annihilated by it,\nthe two ideas of the dwarf and the giant must have existed, before\nthe annihilation of either. The _suggestion_, in short, which is\nthe difficulty, and the only difficulty to be explained, must have\ncompletely taken place, _before_ the principle can even be imagined to\noperate, on which the suggestion itself is said to depend.\n\nSuch minute criticism, however, is perhaps more, than it is necessary\nto give to a doctrine so obviously false, even sanctioned as it is by\nso very eminent a name.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[138] \u201cLike the tall cliff beneath the impassive frost.\u201d--ORIG.\n\n[139] Cawthorn.--Regulation of the Passions, &c. v. 15-20.\n\n[140] Painted--ORIG.\n\n[141] Pleasures of Imagination, Book III. v. 312-352.\n\n[142] Aristot. de Memor. and Reminisc. c. ii.-v. II. p. 86. Edit. Du\nVal.\n\n[143] De Mente Humana, C. I. Sect. xvi. p. 138, 139.\n\n[144] Hume's Inquiry concerning Human Understanding, Sect. III.\n\n\n\n\nEND OF VOL. FIRST.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's notes:\n\n Obvious typos have been corrected, but obsolete spellings have been\n retained (e.g. \u201cdevelope\u201d, \u201ccontroul\u201d, \u201crecal\u201d).\n\n Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.\n\n Text originally in small capitals has been made UPPER CASE.\n\n Inconsistent hyphenation (e.g. \u201cco-exist\u201d and \u201ccoexist\u201d) has been\n retained.\n\n Footnotes have been numbered consecutively and gathered at the end of\n each lecture.\n\n The original edition sometimes lacked appropriate opening or closing\n quotation marks; they have been added where evident based on other\n editions of the work.\n\n Greek characters follow the original and may contain diacritical\n errors.","title":"Lectures on the Philosophy of the Human Mind (Vol. 1 of 3)","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":209087}