PSYGH. •AN INaUIRY INTO » THE CONSTITUTION, POWERS, AND PEOCESSES OF THE HUMAN MIND, WITH A VIEW TO THE DETERMINATION OF THE C^JLuJk FUNDAMENTAL PEINCIPLES OF RELIGIOUS, MOEAL, AND POLITICAL SCIENCE. The Key. W. R PIRIE, D.D., f c PROFESSOR OF DIYINITY IN THE UNIVERSITY AND MARISCHAL COLLEGE OF AliERD^ OF THE UNIVERSITY OF / ABERDEEN : A. BROWN & CO. EDINBURGH : W. BLACKWOOD & SONS ; OLIVER & BOYD. LONDON : LONGMAN & CO. 1858. [Right of Translation Reserved.] is<^^. '4 V JOHN AVERY, PEINTEK, 7, ST. CATHERINE'S WTND, UNION STKEET, ABERDEEX. N/> fooc UBRARY DEDICATION TO THE PRINCIPAL AND THE PROFESSORS OF THE MARISCHAL COLLEGE AND UNIYERSITY OF ABERDEEN. Gentlemen, Under the recent Act of Parliament anent the Universities of Scotland, the Marischal College and University will probably, at a very early date, be merged in the University of Aberdeen. Permit me, then, while we yet all continue Colleagues, and the character of our venerable institution remains unaltered, to avail myself of the opportunity which the publication of this work affords, of warmly and publicly thanking you for the courtesy and consideration with which, during many years, you have honoured me, as well as for the gratification, and I tnist instruction, which I 158447 IV DEDICATION. have derived from your society, and of assuring you of the continued respect and regard with which I ever am, My dear Principal and Gentlemen, Your faithful Friend and Colleague, W. R. PIRIE. MxRiscHAr, College, 8th Novciiiher, 1858. PREFACE. It may be of some service for explaining the nature and scope of the following work, to state the cir- cumstances in which it originated. When the author was placed in a situation where he found it necessary to ascertain the origin of human opinions, he was perpetually forced back in his investigation, on a determination of the consti- tution and processes of the human mind. Tt was with regret and disapjoointment, therefore, that he could find nothinof in the science of mental philosophy so precisely and satisfactorily developed as to enable him to realise his object. Under such circumstances, it became necessary at each step of his progress to attempt the analysis of mental processes for himself, and that in such a way as might present the argument in a readily in- telligible form to his students, and at the same VI PREFACE. time, as far as possible, command their rational assent. Hence, it will be manifest, tliat the object of the author, both at first, and in the present work, which contains a portion of these speculations, was and is strictly practical. He repudiates all interest in what is usually called metaphysics. However much it may lower him in the opinion of those who profess a philosophy — whether originating T\dth ancient or modern masters — which no one, save men of extraordinary genius and profundity of thought can understand, he must deferentially ex- press his conviction, that all such philosophy is mere delusion, into a supposed belief of Avhich people deceive themselves, by mistaking the vague notions which grand words and poetic images gene- rate, for definite ideas. His only purpose was and is, therefore, to lay, so far as in his power, sohd foundations on which may be reared with cer- tainty, a determination of those great practical questions which concern our happiness, our rights, and our duties. Except in so far, consequently, as his arguments assure human faith, and clearly ex- plain spiritual phenomena, he desires no impor- tance to be attached to them whatever. If he has PREFACE. Vll failed in realising those objects, lie at once acknow- ledo'es that he has failed altosfether. It will be perceived, in perusing the work, that in several cases, nearly the same arguments in connection with the same illustrations have been repeated, but it will be observed, that it is because the character of different faculties and the evolu- tion of different processes, led to precisely the same conclusions, which it appeared to the author were thus illustrated and confirmed, and hence he was induced to retain, as nearly as possible, the very same expressions, with a view of rendering the effect the more striking, and the proof the more obviously satisfactory. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I.— INTRODUCTORY. Page. Importance of the subject — Evils I'esulting from our ignorance of the principles of spiritual philosophy — Tendency to investigate the origin of our beliefs and impulses, magnifies those evils — Exempli- fication of those evils in religion, morals, politics, &c. — Improba- bility of the ignorance leading to such evils being irremediable — Examination of Mr. Jeffrey's articles in the Edlnhurgli Beview on the subject — Examination of the argument on the subject, founded on the small progress which has been made in spiritual, in com- parison with that made in jjliysical, philosophy — The same cause which formerly checked the progi'ess of physical, is still checking the progress of intellectual science — In superseding this cause, we have therefore every reason to expect success in the farther prose- cution of the subject — Necessity of appreciating the past history of the science as introductory to our proposed investigation. . . 1 CHAPTER XL— SKETCH OF THE PROGRESS OF SPIRITUAL PHILOSOPHY. Section T.— progeess of spiritual philosophy from the earliest AGES, to the time OF BACON AND DES CARTES. Tendency of the human mind when it begins to philosophise — Reference of all knowledge to itself — Illustrated by the Greek philosophy — Growth of materialism, and sketch of the theory of Epicurus- Absurdity of the system — Rise and progress of scepticism among the Greeks — Philosophy of the Romans — Mode in which the systems of Greek and Roman philosophy became modified by the introduction of Christianity, and sketch of the progress of philo- sophy during the middle ages — State of the philosophical world when Bacon (Lord Vei'ulam) appeared — Sketch of the nature of his philosophy —Effect of it on spiritual science — Origin of sensa- tionalism — Appearance of Des Cartes — Sketch of the nature of his philosophy — Its effect on spiritual science. . . . . .30 Section II. — progress of spiritual philosophy from the age of BACON AND DES CARTES TO THE TIME OF REID, WITH CONTINUA- TION OP SCOTTISH SCHOOL IN SCOTLAND. Tendency of Baconian and Cartesian systems — Philosophy of Ilobbes — Spinoza — Mallebranche — Locke, his fundamental principle and its X CONTENTS. Page, importanee — His deflciencies and the tendency of liis sj'stem — Hartley — Directed attention first to tlie association of ideas — Lockian school in France — Condillac — Nature of his system, and his misconception of Locke's principle — Gave rise to the school of gross materialism in France, as exhibited in Helvetius, St, Lam- bert, Condorcet, and the Encyclopaedists — Leibnitz — His theory — Berkeley — His theory, and arguments on which it was founded — Hume — His argument and object — His merits — Reid — Cause of his success — Misconception of Hume's object — Identity of his principles with those of Hume — Principle of his philosophy — His reply to Hume's sceptical argument as to the relation of cause and effect — Stewart merely an illustrator of Keid — Brown — Circum- stances under which he wrote, and result — His defects — His great merit — Sir William Hamilton — His views — Attack on Brown and its failure — His merits and defects — Conclusion. . . . .70 Section III. — progress of spiritual philosophy on the conti- nent, FROM THE TIME OF KEID TO THE PRESENT AGE. Philosophy of France — Changes from materialistic to Scottish school — This change followed by a species of eclecticism — German philo- sophy — Wolff — Kant — Origin of his philosophy — Its general cha- racter — Causes of its influence — Causes of the difficulty of compre- hending it — The character given of it, confirmed by the authority of its disciples, &c. — ^Detailed examination of its parts — This leads to the same conclusions as to the causes of its influence, and of the difticulty of understanding it, as is indicated by its general cha- racter — Its effects — Disciples of Kant divide into two sections, Realists, and Idealists — Jacobi and his followers — Reinold, Fichtc, Schelling, Hegel — Subsequent state of philosophy in Germany. . 116 Section IV.— state of spieitdal philosophy during the pre- sent AGE, AND ITS RELATION TO GENERAL LITERATURE, AND THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF SOCIETY. French philosophy — Its materialistic character about the beginning of the century — French philosophers adopt the Scottish system — French Eclectical philosophy — Cousin — Re-introduction of materi- alism — Comte — His misconceptions and inconsistency — British philosophy — Mr. James Milne — Sir William Hamilton — Mr. Ferrier — Nature of his system— Its principles — Its value as a system of scepticism —As a system of absolute philosophy — Principle promi- nently put forth by him — The amount already accomplished in intel- lectual science — Analogy betwixt its present state and that of physical science anterior to the time of Bacon more fully developed — True and only practical object of intellectual philosophy, and how to be practically realised — State of the science thus viewed at the CONTENTS. XI I'age. present time, vritli a brief summary of modern systems — Cause of the comparative success of German philosophy, and the effect thereof on society — Impossibility of preventing or even retarding speculation on spiritual processes, and the principles of those varied sciences depending thereon — Disastrous effects which must therefore result from neglecting the study of the human mind — Only mode in which real success can possibly be attained. . . 182 CHAPTER III -MODE OF INVESTIGATING THE NATURE AND PHENOMENA OF THE HUMAN MIND. Remarks on the theory, that the human mind can only be known by observation, and in no measure by experiment — Misconception in- volved in this theory — Nature forces men to speculate on spiritual subjects, and this through all classes— Advantages of the study when properly prosecuted — General mistakes on the subject — Use to be derived from objections to the study — Necessity of precision and clearness— How these are to be attained — Primary assumption — How followed forth — Must begin the study from the simplest forms of thought— Impossibility of a priori classification under such a mode of prosecuting the subject — Necessity of avoiding pre- conceived theories — Mischievous results of these exemplified — Circumstances which at present favour the prosecution of the science according to this mode — Order of details 227 CHAPTER IV.— NATURE OF THE HUMAN MIND. Law of parsimony and its relation to the present subject — Dogma of those who maintain that existences of essentially different kinds cannot generate, nor act on, nor combine with, each other. This dogma rests on no sufficient foundation, and is contrary to experience — Ab- surdity and pernicious results of idealism — Position of Hume with respect to this matter — Cause of the horror with which Theists usually regard materialism — Only possible theory of materialism perfectly harmless — Distinction betwixt this theory and the more gross theory of materialism — Tendency of Theists, in opposing materialism, to annihilate the essence of mind altogether— Absur- dity and impossibility of the ordinary and gross theory of material- ism — Only philosophical opinion possible with respect to the nature of mind — Yet it is of no practical importance whether we proceed in analysing the processes of the mind under this or the only pos- sible materialistic theory — Identification of mind and matter so as to constitute a complex whole— This a certain fact, though we cannot explain its rationale — Necessity of exposing specially, in mental science, dogmas resting on insufficient authority— Points relating to this subject which can only be determined, in so far as they are determinable, at a subsequent stage of our inquiries. . 247 Xll - CONTENTS. CHAPTER V.-ON CONSCIOUSNESS. ^^*' We became acquainted witli the liiiinan iiiiud and its cognitions through consciousness — Different uses of the word — Consciousness is merely a mental capacity — Error of Dr. Keid's tlieory on the subject — Errors of Dr. Brown's theory — How the contradictions into which philosophers have fallen upon the subject can alone be explained and reconciled — Feeling of some kind essential to consciousness — This subject illustrated — Must beware of supposing such feeling and consciousness the same thing — Illustrated by Dr. Brown's errors — How far feeling in each case constitutes the subject of our consciousness, and singular result elicited by this inquiry — Sum- mary of conclusions. 267 CHAPTER VI.— ON OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE HUMAN MIND AS A SEPARATE EXISTENCE, AND THE PHE- NOMENA EXPLAINED THEREBY. We must know that the subject of our consciousness exists — Keid's theory refuted — An intuitive belief in our existence, apart from consciousness, a contradiction — Knowledge of properties apart from any knowledge of the existence of the subject in which they inhere, impossible — Real nature of consciousness — AVe are con- scious of the existence of our minds at all times while awake, even though not objectively conscious — Universal belief upon the subject — We do not know the substance of mental essence, but only are conscious of its existence — This doctrine explains the nature of the will — Explains also the grounds of our belief in our personal identity — Locke's theory — Keid's — Brown's — Their respective mis- conceptions pointed out, and the impossibility of our accounting for our belief in personal identity under their theories proved — Sir W. Hamilton's note illustrating Keid's theory — Cause of the con- fusion and difficulties of philosophers on this subject — Universal belief of our consciousness of our own minds — The foundation of the universal belief in personal identity — Any other theory must end in scepticism — Origin of the extravagant form of scepticism implied in the Kantian philosophy — Our consciousness of existence imjjlies a knowledge of non-existence — This doctrine crushes the extremes of Idealism and Materialism — Conclusion. . . . 284 CHAPTER VII.— ON SENSATION. Connection of body and mind most intimate — Amount of bodily action known by the mind — Nature of human physical instincts — Dis- tinction betwixt them, and what are called instincts in animals — Sensations originating in causes external to our organic being — Mode in which we become acquainted with them— Delusion of Keid and his disciples upon this subject — Singular results of this CONTENTS. Xlll Page, delusion — Modification of their theory by Sir W. Hamilton — Con- fusion betwixt relative knowledge and knowledge of existences related to our minds and organic being — Error as to the nature of qualities — Distinction betwixt primary and secondary qualities considered — Knowledge of substance explained — How much as to external existence we know from consciousness, and how much from experience — Nature of general ideas of sensation explained — Errors of Reid and his disciples — Knowledge of space and time ac- quired in sensation — Error of Kant — Importance of these views — Relation of dreaming, delirium, and insanity, to sensation. , . 329 CHAPTER VIII.-ON MEMORY. Connection of the faculties and feelings of the human mind — Nature of memory ae contra-distinguished from other states — Memory, a dis- tinct faculty — Error of Dr. Brown thereanent — Theory of Dr. Reid as to memory examined — Mode in which we ascertain our notions of time, duration, personal identity — Of space and motion — How we come to recollect more easily, and retain tha recollection more pei-manently, of some thoughts and events than of others— Mode in which we come to remember symbols — Artificial memory ex- plained — How we come to recollect mere sounds, or other arbi- trary and meaningless sensations — Explanation of certain singular and extraordinary phenomena of memoiy — Phenomena of memory in dreaming, day-dreaming, fever, delirium, and insanity — General remarks on memory— Conclusion. ...... 429 CHAPTER IX.— ON ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. Our thoughts succeed each other in a regulated order — Theory of Hartley with respect to the cause of this— Of Leibnitz— Views of later philosophers— Their misconception— Real nature of the pro- cess — Farther elucidation of the error of Hume and his successors —Illustration of the process— Effect of habit on the process- Action of mind in it— The process as exemplified in delirium and sleep— Its relation to abstraction and day-dreaming— Nature of our belief in dreams— Manifestation of the process in insanity — How the process operates with respect to symbolical forms — Summary of the argument. 471 CHAPTER X.— ON HABIT. Philosophy of haliit naturally follows that of association— Reid's defini- tion of habit, and its deficiency— Nature of habit developed- Power of habit on the physical organisation — Relation of associa- tion to the process — Influence of habit on memory — Artificial memory depends mainly on habit— Power of habit in intensifying XIV CONTENTS. . . . P*e*' the feelings and primary desires, and in onginating secondary desires — Power of habit in constituting belief — Relation of habit to the belief which originates in feeling and authority or testimony — Growth of habit explained by principles of association — The powcr,"of habit a result of our mental constitution — Importance of attending to the influence of habit in the analysis of mental states. 51(> CHAPTER XL— ON EEASON. Difference betwixt consciousness and reason — Difficulties as to the nature and operations of reason in some measure attributable to the use of symbols — Means of superseding these — Growth of our knowledge in relation to this subject — Nature of general ideas, and meaning of words that express them, as illustrative of the nature of reason — Eealists, Nominalists, Conceptualists — Analysis of the phenomenon — Explanation of the nature of mathematical axioms, and of the physical and moral axiom, " Every change " must have a cause," as illustrative of the nature of reason — Distinction of consciousness and reason more accurately drawn — Knowledge acquired by reason is the knowledge of relations under which we identify and discriminate existences according to their qualities or powers— Our belief in the proposition, " The same "thing under the same circumstances will always produce the " same result," explained — Our belief in the permanence of the universe explained — Extent of our belief in symbols as expressive of the objects they represent, explained. 539 CHAPTER XII.— ON REASONING. Reason, iu its application to ulterior processes — Kinds of reasoning. Demonstrative reasoning — Its nature— Its bases — Misconcejstion of Stewart on the subject. Probable reasoning — Difference be- twixt demonstrative and probable reasoning in regard to the cer- tainty of their conclusions — Analysis of probable reasoning — Object of logic as therefrom deduced — Nature and use of sj'Uo- gisms — Their inefficiency even for the only purpose to which they can be in any measure applied — Importance of understanding the true object of reasoning, and the nature of the rational faculty — Summary of the argument — Mode in which, under the view given, we appreciate the nature of extended substance — Deter- mination of the principles which distinguish intelligent man from the lower animals, idiots, dotards, and madmen — Proof that the lower animals, &c., arc not deprived of that faculty usually called reason 591 CONTENTS. XV I'age. CHAPTER XIII.— ON THE INFINITE— THE ETERNAL, AND THE ABSOLUTE. Importance of those subjects — Causes which have specially led philo- sophers to attempt their expiscation by a priori speculations — They cannot be so expiscated — Origin of confusion betwixt a priori speculation and experimental knowledge— Application of the distinction to the Infinite, the Eternal, and the Absolute — Analysis of the Infinite — Of the Eternal — Of the Absolute — Amount of our knowledge of the Absolute — Conclusion. . . 61. 3 CHAPTER XIV.— ON IMAGINATION— HUMOUR— WIT. Usual sense of the word Imagination — More restricted sense — In this latter sense, imagination merely a form of reason — Humour analysed aud reduced to the same category — Cause of laughter — Wit, an exhibition of incongruity limited to one particular — Puns are merely exhibitions of incongruity in expression and words. . 630 CHAPTER XV.— CONCLUSION. Analysis must, in so far, be imperfect — Cause of this — Main object of the work — What it professes to have attempted — How far there is I'eason for hoping the particulars spoken of to have been realised — In so far a foundation laid on which the super-structure of religious, moral, and political science may be reared — Philosophy of the feelings and desires necessary to complete such foundation. . . 635 ERRATA. Page. 55 Tiriigus for Timceus. 206 But tor yet. 303 Incomparable for incompatible. 834 Intuition for volition, (twice). 382 Offered for opposed. CHAPTER I TNTRODUCTORY. Iiupovtanco of the subject — Evils rosultin;^ from our ignorance of the prin- ciples of spiritual philosophy — Tendency to investigate the origin of our beliefs and impulses, magniSes those evils — Exemplification of those evils in religion, morals, politics, &c. — Improbability of the ignorance leading to such evils being irremediable — Examination of Mr. Jefi'rey's articles in the Edinburgh Bevleio on the subject — Exa- mination of the argument on the subject, founded on the small pro- gress which has been made in spiritual, in comparison with that made in physical, philosophy — The same cause which formerly checked the progress of physical, is still checking the progress of intellectual, science — In superseding this cause, we have therefore every reason to expect success in the fiirther pi-omotion of the subject — Necessity of appreciating the past history of the science as introductory to our proposed investigation. Tt can scarcely be disputed, that a knowledge of the nature of our own minds, of their capacities and powers, of their states and processes, is, of all know- ledge, the most desirable. It is indeed manifest, that by such knowledge alone can human beings be enabled to ascertain with accuracy their real motives, to determine with accuracy the legitimate objects of their desires, or to discover with accuracy the fundamental principles of religious, moral, and political truth. Accordingly it is certain, as matter of fact, that just in proportion to the precision that by a reflex operation we appreciate the nature of our minds are those objects respectively realised. :q*' INTRODl'CTOKY Eveiy man knows something of his own mind and its processes, and in so far he knows something of the various particulars of which we have spoken ; but for the most part such knowledge is imperfect, and consequently our ideas, as to our own motives, as to what ought to be the objects of our desires, and as to what are the principles of higher spiritual truth, as w^ell as with reference to a vast number of particulars of a cognate character, must not only be vague and uncertain in most cases, but in many instances must even be destructive of our highest interests. Nor, indeed, is this to be wondered at, when we consider how little in more recent times, at all events, has even been attempted towards a scientific developement of this subject — although, assuredly, there never was a period of the w^orld's histoiy, dur- ing w^hich its essential importance seems more sin- gularly enlianced by the position w^iich physical philosophy has begun to assume. For a knowledge of physical philosophy is, now-a-days, no longer con- fined to men of science, but is more or less dissemi- nated, through the diffusion of education, among all classes of society. Hence, enquiiy becomes of ne- cessity stimulated in eveiy direction, since the mind, once energised into intelligent action by whatever instrumentality, will inevitably very soon push on to the investigation of principles, taking, of course, in each case, the course which is most accordant with indvidual tendencies. In this way, the mass INTRODUCTORY. .*] of men In modern times have been led to seek ex- planations of phenomena, more profound and essen- tial than even the highest physical science could by possibility afibrd — and, finding none, or at all events none precise and satisfactoiy, we need not wondei' that, in attempting under such circumstances to expiscate the nature and operation of such princi- ples for themselves, a large proportion should have become bevrildered amidst vague, mystical, and too often pernicious speculation. But though this diffusion of education, and the stimulus thus given to thought, has, without doubt, been a main cause of that almost universal ten- dency to incidental metaphysics in recent times, and hence of that anxious and unsettled state of feeling with regard to subjects of the highest im- portance, which is now manifestly existing, and not only existing but extending throughout human society, yet it is not to be supposed, as we formerly indicated, that it was with modem physics, or in- deed with physical philosophy in any age, that metaphysics, or, in other words, the philosophy of spiritual phenomena originated ; on the contrary, spiritual phenomena have not only engaged the at- tention of the most powerful intellects in all ages, but in all ages those veiy portions of them which, from circumstances, we now find to have acquired a greatly enhanced importance, must, to a certain limited extent at all events, have forced themselves on the attention of eveiy human being, and must, 4 INTRODUCTORY. in SO far, even have received a determination from eveiy human being, in as far as such determination is, by the very constitution of our natures, essential for the practical business of life; in other words, it is clear that all human beings must, more or less, be intellectual j)hilosophers, since all human beings must have some ground or anotlier for their belief, and some principle or anotlier for the regulation of their conduct, however little they may have reflected on the operations under which tliese have been acquired, or by however unconscious a process, com- paratively speaking, such ground or principle may have come to influence them; for, though a man's beliefs may have been adopted purely under autho- rity, and his acts been regulated entirely by im- pulse, yet he must have satisfied himself, even in that case, by however unconcious a process, that authority is a sufficient ground of belief, and the impulse of momentary feeling a warrantable princi- ple of action. This is his philosophy, and though no doubt it may be a very bad, and a very false phi- losophy, yet it is not the less his upon that account, nor does it the less regulate his practical belief and conduct. The consequences of an unsound intel- lectual philosophy, however, are by no means the most mischievous at this, which must imply the lowest stage of mental developement — on the con- trary, at every step under which our faculties be- come more expanded, must the results of a false philosophy become more practically disastrous, not INTKODUCTORY merely because we become more responsible for them, but because the errors in which they origi- nate necessarily imply a greater or less degree of culpable neghgence or wilful prejudice, which, by a natural operation under the influence of habit, must ultimately lead to an absolute perversion of the veiy constitution of the thinking principle itself. In either case, however, the evil is obviously seri- ous, even in its most limited form, since, in so far, it must affect eveiy action, and modify eveiy re- lation of life. Ignorance of physical truth is there- fore, comparatively, a very trifling matter. Such ignorance may indeed, more or less, affect our world- ly interests or our physical health, but the results can only be temporary and incidental ; whereas, a knowledge of spiritual truth, implying an apprecia- tion of the principles under which we ought to re- gulate our lives, with a view to our happiness both in time and eternity, is essential at every moment, since every act which we do, every word which we speak, every thought which we think, every feeling which we encourage, must be either right or wTong, ' wise or foolish, determining through habit the condition of our minds for good or e^dl — and consequently, of course, must take their places respectively in either the one or the other of these categories, in proportion to the extent and measure that we know such spiritual truth, and are disposed ] practically to realise it. Yet that mental philosophy, or, in other words. INTIJODTCTOliY the science of spiritual nature, however intensely interesting and eminently important, is, as we have said, in a state deplorably unsatisfactory, can hardly admit of question, inasmuch as, though we have an infinity of opinions, we hardly know, in any case, the precise j)rocesses through w^iich we attained them, or the precise principles on which they de- pend. The very proof even for the being of a God, however certain our belief may be as matter of fact, is yet logically liable to serious difficulties, and these difficulties, as might be supposed, are still further enhanced with respect to the nature and evidence for the Divine attributes. The pre- cise nature of the attributes, for example, of good- ness, justice, holiness, and truth, is dubious and disputed, as evidently appears in the variety of re- ligious differences which prevail ; nor could it pos- sibly be otherwise, seeing these are simple quaHties, which therefore cannot be strictly defined, and which consequently, unless felt as qualities of our own minds, and thus determined by a reference to their effects as exhibited in our mental operations, it is evident never can be known at all, inasmuch as our own minds being the only spirits with which we are directly and immediately acquainted, it follows that there is no other possible source whence our knowledge of simple spiritual states could be derived. Thus, religion to the greater part of the human race becomes, in the first in- stance, at all events, veiy much an arbitraiy s}^s- INTIJODUCTOin'. tern. Ignorant of the precise nature of God, in so far even as by a proper exercise of our faculties, we may be competent to discover it, they can only have, of course, but a very imjperfect idea of that which can alone constitute his worship, or be avail- able for his service. Under such circumstances, it farther necessarily follows that, just in proportion to our ignorance of the precise nature of the Divine attributes, must we be the less capable of detennin- ing the philosophy of religious doctrine. In other words, in such proportion must we be the less ca- pable of ascertaining the mutual relations of doc- trines, their bearing upon the human mind, and the mode under which they tend to connect us with God. Accordingly, we find that, as matter of fact, our conception of doctrines is, in the majority of cases, as we have indicated, mainly an assumption of arbitrary dogmas. We are told, for example, arbitrarily, the doctrine of Christ's expiation, and arbitrarily we are called upon to believe it ; but why it should have been revealed, and how it is connected with the state and operations of the human mind, and by what process it links us more closely with the Supreme Being, are points, in so far as I know, very imperfectly explained, and are points indeed w^hich cannot be definitely explained, except through a more precise knowledge of spiri- tual tnith than has hitherto been attained. In- deed, I am not aware of any work on spiritual philosophy or theological science, determining tlie 8 INTKODICTOKY. |)rinciples on vvbicli this most wonderful of spiritual phenomena can be precisely explained at all. The same remarks apply to almost all the doctrines of revealed religion, so that we are thus compelled, in respect to these, either to admit the defects of spiri- tual philosophy, or else to recognise the vulgar and almost impious assumption, that the more unintel- lioible our belief in the doctrines of revealed reli- gion, the more meritorious our unreasoning obedi- ence ; for not only are they left unexplained by our systems of spiritual philosophy, but those systems of a more modem date, at all events, seem in many respects directly inconsistent with them, so as to generate an assurance that they cannot both be true. We need not w^onder, therefore, that pro- fessed religion j^roduces so little effect, or that infi- delity and scepticism are so prevalent in an avowed, and still more, in a tacit, but not less practical form, seeing that the philosophy of spirit appertaining to each age must necessarily modify its whole Htera- ture, since all literature is a production of mind — and, consequently, in an age lil?:e the present, w^hen literature of some kind or another is universally diffused, must jDervade with its tendencies all society, and in so far regulate both the opinions and conduct of the human race. Nor are the miser- able deficiencies of spiritual philosophy less dis- tinctly marked with respect to political and social science, than they thus indisputabty are with respect to religion. We have heard, ;',nd still hear much, IXTltODUCTORY. f) for exauiple, of* the rights of man, and volumes on vohmies have been piibKshed for the puipose of maintaining and enforcing them. But who ever precisely defined them ? or explained in what they consist 'i or on what principles our claim to them respectively rests ? or how our claims are to be practically regulated ? During the last century, the French revolutionists determined the rights of man to be whatever the majority chose to do. In the Southern States of the American Union the rights of white men and the rights of black men are considered as the direct antipodes of each other. Nor is the inconsistency so palpably extravagant as at first sight might be imagined, since the conclu- sions on each side are perfectly sound, as derived from opposite assumptions. It is, however, obvi- ously impossible that they can both be true ; but which of them it is that is false, it seems very diffi- cult to ascertain, or at all events, no one has hither- to succeeded in logically ascertaining it, simply because the authority of the spiritual principles in each case assumed, has never been satisfactorily ex- piscated. Hence, every one, everywhere, seems just to maintain his rights to be what he would wish them to be, so that no form of government can thus be logically established on fixed and ascertained foundations ; nor can it, under such circumstances, be possible to determine in how far, in any case, human beings are possessed of their rights, or in how farthey are deprived of them. Wliy, then, It.) IXTliODUCTORY. ylioLild we say that the subjects of a despot are deprived of their rights, however tyrannically he may exercise them ? Who can distinctly tell what those rights are ? or what may be the limits by which the exercise of that power, which circum- stances have conferred on one man over another, is to be bounded 1 Nor are the principles of morality, as a mere logical matter, if we are can- didly to admit the truth, much more definitely de- termined. So far otherwise, indeed, that we find the assumed principles of morality different in al- most every different WTiter, so that one is a sort of bewildered in attempting to discover what it really is which constitutes the oblis^ation admitted to be inherent in moral law. We have already seen, in- deed, how uncertain seem to be the principles on which the rights of man have been rested. It is impossible, therefore, that there can be any perfectly precise assurance, strictly sjDeaking, of the iniquity implied in their violation. Yet, if we cannot ascer- tain the limits by which the exercise of our power over our fellow-creatures is to be determined, it is evident that, logically, there must be an end of moral obligation altogether. But, even specially, and on points usually deemed the most precise and indisputable, the very same uncertainty exists as to our logical conclusions. We are told, for exam- ple, that moral truth is absolute and immutable, and that such is the case specially with the morality of Scripture. But if moral truth be imnuitable, how l.NTUODL'CTOKV. 11 came incest to have not only been permitted, but fommandecl amono' the children of Adam, and tlieir inmiediate offspring '. How should Polygamy and Concubinage have been permitted under the Jewish, while they are strictly forbidden under the Christian, dispensation "? Any number of similarly perplexing questions might be suggested under any theory of moral obligation which has ever been proposed, shewing how^ little spiritual principles are accurately understood, even with respect to the most interesting and practical subjects. Hence, no doubt, the excuses with w^hich, it is to be feared that, men but too fre- quently palliate their irregularities, and hence those systems of absolutely immoral dogmas with which, while professedly developing what they call rehgious principles, various sectaries, and specially the Jesuits among the followers of the Church of Rome, have dared to insult the world. But, further, how little are the rules of e^ddence, and the principles of rational deduction, understood and appreciated ? What is reason % How comes it to be so often deceived ''■. What is the difference in point of certainty betwixt demonstration and logical proof? Is our belief in human testimony intuitive, or the result of experience \ How many doubts and diffi- culties again perplex us with reference to these and many other particulars of a similar character? With regard to minor matters, such as the principles of beauty and sublimity, much as they have been dis- cussed, we in truth hardly know anything whatever 12 INTHOIJUCTORY. precisely. It is even disputed whether there be such phenomena as absolute beauty and sublimity at all. By some our sense of beauty and sublimity is attributed entirely to association. The evil, how- ever, extends nmch wider, and reaches much deeper, than even all this would lead us to suj^pose. The very facts of our most ordinary beliefs are disputed, and a philosophy of absolute scepticism has recently over-^un one of the neighbouring and most pro- foundly learned nations of the world, and is rapidly gaining ground even in our own. All sort of belief is negatived, all sort of existence disowned, and the phenomena of the universe reduced to a play of rela- tions which supersedes even time, and annihilates space. Nor does it seem easy, in our present state of knowledo^e, to meet all this. As mere matter of reasoning on principles it seems nearly as probable as anything else. No doubt such speculations can never be practically believed, and are, indeed, prac- tically, ridiculous. But, in the meantime, they are no less surely sapping our respect for truth, shak- ing our mutual confidence, degrading the condition of human life, as if it were a delusive mockery, and thus opening a way for all that is base, selfish, and unprincipled in human conduct. Better, therefore, had we almost any form of dogmatic belief, than this present prevalence of ill-digested, ill-understood, metaphysical scepticism, for it har- monises with the most pernicious, and yet the most powerful tendencies of our corrupted natures. INTRODUCTORY. 13 It may, however, still be, that matters are des- tined to remain thus. It may be, that those sub- jects of such unspeakable importance to our peace and prospects are, in so far as we are concerned, to continue for ever in a state of uncertainty and con- fusion. It may be, that we are to be for ever bound to a species of arbitrary faith, resting on just enough of proof to tantalise and torment us, but that we can never attain such a rational and scientific assur- ance of anything, as can suffice legitimately to satisfy an educated mind. It may be so, but we cannot beheve it. Such a notion seems not only repug- nant to om' intelligent feelings, but inconsistent ^^^th the order and tendencies of natural laws. Wlierever nature has constituted a relative, we must suppose, as will afterwards be more particularly ex- plained, that she has constituted a co-relative also, and therefore, to assume the existence of primary and essential desires, of which the gratification is impossible in the nature of things, seems hardly to admit of being regarded otherwise, than as a libel on nature and on nature's God. Yet the argument on which this singular conclusion rests most certainly merits an anxious examination, from the unspeak- able importance of the result which it would deter- mine — and the more, that it has been proposed by a writer deservedly of the highest character, not merely for vigor of style and elegance of expression, but for the far higher qualities of logical acuteness and ingenious originality. It is found in the Edin- 14 INTRODUCTORY. burgh Review,'' in an article on "Stewart's Life of Reid," which is now acknowledofed to have been the production of its Editor, This article maintains that "metaphysical speculation (meaning thereby " spiritual philosophy) is of little or no importance "either for the increase of our power,"'' or "the ex- " tension of our knowledge,"'' and it concludes in these words — "after all, perhaps, the chief value of such " speculations will be found to consist in the exercise " which they afford to the faculties, and the delight " which is produced by the consciousness of intellec- " tual exertion."'^ Of the soundness of the reasoning which led him to this startling conclusion, Mr. Jeffrey appears to have retained an unceasing- conviction, as we find him many years afterwards" adverting to this article with satisfaction, in respect to the effect which he imagined that it had pro- duced, of giving a death-blow to all attempts at the re-construction, or rather at the farther prosecution, of the science. •= He seems to have supposed that speculations as to the principles of spiritual truth were at an end. And tnie it is, that the article spoken of, in connection with some others of a similar character, confirming that dishke to the subject which strangely enough prevails among the countrymen of Locke, has, there is Httle doubt, tended, for many years, to prevent almost anything like an attempt at original speculation with respect " No. 6. •• p. 274. -^ p, 275. ■» p. 277. * Cockburns' Life of Lord JeflVny. INTRODUCTORY. 15 to the philosophy of the human mind, in so far as the literature of Britain is concerned ; but the re- sult has necessarily been an influx of foreign specu- lations into this country, not only seriously affecting religion, but modifying, even in some measure, all the curi'ent Hterature of the age, by the introduction of the very same sceptical extravagancies by which, more than a centuiy ago, our forefathers were be- wildered ; for we shall subsequently endeavour to shew, and we do not think it will admit of dispute, that the philosophy which we are now, with so much pretension, in one form or another, importing from Germany, is merely a rej^ublication of the veiy same theories formerly so well known in this country as the philosophy of Berkely and Hume. Such has been the necessary result of repudiating all intellectual philosophy, together with that of Reid, instead of attempting to amend it. For the truth is, that we cannot bid away from us j)hiloso- phical speculation. There is a natural impulse per- petually in operation, urging us to discover the principles of our opinions, and if we cannot discover those that are true, we will inevitably delude our- selves into the behef of those that are false. Such is the case, and ever has been the case, and ever will be the case with human beinsfs to the end of time. Hence do men continually assume prejudices for principles, as being ignorant of the nature of that spiritual truth which can alone, by possibility, enable us precisely to discriminate the one from the 16 INTRO DlK'TOllY. other. Yet, still it may be maintained that, how- ever impossible it may be to avoid speculating on the principles of spiritual truth, such speculations are altogether in vain. No one can acquire, it may be said, the slightest knowledge of these principles beyond the demi-intuitive knowledge possessed by all ; so that we have merely in this an additional proof of the inconsistencies and imperfection of the human mind, and a new and still more irresist- ible argument in favour of scepticism. Now, to this we reply in the first instance, that, as matter of fact, it is not true. Accordingly, when Mr. Jeffrey says, " that all men must be practically famihar with all the functions and qualities of their minds, and with almost all the laws by which they appear to be governed,"'' he must mean that the nature of evidence and the principles of reasoning were as well known to any mechanic, who was his client, as to himself, and that the state of his own mind, and the notions by which he is influenced, are as well known to the uneducated ruffian as to the most accurate thinker, and the most sedulous en- quirer in to his own mental states and operations ; for, unless he mean this, his argument is nothing to the purpose, since no one disputes that all the prin- ciples of the mind exist in the mind — it is only main- tained that they are so complicated, and, from vari- ous causes, so latent in their operation there, as to be undiscoverable except by those who use scientific • No. 6, p. 276. INTRODUCTORY. 17 means for their elucidation. But if he does mean this, then we say, as was stated, that it is not true, in point of fact, as demonstrated by continual expe- rience. Nothing, indeed, can be conceived more different than the degrees of knowledge appertaining to different individuals with respect to the origin of human beUefs, the nature of the human faculties, and the motives which reo^ulate human conduct. It is hardly conceivable how considerations so obvi- ous should have failed to present themselves to a mind so acute and intelhgent. The very same conclusion results from an in- vestigation of the argument by which Mr. Jeffrey attempts to defend his singular position, which, however ingenious, will, we think, be found alto- gether untenable as a matter of reasoning. It is as follows : — '' Inductive philosophy, or that which "proceeds upon the careful observation of facts, may " be appHed to two different classes of phenomena. "The first are those that can be made the sub- "ject of proper experiment when the substances " are actually in our power, and the judgTQent and " artifice of the enquirer can be effectually employed " to arrange and combine them in such a way as to " disclose their most hidden properties and relations. " The other class of phenomena are those that occur " in substances that are placed altogether beyond " our reach, the order and succession of which we " are generally unable to control, and as to which we " can do little more than collect and record the laws c 18 INTRODUCTOIIY. '' by which they appear to be governed. These " substances are not the subject of experiment, but of " observation; and the knowledge we may obtain, by *' carefully watching their variations, is of a kind that '' does not directly increase the power which we might " othenvise have had over them."'' How Mr. Jeffrey could imagine that experiment '' discloses the most " hidde7i properties and relations of substances" it is exceedingly difficult to conceive, since the ''most " hidden properties and relations of substances" are absolutely unknown, and even many proj)erties and relations of a much less recondite kind are, we have reason to believe, as yet undiscovered by us. Nor does it seem less extraordinary that he should have excluded from classes of phenomena those which, as in the action of steam, are^ discoverable solely by what he calls observation, and which are yet perfectly ''with- '' in our reach" and " under our control," and the knowledge of which greatly tends to the increase of our power, as is strildngly proved with reference to the very case alluded to, if it be true, as it assur- edly may be true, that Watt took his idea of the steam -enofine from the motion of the cover of a kettle of boiling water. But it is not worth wliile to dwell on these minor misconceptions, though they seem to shew that the author had hurriedly, and without due thought, been giving expression merely to an ingenious conjecture in the most plausible form that at the moment suggested itself; » No. 6, p. 273. INTRODUCTORY. 19 and, therefore, waving all such considerations, we proceed with the extracts necessary for fully appre- ciating his main argument. He subsequently pro- ceeds, then, in the following terms : — " But though " our power can in no case be distinctly increased by " the most vigilant and correct observation, our " knowledge may often be veiy greatly extended by '' it. In the science of mind, however, we are in- " clined to suspect that this is not the case. From '' the very nature of the subject it seems necessarily " to follow, that all men must be practically familiar " with all the functions and qualities of their minds, " and with almost all the laws by which they appear '' to be governed;"'' and afterwards sums up his con- clusion in these words : "for these reasons we cannot " help thinking that the labours of the metaphy- " sician, instead of being assimulated to those of the " chemist or experimental philosopher, might, with *' less impropriety, be compared to those of the " grammarian, who arranges into technical order the " w^ords of a language which is spoken familiarly by "all his readers; or of the artist who exhibits to " them a correct map of a district, with every part " of which they were previously acquainted."'' Ac- cording to this view, therefore, it would appear that the reviewer conceived grammPtr and maps neither calculated to "increase the power nor extend the "knowledge" of any one who would contrive coarsely to express his meaning in the language, or might be » No. 6, p. 275. '' No. 6, p. 276. 20 INTRODUCTORY. capable of practically finding his way through the region to which such gTammar and maps respectively applied. In other words, it would follow, from the argument, that the native of a country is in no mea- sure benefited by knowing its grammar, nor a person who has travelled over it, by studying the relation of its parts in its scientific geography ! We hold, as nearly as possible, the opposite opinion, nor have we the slightest doubt that everyone who attends to the nature of the proposition in the form under which we have stated it, will agree with us. Nay, in some re- spects indeed, there could not have been better analo- gies than those which Mr. Jeffrey has thus employed for illustrating the importance of spiritual science ; for, as we admit that all the natives of a country must have some knowledsre of its lano-uaa^e — though such knowledge amongst the uneducated be exceedingly imperfect, and altogether insuffi- cient, under any ordinary circumstances, for the development of its powers, or its application to any save the simplest and rudest ideas — so, in the same way we admit that all human beings know something of the human mind, and of its faculties, and of its operations ; but we maintain that their knowledge is exceedingly imperfect, and altogether, consequently, insufficient for enabling them, under any ordinary circumstances, to develope its powers, or apply its capabilities to any save the most ordinary purposes of human life. Again, as we admit that an ignorant smuggler may have so INTRODUCTORY. 2 1 accurate a knowledge of any p^iven district, as to be able to find his way through all its varied localities — though such knowledge be exceedingly imperfect, inasmuch as he can know nothing of the country beyond it, nor of its geographical bearings on the other districts of the region in which it exists, nor in respect to the world at large, and is, therefore, altogether insufficient for realising the main pur- poses of geography, or, indeed, of serving any purpose except that of enabling him to traverse its comparatively narrow bounds — so we admit, as was said already, that all human beings possess some naiTow and imperfect knowledge of their own minds ; but we maintain that such knowledge, in the case of an uneducated man, is, under any ordi- nary circumstances, only sufficient for guiding him with respect to the grosser details of every-day hfe, and consequently utterly insufficient for enabling him to appreciate those more important principles and relations which determine our more recondite feehno's, and connect us with our fellow-creatures and oui God. But whilst these analogies in so far illustrate the importance of spiritual science, and seem even to prove its necessity for those who desire to elevate themselves in the scale of being, we utterly deny that they extend further in their application ; or that, as the reviewer regards them, they can be held as analogies at all, since spiritual philosophy hardly makes any pretence at '^arrang- " ing into technical order" any portion of the pheno- 22 INTKODrCTOKY. mena which she investigates. In fact, these pheno- mena are exceedingl}^ few in number, and ^^dth the exception, perhaps, of tlie desires which seem to imply some degree of resemblance to one another, are so perfectly dissimilar that they will not admit of any, even the smallest, degree of " arrangement '• into technical order." Every attempt at such a thing has entnely failed, and ever must fail. What similitude, indeed, can be conceived betwixt percep- tion and reason ? or betwixt memory and desire ? The very assumption of it for a moment seems to be absurd, and the slightest consideration of the subject, away from any theory, satisfies us at once that, be the science of spiritual philosophy assimi- lated to what it may, it cannot be to the sciences of mere ''arrangement." The very same conclu- sion would, there can therefore be no doubt, follow from the other analogy, could we distinctly imderstand what is meant by "mapping" the mind. But the term seems evidently unsuitable and inapplicable in the way in which it is here employed, for though we might '' set down eveiy " thing without omission and without distortion that " w^e actually know^ upon the subject," yet this would only be to ''set down" certain effects that result from the operations of the mind, and the description might not contain one particular appertaining to the mind itself To map the mind, therefore, in any intelligible sense, would be to name its various powers and feelings, and to discriminate the precise iXTRonrcTOKY. '2'A relations which they bear to one another, and to other beings in all their fulness — and this would, we admit, be really spiritual philosophy ; but so far are these particulars from being known to every- body that they are very imperfectly knoMOi to any body; since were they perfectly known, it is evident that the nature and limits of all spiritual truth so far as knowable — whether religious, moral, politi- cal, or incidental — ^would not only be precisely known, but would be felt as precisely known, and all farther speculation with respect to it would be at an end. These remarks bring us to the essence of the argument, which is to the effect that spiritual phi- losophy appertains to the lowest form of the sciences of observation, as discoverino- notliinsf which any one either does not know, or has not a perfect opportunity of knowing without trouble^ — and, consequently, as merely directing our attention more particularly to points of interest which may, perhaps, have been too httle appreciated. Now that every one has an opportunity of knowing the facts of this science, in so far as they can be known, is indisputable, even more strictly than they have the same opportunity with respect to physical science, if the proper means be used. It is only denied that every human being must knov/ them, or cmi know them without trouble. But the argument and the reply Avill be more fully and clearlv understood bv attendino- to the circiim- 24 INTRODUCTORY. stances under which it was originally stated — for Professor Stewart, who appears to have been partially puzzled by the play of Jeffrey's analo- gies, at all events met him irresistibly in his doc- trine, that observation, though it may extend our knowledge, cannot increase our power, by appeahng to the science of anatomy on Avhich every part of medical science is mainly dependent. To this the reviewer answers — "Now, ingenious and elegant as 'Hhis parallel must be admitted to be, we cannot '' help regarding it as utterly fallacious, for this sim- *' pie reason, that the business of anatomy is to lay " open, with the knife, the secrets of that internal " structure, which would never otherwise be appa- " rent to the keenest eye, while the metaphysical en- *' quirer can disclose nothing of which all his pupils ''are not previously aware. There is no opaque "skin, in short, on the mind to conceal its interior "mechanism."'' Now this is distinct and precise, and demands a distinct and catesforical answer. Nor do we even object to the gentle and gentle- manly irony with which the paper concludes in these words : "the sciences of the anatomist would " evidently be more akin to those of the metaphy- " sician, if, instead of actually disclosing what was " not previously known, or suspected to exist, he had " only drawn the attention of an incurious genera- " tion to the fact that they had each ten fingers and " ten toes, or that most of them had thirty-two teeth, * Edinburrili Bcview, No. 33, p. 177. INTRODUCTORY. 25 *' distinguishable into masticators and incisors;"" for, if tlie argument be bad, the ridicule goes for nothing, and if it be good, the ridicule will render its vali- dity the more definite and iiTesistible. We meet it, therefore, directly, and maintain, as matter of fact, experimentally-known to eveiy human being whoever directed his attention to the subject, that there is " an opaque skin on the mind which con- " ceals its interior mechanism," and that skin is pre- judice and passion, and the strong tendency of the mind to mere sensitive observation which, compli- cated together, form an integument, not merely so opaque but so nearly impenetrable, that only the nicest instiiiment can dissect it. Moreover, the mass of human beings, by want of habit, lose the use of this instrument altogether, and consequently never can know anything whatever of the state of their own minds, except in so far as some of the particulars which intersveave themselves with the integument in which they are wrapped for the most part, may be observable by shreds on its boundaries, though that veiy interweaving which thus affords us some glimpses of our internal struc- ture and its operations still farther enhance the difficulty of their absolute separation. It is from these causes that so many come to conclusions for which they can assign no definite reason ; and hence it is only by realising the operation of these causes, that we can fully appreciate the point of Lord * Edinhurtjh Beview No. 33, p. 177. 26 INTRODUCTOin'. Ellcriboroiigh's celebrated and sound advice to a colonial governor, that he should never ''give the *' reasons of his judgments, since, though his judg- " ments might probably be right, his reasons would " inevitably be wrong."'' In the same causes also originate the tendency of men to excuse their errors by false and distorted views of facts, and by them farther is explained the extraordinary phenomenon that, while all men believe in many doctrines of rehgion, policy, morals, &c., few can tell precisely the principles on which their belief is founded. With respect to the challenge, which the reviewer proposes, of " indicating the departments in which *' discoveries are to be made," we imagine that it implies no difficulty. Discoveries are to be made, as we have already said, in religion, morality, politics, and, in one word, on every subject which involves spiritual truth. Some, nay many, have already been made incidentally, and we may surely, on good grounds, suppose that, if indisimtable principles can be reached, there are many equally, or more important, that may be made still ; and this brings us to another form of the objection to the study of spiritual philosophy, under wliich it is argued that, even supposing the mental states and their operations to be in so far capable of examination by the mind itself as thereby to exhibit to us a certain amount of tnith, which, indeed, as a mere matter of practical fact, it seems " CamjibcU's Livis of tlic Chief Justices. IN'IIWDUCTOIiY. 27 impossible to dispute, — still, that this can only be effected to so limited an extent, and under such empirical jn'ocesses, as though it might give one man a certain superiority over another, yet could never enable us to attain any approach to such a scientific development as would materially increase our power, or extend our knowledge. This conclu- sion is held, at all events, to be partially proved by the very small progress which intellectual has made in comparison with physical science, during the rapid advances of modern civilization, and some notion to this effect, there can be little doubt, prevails widely in the literary world. It is not doubted that something may be done in the way of promoting spiritual science, nor that a considerable amount of incidental knowledge may be acquired upon the subject — and, accordingly, there is hardly a work, however important, or a paper, however trivial, upon any subject into which, under some form, speculations on spiritual philosophy are not directly or indirectly introduced, and its principles, such as they are supposed to be, appealed to ; yet, strange as it may appear, such is the effect of the contempt which many of our literati have attempted to throw on anything like a scientific prosecution of the subject, and such the despair generated by a comparison of its position, and progress with the position, and progress of physical science, that few are willing to risk the loss of time and money in its legitimate cultivation. In truth, how- 28 INTRODUCTORY. ever, the argument, from the rapid progress of physical science, is far from warranting any such conckision as has thus been more or less uncon- sciously, perhaps, rested upon it. The philosophy of mind must necessarily follow the philosophy of matter, inasmuch as our minds are naturally, in the first place, directed rather to that which is without, than to that which is within, as is manifesj^ in the case of infants and ignorant persons — and it is only as we advance in physical knowledge that the desire to determine our mental processes in its accurate appreciation gradually develoj)es itself — for, in truth, it is mainly in this way that we become aware of the difficulties that our mental processes involve, our perception of such difficulties becoming more and more intense, by how much the more the complication of physical relations, and their dependence upon unknown causes, unfold themselves to us. Hence, in the prosecution of physical philosophy, an empirical knowledge of our states of mind and of mental operations is forced upon us, just as, by the pressure of our bodily necessities, a large amount of empirical knowledge, with respect to physical philosophy, must be forced upon us, ere, in either case, we can attempt even to lay the foundations of any approach to scientific investigation — and, under this view, the analogy of the progress of physical and intellectual science respectively, is a most striking one. In both the grand object has been, in the first instance, to INTRODUCTOKY. 29 become acquainted with the substantial essence of existence. It was this that the ancients sought after. It was this that all Christian philosophers followed forth during the long series of the middle ages. Indeed, the alchymists, who were the physi- cal philosophers of those times, had scarcely any- thing else in view. Yet, is it not to be supposed^ that, during the middle ages, no physical facts were discovered, although the ultimate object which philosophers had in view was chimerical'? On the contrary, sometimes incidentally, sometimes in the formal prosecution of that which was then called science, most iinportant physical facts were elimi- nated, and that too under the most strict pro- cesses of experiment, for there never was an age, and never could have been an age, in which men did not investigate science by experiment; and, accor- dingly, we find the most sound principles on this subject detailed and recommended from the earliest times, but then it was always under the false idea, that this was merely a subsidiary process that might aid in the grand ultimate object of the a priori determination of essences. It is, therefore, the real merit attributable to Bacon, not that, in any proper .sense, he was the originator of the inductive method of philosophising, but that he more fully developed an impression which had been gTadually extending itself up to his time, that this object of discovering essences was absurd and unattainable, and consequently inducing philoso- 30 INTRODUCTORY. pliers to lay aside, finally and altogether, the system of philosophising by hypothesis, or, in other words, of seeking in the human mind that which was attainable by physical experiment and obser- vation alone. In exactly the same way the object of intellectual philosophy was long avowedly the discovery, a priori, of the essences of mental states, a discovery which was unattainable ; although, occa- sionally there is no doubt that, whether incidentally, or in the formal prosecution of that unattainable object, discoveries were made empirically in many branches of spiritual science, which have greatly tended to ameliorate the condition of the human race. Yet, just as formerly in physical science, philosophers have always unconsciously been se- duced back again to seek after the more alluring, because the more magnificent and fundamental dis- covery of essences, in some form or other, which, if they could be discovered, would no doubt at once enable us to explain the whole phenomena of the spi- ritual world. Nor, in truth, has this tendency been ever more strikingly exhibited, in so far as the human mind is concerned, than during the present age, when a determination of the nature of spirit, simply and solely by an induction, of facts, is spoken of with contempt, and the attention of the mass of the philosophical world is directed to the discovery of the absolute, the infinite, and the eternal, not through the determination of observed and admitted spiritual phenomena, but by abstract INTRODUCTORY. 31 speculation, on what are supposed to be a pi-iori cognitions — although, in reality, these su2:»posed a priori cognitions, in so far as they are anything at all, are merely intellectual conclusions, not a priori, but unconsciously attained, a posteHori, by elementary and consequently very subtle processes of the human mind. They are supposed to be a priori, because their origin is in a great mea- sure unkno^vn, from which originates a notion, more or less unconsciously entertained, that they are, somehow, of the very essence of mind, and consequently that they admit of results being deduced from them determinative of its primaiy and essential character, whereas, they are mere results of mental oj)erations, explicable by a more careful analysis, and thus resolvable into the action of mental powers and feelings upon experiment- ally-kno^vn facts, just as any other phenomena. That such an analysis may some time enable us to know more of spiritual nature absolutely, and thus to determine more definitely those awfril problems in respect to the absolute, the infinite, and the eternal, to which the attention of human beings is naturally so anxiously directed, is perfectly true ; but we have not reached the amount of knowledge, as yet at all events, which will enable us to reaUse such results — and it seems pretty clear that, unless we adopt dififerent principles of enquiry, we are not very likely ever to realise them. All that has hitherto, indeed, been attained by such a mode of 32 INTRODUCTORY. philosophising in modern times, is just what was attained by Plato and Aristotle, by the use of the same system. We have got confused amidst a mass of vague and unintelligible terms, which, instead of giving us great and important truths to believe, are calculated to lead to the conclusion, in so far as they lead to any conclusion, that there is nothing in which we can believe at all. Our behef, under the assumption of its resting on such foundations, must necessarily be entirely arbitrary, having neither proof in itself, nor out of itself, so that the moment we leave the arbitrary, we, as matter of necessity, fall into the sceptical. That something may be accomphshed, however, for the advancement of intellectual or spiritual science, seems to be absolutely certain, from the explanations already given of many doctrines of religion, philosophy, morals, education, &c., which, thouQ^h no doubt incidental in a srreat measure, and empirical, as must in the first instance be the case with every science, are yet in no degree the less indisputable and important ; and, if we now truly adopt, in regard to this science, that w^liich has been called the Baconian method of philoso- phising, by rejecting all a priori cognitions, and taking the truth as exhibited in facts and phe- nomena — a method which has never really been attempted by any one save Locke alone — there seems no reason why we should not rise as high even in spiritual, as we have done in physical INTKODUCTOKY. :};} science, by the explanation of these principles in all the higher spiritual sciences, wliicli are hitherto imperfectly or not at all understood, so as to leave us necessarily in a state of what may be called logical scef)ticism, and, by accomplishing which, we should extend our knowledge with re- spect to the most interesting of all subjects, and in- crease pur power with respect to the most important of all objects, in acquiring additional means for attaininsf a command over ourselves. At the same time, while it seems indisputable that something may be done for the advancement of spiritual science, anything farther can only be regarded as more or less probable, since it is evidently impossi- ble to determine positively how much may be done till the thing is tried, as in the case of all other sciences. It is, however, at all events, clear, that we can only then be tnily said to be making pro- gress in spiritual science when w^e are discovering facts previously unknown with respect to the nature of our motives and the principles of our beliefs, and when these discoveries are of no doubtful character, but are felt to be as tnie to our consciousness as the established principles of physical science to our rational convictions. But were we, however, to be made to feel that important principles, hitherto un- certain, began to exhibit themselves under a defi- nite and indisputable form — that relations previ- ously admitted as mere matter of intuition, were assuming a logical and recognised connection — 34 INTRODUCTORY. that truths credited, though not understood, and consequently hable perpetually to the scoffs of scepticism, were becoming developed as primary conclusions of our intelligent natures, or strict in- ferences under legitimate reasoning — then surely, if such results could be attained, should we be entitled to claim for spiritual science all the im- portance which its most devoted adherents could desire — and we cannot help being impressed with the assurance that a commencement of all this is, even under present circumstances, attainable. Still, it may indeed be argued that, even supposing all tliis to be attainable even to the fullest extent, yet very few, comparatively speaking, would be capable of the nice analysis which it implies; and tliis is true, but every one is capable of appreciating the result who is capable of understanding ordinary language, and this is all with which the mass is acquainted in reference to the processes of philo- sophical analysis, or reasoning in any science. All know that the tides will ebb and flow at particular times, and eclipses occur at the calculated periods, but not one in thousands know anything whatever of the calculations under which they are foretold ; while, in the case of mental philosophy, there is the additional advantage, that all know so much of their own minds as to be capable, even in some measure, of realising those states and processes with regard to them which may admit of being described and illustrated. INTRODUCTORY. :}5 It is, however, to be kept in view, as a matter of experimental fact, realised in almost every instance of human behef, that so entirely are our mental states shrouded by the passion, prejudice, and ten- dency to mere external and sensitive observation — of which we have formerly spoken — as absolutely to conceal from our consciousness, in many cases, a gi'eat proportion of their more subtle, though most effective operations ; while the same causes, acting as operative principles, and combined with our natural distaste to reflex mental investigation, wiiich we sometimes fear, too, by a sort of anticipation, may end in results inconsistent with our worldly interest or our personal gratifications, frequently lead to our resting satisfied with an imperfect analysis and indefinite conclusions. In this, mainly, we have the origin of a j)rio)'i cognitions, and of many of these loose moral and political theories which would leave man an anomaly in the miiverse. Hence, it is only by the most accurate and con- tinued observ'ation that we can acquire the capa- bihty of appreciating almost any of our mental states and processes in their completeness — portions of the phenomena, as frequently in chemical pro- cesses, disappearing in a latent form during the operation, and thus exposing our conclusions neces- sarily to the risk of more or less serious error — a risk manifestly enhanced, just in proportion to the extent that our mental operations become habitual, and consequently effected, without any effort what- 36 INTRODUCTORY. ever, which might impress them more deeply on the recollection. Under such circumstances, and acting under the influence of motives previously adverted to, we need not wonder that philosophers, instead of patiently persevering till the causes of phenomena had, in each case, clearly developed themselves, should have been satisfied with supple- menting a deficient analysis, by the use of vague terms, or a reference to unl^nown principles, as was formerly done in physical science — for example, in the forms of Aristotle, and the vortices of Des Cartes. But a use of vague terms, or a reference to unknown principles, can never add anything to human knowledge — they merely prove that those who employ them in mental science, at all events, have no clear ideas themselves on the subjects to which such terms and principles are intended to apply — since mental facts and phenomena, accu- rately analysed, and clearly understood, must, from the very nature of the case, admit of the fullest and most definite expression ; for, though it be true that simple states and ideas can neither be defined nor described, yet they can be so accurately and clearly indicated by a reference to their precise results as to leave no possible doubt with respect to their nature, their origin, and their relations. Hence, in the use of distinct and definite terms, and in appealing only to principles which eveiy one can understand who knows the meaning of ordinaiy language, we have,, at all events, the assurance of INTRODUCTORY. '.i / advancing safely and surely, in so far as we do advance ; and, if in the use of such means we actually succeed in analysing states of mind, or, by any other process, succeed in determining grounds of human belief, or principles of human conduct hitherto not at all or imperfectly appreciated, there can be no doubt that we are making progress, whatever be the extent of it. Those particulars, therefore, we shall endeavour strictly to keep in view through every part of our investigations, at the same time earnestly urging on all others, who may participate in our convictions, to persevere in the same course, since we are persuaded— and we tiTist also to be able, by exhibiting, to some extent, the actual reaUzation of our expectations, to con- vince others — that much may be explained with reference to spiritual truth, in regard both to our beliefs and our impulses, which, as yet, apj^ears absolutely inexplicable — every step that is made in advance ojoening a wider and wider field of investi- gation, and that it is even more true of spiritual, than of physical philosophy, that no bounds can be conceived to the extent of its range. , That we may distinctly understand, however; what is to be done, and appreciate the difficulties to be obviated, it is proposed, in the first place, generally to sketch the progress of spiritual philo- sophy from the earliest ages down to the present time. We shall thus be enabled precisely to deter- mine the eiTors into which philosophers have fallen, 38 iNTiiouucTOiiy. whether with respect to the science itself, or their modes of prosecuting it — a knowledge, it is manifest, essential for enabling us to obviate such errors in the one case, and to avoid them in the other. It will, however, of course, be understood that we have no intention whatever of giving anything like a histoiy of philosophical opinions, even of the most meagre kind, nor an exposition of even any one philosophical system. Our sole object will be to indicate such misconceptions of principles as may have hitherto retarded the progress of spi- ritual philosophy, or may seem likely to retard them in future times, and to explain, as far as possible, the causes in which those misconceptions have ori- ginated. I- UNIVERSITY! "^ CHAPTER tl. SKETCH OF THE PROGRESS OF SPIRITUAL PHILOSOPHY. SECTION I. PROGRESS OF SPIRITUAL PHILOSOPHY FROM THE EARLIEST AGES, TO THE TIME OF BACON AND DES CARTES. Tendency of the human mind when it begins to philosophise —Reference of all knowledge to itself — Illustrated by the Greek philosophy — Nature of the primary Greek philosophy — Growth of materialism and sketch of the theory of Epicurus — Absurdity of the system — Rise and pro- gress of scepticism among the Greeks — Philosophy of the Romans- Manner in which the system of Greek and Roman philosophy became modified by the propagation of Christianity, and sketch of the pro- gress of philosophy during the middle ages — State of the philosophical world when Bacon (Lord Verulam) appeared — Sketch of the nature of his philosophy — Effect of it on spiritual science — Origin of sensation- alism — Appearance of Des Cartes — Sketch of the nature of l:is philo- sophy — Its effect on spiritual science. When the human mind begins to philosophise it seems to be its natural tendency to imagine that all real knowledge is to be found in itself, and conse- quently that all which we can, with propriety, be said to know, must be held as somehow generated through its own spontaneous forth-giving. Nor is it difficult to discover the process under which we 40 SKETCH OF are led to this conclusion — for the gradual progress of our knowledge, as the result of a more or less continuous operation, being unperceived by us, when we ultimately .come to speculate as to the source from which it is derived, we find, in the first instance, at all events, that the origin of the mass of our ideas is utterly unknown to us, and inexpli- cable. No doubt some of them might be referred to external perception, though, even with respect to these, we quickly come to appreciate the difficulty of conceiving how external existence could possibly become an object of our conciousness ; but, setting this aside in the meantime, the great proportion of them are at once felt as altogether independent of sensation, and these, too, by far the more important, as being not only most certain in their determina- tion, but as possessing a universality of application which stamps them with a character of higher and more essential truth. Accordingly, in the earliest ages, and specially among the Greek philosophers, whose speculations are the earliest as to which we possess any definite information, the determination of the nature of essences, or essential natures, as discoverable by scientific investigation of the a priori cognitions of the human mind, was put forth as the avowed end of philosophy. Even their physical, therefore, became in this way a species of metaphysical philosophy, for they rarely attempted to discover physical facts by physical experiments; at least, during the earlier ANCIENT I'HlLOSOrilY. 41 liistoiy of the science, and never as if this liad been the main mode and pm'pose of philosophy, Ijut they prosecuted physical science through meta- physical speculations on the essential nature of existence and the constitution of its primary ele- ments. The truth, discoverable by this species of investigation, which they deemed alone certain, and alone valuable, and which undoubtedly carries Avith it, even in its very enunciation, an- appearance of suq^assing grandeur, as comprehending every species of knowledge in itself, they e\ddently be- Ueved to He concealed in the human mind, and to be attainable consequently by those only who, abstracting their thoughts from all ideas of sensa- tion, and controlling their desires and passions by a process of continuous effort and abstinence, in so far at least as to exclude the present, and to give scope to the energies of a lofty reason, sought to ascertain it by intently gazing within, till the vague generalities, common to all mankind, should be du'ectly appreciated mth the precision and clear- ness of pliilosophical realities. The difficulty, however, here was to detennine how the mind had got possession of such a knowledge of this external existence as that it could reflect upon it 1 From whence it came? and how we could become acquainted with that which is without by medita- tions on that which is within'? Now, to explain this, the ancients, much more logically than most of the moderns who have fallen into a similar error, as- oF THE 42 skp:tch of sumed that models of eveiy species of truth exist in the mind — not as arbitrary dogmas or proposi- tions, but as essential modes resulting from the very nature of things — in the divine mind more per- fectly, in the human mind less perfectly, though in both substantially the same — and that all external truth, so far as it really implied truth, exhibited merely representations, shadows, or images of those models, more or less vague and inaccurate, according to circumstances, and which, consequently, from their very vagueness and inaccuracy, might easily be confused with one another, and could realise no precision in themselves, from whence necessarily followed the uncertainty of all belief, connected with or dependent upon them. From this it is evident that the ancients really beheved the mind to be a microcosm, or little world, containing exem- plars of all things in itself, which exemplars of course had been all in a more perfect form compre- hended in the divine mind, anterior to the actual constitution of any thing, in respect that the divine mind was, of its own essential nature, forced to create all things in confonnity with them. In this h3rpothesis — modified, of course, in each case, as to its incidents — A\all be found the germ of all the more celebrated systems of ancient philosophy. These models or exemplars were the numbers of Pythagoras, the ideas of Plato, and the fomis of Aristotle. According to them all these numbers, ideas, and forms were entities, real essences, in ANCIENT PIIIF.OSOPIIY. 4.'> other words, comprehending all truth, and this truth was discoverable, as they believed, by con- centrated contemplation of the mind and its opera- tions. Nor would it be difficult to shew, as will indeed appear from our subsequent enquiries, that without some such theory, identifying genera and species ^vitll essences, the assumption of innate ideas, intuitive principles, a i^riori cognitions, or, in a word, knowledge anteceding experience, by whatever name it may be called, is untenable and absurd. Aristotle seems to have been the first, among professed philosophers, who indicated, with any degree of precision, at all events, the importance to physical science of an experimental investigation of the facts which nature exhibits to us in her operations. In some detached passages, indeed, he seems thoroughly to realise that process of induc- tive philosophy which has usually been attributed exclusively to recent times ; but, both in his induc- tive theory, and in his experiments, Aristotle in- tended only to find food, if we may so express ourselves, for his metaphysical speculations. He never seems to have imagined, mighty as was his mind, that by such instrumentality it was possible to arrive at the depths of tiaie philosophy. Those he endeavours to fathom by the very same means as the philosophers who had preceded him — nor is there any writer of antiquity, we will venture to affirm, more abstruse, or rather, we should say, more 44 SKETCH OF unintelligible, than Aristotle, in IiIb search after the first principles of things. Up to the point of which we have now spoken, however, the philosophy of the ancients was mainly physical, or at least related to points, in so far, ex- ternal to the mind itself, and hence, however false it may have been, we can at all events, to a certain extent, more or less understand and appreciate tlieir theory. They sought entities in the mind, and no doubt they were not altogether disappointed. They found something, and naturally enough supposed that it was what they wanted, because they con- fused general ideas with entities as being ignorant of the source in v/hich general ideas originate. In so far, therefore, there is much that we can under- stand in the writings of the ancient philosophers — much ingenuity even displayed, which we can appreciate and admire ; but, when attempting to penetrate beyond this external j)hilosophy, they endeavour to determine the essential nature of the inner mind itself, in which they assume these models or exemplars to exist, I must confess that, to me, their speculations become absolutely incom- prehensible. It is, indeed, easy to construe their sentences, and it is easy to conjecture meanings of particular passages ; but, what their views may have been as a whole, I have been utterly unable to dis- cover, nor have I ever found translator or com- mentator from whom I could derive the slightest amount of satisfactory information. Of course 1 am ANCIENT I'lIILOSOPHY. 45 not only o})en, but anxious, to receive information upon the subject, always assuming that the histo- rians of the ancient philosophies rest their ex'plana- tions on legitimate translations of their originals, instead of fiijding, as some of them do, the whole of modern philosophy wrapped up in single techni- cal terms, to which lexicographers have never been able to attach any definite sense at all ; but, however presumptuous it may appear, yet, as men can only fairty judge from their means of knowledge, and according to their capabilities, until this be done, 1 shall continue to regard the strictly mental philoso- phy of the Greeks as belonging to the same class with a more modern philosophy — of which we shall by and by speak — directed to the same object, wherein both founder and disciples would seem to have deceived themselves in the use of words which have no definite meaninof. Such, in so far as we can pretend to judge, was generally stated the character of the most cele- brated systems of philosophy among the Greeks, in their physics and metaphysics. The modes under which the founders wrought out each system respectively, depended of course upon the special tendencies and circumstances of the several indivi- duals. It is enough for us to know that, where their philosophy began, there it also ended. Much was, indeed, written, and many ingenious specula- tions were proposed, but in seeking an a iiriori knowledge of essences, which is now theoretically. 46 SKETCH OF at all events, admitted to be unattainable, we need not wonder that no progress was made, nor that t*he vague language and abstruse disquisi- tions, in which these philosophers indulged, were, if possible, still less available for asc/ertaining the essence of mind, than for determining what they resrarded as the essential and eternal schemata of matter. There can be little doubt, however, that, even among ' the disciples of this ideal school itself, a sense of the practical barrenness, and mystical incomprehensibility of the theory had all along been practically felt. Hence, probably, originated the hope of discovering the essence of existence in a quarter the very opposite from that which had been previously assigned for it — and we say the opposite, because there can be no question what- ever, that the representational school of the Greek philosophers must have logically recognised the ideal theory ; for assuming, as a principle, that external existence was merely an exhibition of representations, shadows, or images, of which the models or entities exist in the mind, it is evidently impossible that they could have imagined such entities to exist in spirit, as material substances, according to the then, or, indeed, any conceivable acceptation of the terms. They must, there can be no doubt, have been regarded as spiritual entities of some kind or other — the external representa- tions, as they are called, being, in reality, nothing ANCIENT PHILOSOPHY. 47 save mere films, or projected copies of them, and, as sucli, constituting the phantasmagoria wliich we imagine to be an external world. With these pliilosophers, therefore/ all essence being spiritual, every kind of sensation was, of course, regarded mth utter contempt as, in reahty, a delusion — the facts wliich it might appear to establish being held as altogether unworthy of the name of science. This philosophy, however, as was said, having been found practically useless, and, in many particulars, even theoretically incomprehen- sible, as consisting merely in the use of unintelli- gible, or imj)erfectly intelligible, terms, Epicurus adopted a theoiy, which for some time had been gaining ground, that involved an opposite assump- tion, in so far as it superseded spirit altogether, by attributing what were held as spiritual pheno- mena to the action of material substances ; or, in other words, he considered that which was usually called mind, or spirit, to be merely a phenomenon resulting from the reciprocal action of material collocations. This system — which was an attempt at developing, under a somewhat more scientific aspect, the speculations previously propounded by Democritus and others — is just the modern theory, differently expressed, under which the constitution of the human mind, and the scheme of the universe, " We are quite aware that these philosophers asserted the existence of matter \b some sense, hut we speak of the logical result of their principles, which alone materially affected the progress of philosophy, and not of their incidc-iital and inconsistent dogmata, which were subsequently overloikcd. 48 SKETCH OF have, with great pomp, as if it were some recent and important discovery, been attributed to the action of material forces. Accordingly, setting aside the specialities of his system, we find it liable to the fatal objection, common to every form of such theory, that it does not explain the phenomena, or rather that, without any attempt at explaining, it supersedes them. For thought and feeling, .so far as we can discover, are neither qualities of material existence, nor can they be results of any combina- tions of its qualities. Whereas, this theory, in direct opposition to the indisputable fact, assumes that matter, either directly or in its combinations, has these qualities, or can, at all events, generate them, and that we have the means of ascertaining it ; for, if we have not the means of ascertaining it — and, if on the contrary, mind and matter in all their distinctive qualities seem to us, in sjDite of our most careful and repeated experiments, the veiy anti- podes of each other — then the assumption, w^hatever it may be in the nature of things, is to us false, and consequently, it is impossible that we can rest upon it any form of conclusion. Accordingly, under that theory, it is, as might have been ex- pected, found practically impossible to advance one step in our knowledge of the human mind, or to explain in the slightest degree, for practical pui^Doses, any one particular of its operations. No doubt such a conjecture, as that implied in the theory, naturally enough suggests itself from that intimate ANCIENT I'lllLOSOl'HV. 49 mutual action of soul and body upon one another, which we can hardly attribute to separate essences, as well as from the similitude which the human system, in various respects, exhibits to a physical machine; but yet, as the phenomena are absolutely different in kind from one another, and no approxi- mation even has yet been made to an identification of their essences or their qualities, the attempt to explain the one by the other, and especially to identify spirit with matter, of course, again led merely to the substitution of words for ideas, so as still farther to complicate the subject by specula- tions, if possible, even more frivolous and unsatis- factory than those from which the assumption primarily was intended to relieve us. The essen- tial absurdity of this theoiy, therefore, consists in its attributing thought and feeling to hardness, softness, gravity, motion, and those various quali- ties or proporties of matter of which we are conscious as material — an assumption which, to us, is evidently a contradiction in terms. Did it main- tain merely, let it be observed, that thought and feeling result from hidden properties of matter which we have no means of discovering, but which, could we discover them, would be found essentially of the nature of those of which w^e are conscious as spiritual, that would be a perfectly different thing, and the theory would be quite harmless, and, so far as w^e know, perfectly possible, and only liable to the objection that it implies a pure conjecture as to 50 SKUTCH OF a subject of which we know nothing whatever. But, when it is substantively maintained that quaU- ties which we know, produce effects which appear altogether inconsistent with their essential natures — that wheels, for example generate thought, and levers generate goodness — for in something of this kind must every form of materialism end — the theoiy becomes to us absurd and impossible, nor can we regard it as anything save a practical mockery of common sense, originating either in obstinate prejudice, or in a morbid love of philoso- phical paradox. Amidst so many doubts and difficulties, and extravagancies besetting the assumptions of both theories, therefore, we cannot wonder that there arose among the Greeks, also, a sceptical theory which denied that there could be certainty, or, as some held, even probability upon any subject. In truth, scepticism follows, logically, from both those theories of ideahsm and materialism, and that so obviously, that the argument will admit of no reply — since it is clear that, if some of our facul- ties deceive us, we can repose no confidence, logi- cally, at all events, upon the others, which depend for their validity precisely on the same proof — while the apparent delusiveness of our perceptions, and infirmity of our reasoning powers, would seem still farther to strengthen the conclusion thus pri- marily attained. The assumptions of scepticism, however, being in themselves absurd and impossible, ANCIENT l'HILO«t)PllV. 51 practically considered — since it is impossible that we can disbelieve the information of our faculties, and specially of our senses, whether it be true or folse — it is evidently unnecessary for our present l^ui'pose to enter on a consideration of the precise forms which, in earlier ages, it exhibited — and the more, that the veiy same principles which it then impHed mil come to be incidentally investigated at a subsequent stage of our enquiries, as more recently proposed in much clearer terms, and under a much more accurate appreciation of their bearing. The Romans originated nothing mth respect to intellectual or spiritual philosophy. Whatever views they entertained on the subject were avow- edly borrowed from the Greeks. The varied forms of the Greek philosophy, accordingly, continued to subsist among them "without any change, except in so far as that the tendency among the Romans was decided towards a fuller development of scep- ticism on the one hand, or of materialism on the other. This tendency, however, in either direction, was early checked by the introduction of Chris- tianity, of which one of the first observable results w^as the progressive annihilation of both scepticism and materialism in the shape, at all events, of avowed systems. No doubt, these theories may still have been cherished as the private belief of individuals, under some form or another — but, being both diametrically opposed to the theory of Chris- tianity, as it acquired an over-bearing inliuence. 52 SKETCH OF they, in any avowed fomi, gradually disappeared. Christianity farther introduced another important modification of philosophy, by superseding, in a great measure, at all events, the assumption of absolute realities, or entities, existing as models of all truth in the mind. Nor could it have been otherwise, for not only was this theory inconsistent with tJie general character of the Christian scheme, but it specially contradicted the fundamental as- sumption of Christianity, as claiming to be a reve- lation w^hich developed truth, that the human mind neither knew a j^^'iori, nor, of itself, could have possibly discovered. It could not, therefore, be admitted by Christians that such truth, in an absolute form, had previously existed in the human mind, only requiring sufficient contemplation to develope it. These were new notions altogether. Men, therefore, could have had no internal ideas from which they might have been derived, and hence it followed that the mind is capable of appreciating ideas which could not, under any form, have existed in itself, and with the nature and principles of which, had the mind been left to itself, it would have remained for ever unacquainted. Thus, into the place of the former theory of numbers, forms, ideas, or species, existing as realities, or entities in the mind, which was at least conceiv- able — assuming all things to be mere modifications of spirit — philosophers were led to substitute the much less logical theory which assumes truth to TllK Minni.K-ACE riui.osoi'iiv. ~h^ exist a priori in the mind — not in the form of* realities or entities, but of a certain number of thoughts or projDOsitions which lie wrapped up and concealed there — in order to form foundations or bases of our reasoning in future spiritual opera- tions as they are successively called forth whether by contemplation or intellectual effort, though, how these latent and innate thoughts and propositions differed from those subsequently acquired by ex- perience or reasoning, they not only neglected to explain, but they evaded the no less perplexing difficulty as to how it was possible for propositions to exist generally, when the mind had no know- ledge of any entities or realities which might give to such general propositions a substantive founda- tion; in other w^ords, they did not explain as to how there could be general propositions about nothing at all." Be this, however, as it may, we have here, and at this stage in the histoiy of philo- sophy, the origin of that theory which supposes general notions created, or spontaneously gene- rated, in the mind, and of which, as appearing in modern philosophy under the various names of innate ideas, intuitive principles, and a priori cognitions, we shall have much to say in the sequel. With these modifications the ancient philosophy, under some of its forms, continued steadily, during * But, whilst they rejected the theory of entities in the mind, they re- tained that of images or ideas, which they now assumed as coming, not from within hut without, i. c, not from entities in the mind, hut as quasi- sjiiritual images from the object. 54 SKETCH OF the middle ages, to hold its place in the schools, and it was only at a later date that another change, also indirectly originating with the Christian scheme, gradually began to develope itself. Reasoning from the assurance, which every one seems to feel, that existences of all kinds have, somehow or other, some principle of unity identify- ing them as parts of a common whole, philosophers had, from the earhest times from which any trace of philosophy has been transmitted to us, beyond all doubt, as we have already seen, leant to the assumption, that vll things are developments of a common spiritual essence, the nature of which was accordingly supposed to be discoverable by intense spiritual meditation — there being no other means conceivable by which the nature of spiritual essence could be discovered. When, however, Christianity indicated some essential distinction betwixt spirit and matter, or, at all events, when the mass of Christians believed so, philosophers ceased to ascribe them, as formerly, to the same essence, identifying them merely by a reference to a common origin — matter being thus regarded as involving a different essence from mind, but referable to mind as a creation of it. Still, however, it was believed, as before, that material essence might be discovered and appreciated by mental contemplation, in so far as the human mind was supposed to retain so much of its divine original, as to be able to reach the process under which the di^dne mind had realised the THE Mll)DLE-A(JK I'll 1 LOSOIMI V. .').) creation of matter, and there is evidently a formal attempt at effecting some such process, under the old form of the theory, so far back as the Timgus of Plato. It was, however, in the age of which we are speaking, universally recognised that matter and mind involve different essences — and we say recognised, because we are by no means prepared to maintain that the distinction of essences was denied, or even disbelieved, by all those whom we have designated as idealists among the ancients, but only that, under the theory of real entities, existing as models in the mind, any distinction of essences was logically inadmissible. Accordingly, under the assumption that matter had its own distinct essence, the philosophers of the middle ages, following forth the example which had been partially exhibited long before, applied themselves, as it might have been expected, with still greater assiduity, to seek a more precise determination of their a lyriori assumptions, and a more definite guide for their subsequent enquiries, by practical experiments on material substances, under the impression that the more elementary their know- ledge of matter, and the more approximating to its absolute form, the more simple would be the intellectual process necessary for its apprehension. This, indeed, was the only object for which they then deemed experiments available, although by the use of them they succeeded so well — not, indeed, in tlieir mistaken object of realising a 56 SKKTCJI OK knowledge of essence, but in attaining physical discoveries altogether unexpected, as in the case of Roger Bacon and many others, that an idea began gradually to suggest, and strengthen, and expand itself, to the effect that philosophy, by experiment, which had liitherto been regarded as merely a mode of ascertaining, with greater precision, the reality of a priori assumptions, and of guiding more de- finitely subsequent hypotheses, was in reality the best, if not the only, means of primarily discovering truth — and consequently, that the theory of innate ideas, either as involving the essence of matter, or as implying propositions in some inconceivable wa}^, absolutely existing a 'priori in the mind, was pro- bably founded on a delusion. Such was the state of the philosophical world when the celebrated Francis Bacon (Lord Verulam) appeared, who, putting into a definite form the more or less vague opinions which, as we have seen, had previously begun extensively to prevail, gave to scientific enquiry its true direction in so far as physical pliilosophy was concerned, and thus opened up that path of discovery which has subse- quently led to such splendid results. The only discovery made by himself, however, if indeed dis- covery it can be called, consisted simply in repudi- ating the theoiy of a j^^'ioi'i cognitions, and consequently establisliing the impossibility of ever discovering truth by mere contemplation or the use of reasoning — a theory which, setting apart THE M11)DI.E-A(;E I'lllLOSOl'llY. 6/ all other considerations, was necessarily implied in the use of syllogisms for the purpose of dis- covering truth, as was the universal practice in those times — the fact being, that syllogisms, as must be evident to every one that knows what a syllogism is, assume a general knowledge of the very point which it is intended specially to prove. They involve, therefore, of necessity, the supposition that a general knowledge of facts exists in the mind a priori, and hence, when employed as they were, during the times anterior to Bacon, for the purpose of discovering truth, they evidently imjDlied the assumption that such tiTith, in some general form, as evolved in the major terms of syllogisms, existed a priori as innate entities or propositions in the human mind. Now that the formal repudiation of syllogistic rea- soning for such a purpose, as well as of the existence of such innate entities or propositions in the mind, on which it depended, in so far, at all events, as physical philosophy was concerned, was really the only essential benefit which Bacon conferred upon philosophy, is indisputable on a consideration of the facts ; for it is not pretended that he made any scientific discovery himself worthy of mention, and we need not now say that assuredly he was not the first who suggested the use of experiment in philo- sophy. This must, indeed, have been known since the creation of human beings, inasmuch as it is forced upon our attention by the very constitution 58 SKETCH OF of things ; nay, there might be cited any number of formal philosophical experiments, as propounded by the ancients, and specially as we have seen, philosophical experiments were regarded, during the middle ages, as of the highest importance in aid of philosophy. The merit of Bacon, therefore, consisted in absolutely excluding all reference to h}^3othesis, or a iwlori conclusions, in the first in- stance, at all events, for the elucidation of physical science, and in enforcing our dependence upon experiment and observation alone. We press this the more anxiously, not merely as bearing, it will be found, directly upon our own subject, but because the common notion that Bacon discovered what has been called the inductive system, or, in other words, the system which we are told concludes generally from a number of particulars, is not only an entire error, however vaguely he may have sometimes expressed himself, but what is of much greater importance in such a matter, the principle itself, which, under the name of the inductive philo- sophy, is sometimes put forth with so much pomp, if considered as implying either the possibility of discovering universal truth from a generalization of particulars, or as denying the possibility of dis- covering such truth except by a comparison and generalization of particulars, must be denounced as equally unfounded and pernicious. Were it, indeed, true, then it would necessarily follow that we never could discover a universal truth unless we THE BACONIAN FillLOSOPHY. 59 had known and generalized every particular fact comprehended under it. This, however, is so far from being the case that, on the contrary, one fact will ascertain and determine a universal principle just as well as all the facts wliich could be compre- hended under that principle, provided we be certain that it is a fact. The necessity of many experi- ments and much observation in any case, or, in other words, of making ourselves acquainted with many of the particular facts embraced under any principle, is not because a knowledge of many such facts is necessary for enabhng us to generalize — since one fact would be perfectly sufficient for that piu'pose — but it is to assure us that we have actually got to the real fact, or real cause, and are not attri- buting the effect to merely incidental circumstances. It is on this account that, in experiments, we endeavour successively to abstract all incidental quahties in each case, until we reach the essential quality or quahties which alone are productive of the effect. Hence the value of an experimentum crucis where we have the means of excluding all merely incidental particulars, and where, consequently, there is no need of any farther experiment, or, in other w^ords, of any additional facts, in order either to generalize or determine a leg-itimate conclusion. We generalize, indeed, from the one fact, in such a case, with a greater certainty than we can usually do from a large number, because, as we trust is now evident, the generalization does not, in the slightest 60 SKETCH OK degree, depend upon the number of facts which we have observed, but on the certainty with which any one of them is known — for we generahze, not, as is usually supposed by accumulating facts, but under the rational conviction that identical phenomena must always be identical and referable to identical causes — a conviction, consequently, which must be equally irresistible, wherever a cause of any effect has been actually ascertained, whether in one case or in ten thousand. The use of experiment, there- fore, is not to enable us to generalize — and the same thing is true of continuous and repeated observa- tion — but, by removing all incidents in the subjects submitted to examination, to enable us to discover, in each case, the real and essential cause of the phenomenon. Hence, the true benefit which Bacon conferred upon philosophy was not the discovery of that which has been loosely called the " inductive "system" — which, as we have seen in the sense of philosophising by experiment, he did not discover — but the exclusion of all a j^'t^iori assumptions or hypotheses primarily in every form. He admitted no effective or trust- worthy means of philosophis- ing, except observation alone, and of course we must be understood to include what is usually called experiment under the word of obsei'vation, for experiment is merely artificially-an-anged obser- vation. It is not, however, to be supposed that, in excluding all a }iriori assumption or hy]3othesis as effective on trust-worthy means of philosophising. THE BACONIAN PHILOSOPHY. Gl Bacon intended to condemn the use of analos^ical reasoning as an aid in the investigation of physical truth, but quite the reverse. Analogies, indeed, give us analogical causes, and may suggest there- fore the causes of the co-relative phenomena which we investigate, just as identical phenomena, when traced to their sources, assure us of identical causes, — only, in the former case, the analogies, how- ever well ascertained, sdU leaving a certain degree of doubt upon the subject, direct us to determine such doubt by farther experiment. Analogies, therefore, imply a species of observation equivalent to a form of experiment. To avail ourselves of the probabilities which they indicate, therefore, in the shape of hypothetical assumption, with a view to a more determinate course of experiment, is an entirely different thing from a priori specula- tion, under the supposition that a mere appeal to mental ideas can of itself elucidate or illustrate the causes of physical facts. Bacon only denied the existence of any knowledge of physical substance a priori in the mind, repudiated all modes of philo- sophising, directly or indirectly founded on the assumption of such knowledge, and affirmed, conse- quently, observation to the absolute and utter exclusion of syllogistic reasoning, to be the alone organon or instrument of discovery in physical science. This was his real merit. It was his defi- nite realization of this fundamental truth which justly entitles him to be regarded as the father of modern science. G2 SKETCH OF In thus far it will be observed that Bacon only applied his orgcmon to physical science ; it ^vill now, however, be easily understood how the prin- ciple involved in his philosophy, did also imme- diately produce a most material effect on the philo- sophy of mind — and that, in the first instance, at all events, to its serious detriment, for excluding, as we have seen it did, the assumption of any know- ledge, either of physical science or of physical qualities, as existing a priori in the mind, it instantly raised a question as to the mode by which, under such circumstances, it was possible for the mind to become acquainted with matter at all. In other words, it was formerly supposed that films, or images, coming from external bodies, and as quasi- spiritual, entering the mind by the senses, thereby called into action the general knowledge of their corresponding physical natures, which, under the form of innate ideas, lay latent there ; but, as all such arbitrary knowledge of matter was now excluded, it seemed exceedingly difficult to imagine how the mind could realise, absolutely, a totally different essence, with which, as having notliing in common, it would not, so far as we can conceive, at any one point, if we may so speak, be brought into contact. Under the former theoiy — though of course, as in regard to all mere theories, expression was given to it in a great variety of forms — the exhibition of matter was rather the occasion than the cause of our appreciation of it ; but now it seemed neither the one nor the other, since there THE BACONIAN PHILOSOPHY. 63 appeared to be no means under which matter could be exhibited to mind at all ; and the subject was farther complicated, by the intervention of the body bet^\Txt external matter and mind, which implies still another process, ere matter could reach the cognisance of mind — both processes being inexpli- cable and inconceivable. The most probable ex facie solution of this difficulty threw philosophers back on a theory Httle heard of since the introduc- tion of Christianity, to the effect that the soul and body were not two essences, but merely modes of one essence, the soul being itself material, or, at all events, the result of material collocations, and hence became acquainted with matter, not tlu^ough any relationship of its gi^asi-spiritual images to certain intuitions, or a priori cognitions responding to them, but mechanically by the direct action of one species of matter on another, in the ordinary oj)eration of cause and effect. Thus, of course, all our know- ledge was necessarily referred to sensation as its only possible source, and, accordingly, hence the origin of that which, in more modern times, has been called the sensational philosophy. Before proceeding, however, with our considera- tion of the forms which this sensational philosophy assumed, we must observe, as necessary to be kept in view for a fiill appreciation of the historical pro- gress of the science, that, about the same time with Bacon, appeared Des Cartes, an eminent French philosopher, whose speculations took an entirely 6'4 SKETCH OF opposite direction, and founded an entirely different school. Bacon had confined his attention, as we have seen, mainly to physical science, and conse- quently, though he had intended, as we have reason to believe, to expound also the principles under which intellectual philosophy should be studied, yet, from circumstances, he did actually leave this branch of his subject undetermined. His system, therefore, only indirectly affected spiritual science, in so far as it ignored the hypothesis of innate ideas, and of ^t^a^i-spiritual films, or images, or external ideas, coming from external matter to the mind. Des Cartes, on the other hand, though also a physical philosopher, conjoined and inter- wove with his physical philosophy a system of metaphysical science which, from the celebrity of its author, directly modified the speculations of the vast mass of philosophers during a long series of years. Its primaiy conception originated in the idea that all knowledge, desei-ving the name of science, must rest on a basis of mathematical certainty — all the parts, thereafter, in succession, flowing demonstratively therefrom. Accordingly, in conformity mth this piinciple, having determined his basis, he proceeded thereon to rear a series of conclusions, resulting, as he believed, from a suc- cession of mathematical demonstrations. This basis was, " I think, therefore, I am," or stated generally, ''that which thinks is, but I think, therefore, I am," — a proposition which, whether a CARTESIAN FHLLOSOPUY. 65 mathematical axiom or not, was evidently neither more nor less than an appeal to our consciousness, as probative of our existence, and as implying its proof in itself. This fundamental fact being esta- bHshed, he proceeds to seek in the " I " for other principles which may determine the character of our ulterior knowledge. "Cum autem mens, qure " se ipsam novit, et de aliis omnibus rebus, adhuc " dubitat, undiquaque circumspicit, ut cognitionem " suam ulterius extendat ; primo quidem invenit " apud se multarum rerum ideas, quas quamdiu " tantum contemplatur, nihilque ipsis simile extra *' se esse affirmat nee negat, falli non potest. " Invenit etiam communes quasdam notiones et ex "his varias demonstrationes componit, ad quas " quamdiu attendit, omnino sibi persuadet esse " veras. Sic exempli causa, numerorum et figur- " arum ideas in se habet, habetque inter communes " notiones, quod si cequcdihus cequcdia addas, qucp. " inde exsurgent erunt cequcdia, et similes."^ Of these innate ideas he tliinks that the clearest and most precise is that of the Supreme Being as realised in his attributes, and this he goes on to prove in the following terms : — " Sic quia Dei, sive " entis summi ideam habemus in nobis, jure possu- " mus examinare, a quanam causa illam habeamus; " tantamque in ea immensitatem inveniemus, ut " plane ex eo simus certi, non posse illam nobis " fuisse inditam, nisi a re, in qua sit re vera omnium * Principioium philosophise pars prima — sect. 13. F 66 SKETCH OF " perfectionum complenieiitum hoc est, nisi a Deo '' realiter existente. Est enim lumine naturali notis- " siiiium, non inodo a nihilo nihil fieri ; nee id quod " est perfectius, ab eo quod est minus perfectum, " ut a causa efficiente et totah produci ; sed neque " etiam in nobis ideam sive imaginem ulHus rei " esse posse, cujus non ahcubi, sive in nobis ipsis, '' sive extra nos, archetypus ahquis omnes ejus " perfectiones reipsa continens existat. Et quia " sumnias illas perfectiones, quarum ideam habe- " nus, nullo modo in nobis reperimus, ex hoc ipso '^recte concludimus eas in ahquo a nobis di verso, " nenpe in Deo, esse ; vel certo ahquando fuissc ; " ex quo evidentissinie sequitur, ipsas adhuc esse."'' And again, " Quani vis's enim illas (sc : Dei peifec- " tiones) non comprehendamus, quia scilicet est (sc: " idea) de natura infiniti, ut a nobis, qui sumus " finiti, non comprehendatur, nihil ominus tamen " ipsas clarius et distinctius quam ullas res coi'poreas '' intelligere possumus, quia cogitationem nostram •' magis implent, suntque simpliciores, nee limita- " tionibus ullis obscurantur."'' Accordingly, on the conclusion thus ascertained, he, as it were, re-con- structs his science in resting our further behef, and specially our belief of external existence, on the authority of God, now known and appreciated in His attributes, who could not, we are consequently assured, in any case, either directly or indirectly, deceive us : — " Atque hinc sequitur, lumen na- * Principiorum philosophise ; para prima — sect. 18. '• Do — sect. 19. CARTESIAN PHlL(1SOI'II Y. 67 ^^ tump, sive cognoscendi facultatem a Deo nobis " datam, nullum unquani objectum posse attingere '^ quod non sit verum, quatenus a bipsa attingitur, " hoc est, quatenus clare et distincte percipitur. '' Merito enim deceptor esset dicendus, si perversani 'Milam ac falsam pro vero sumentem nobis dedis- " set."" Thus it is clear that Des Cartes con- ceived us to have no satisfactory assurance of the existence of external matter from our senses, but assumed that this belief depended entirely on om' a priori assurance of the attributes of God, who could not have deceived us in the impres- sion that he has stamped on our mind of its truth. And, this, indeed is distinctly avowed by him in these words. " Facile, inquam, intelligo imagina- 'Hionem ita perfici posse, siquidem corpus existat; ''et quia nullus alius modus feque conveniens " occurrit ad illam explicandam, probabiliter inde '^ conjicio corpus existere; sed probabiliter tantum, " et quamvis accurate omnia investigem, nondum '' tamen video ex ea naturae coi'poreoe idea distincta, " quam in imaginatione mea invenio, uUum sumi " posse argumentum quod necessario concludat, " aliquod corpus existere."'' This seems the more extraordinary, inasmuch as the same conciousness which he receives as the alone valid foundation of all belief, would seem, in a measure, at all events surely, to sanction our belief in matter ; but Des * Principiorum philosopbiae ; pars prima — sect 30. ^ R. Des Cartes nieditatio sexta. 68 SKETCH OF Cartes was evidently perplexed by the difficulty which philosophers had previously either over- looked or evaded, of discovering how semi-spiritual images or ideas could be generated by material substances, and, consequently, how it was possible for matter to be brought into contact with mind at all. Thus he says "atque lumen, et colores, et '' odores, et sapores, et sonos ; nee sane absque *' rati one ob ideas istarum omnium qualitatum " qu;B cogitationi mece se offerebant, et quas solas " proprie et immediate sentiebam, jDutabam me " sentire res quasdam a mea cogitatione plane *' diversas, nempe corpora a quibus ideas istse pro- " cederent."* And again, " Et certe ex eo quod '' valde diversos sentiam colores, sonos, odores, '' sapores calorem, duritiem, et simiHa, recte con- " cludo, aliquas esse in coqDoribus, a quibus varia3 "istse sensuum perceptiones adyem'ant, varietates '' iis respondentes, etiamsi forte iis non simi- "les,"'' and specially in his answer to Gassendi's fourth objection where he says " Respondeo nuUam " speciem corpoream in mente recipi, sed puram '' intellectionem tarn rei coi-poreae quam incorporeae " fieri absque ulla specie corporea ; ad imagina- " tionem vero, qua? non nisi de rebus corporeis esse " potest, opus esse quideni specie quae sit verum " corpus, et ad quem mens se applicet, sed non " quae in mente recipiatur."' Hence it is manifest, ' R. Des Cartps nieditatio sexta. '' Do. ' Appendix continens objecliones, &e., usually bound up with works. CARTESIAN FHlLOSOril Y. 69 that Des Cartes' oTound of belief in the exist- ence of external matter was purely inferential, as depending on the validity of his argument for the being and attributes of a God — a pecuHarity which it is necessary to keep in view, in order to under- stand the singular diversity of the opinions of his followers ; some pushing to an extreme the assump- tions of innate ideas, especially with reference to the divine nature, some retaining the theory of iM4^j ^trv^ I. SCOTTISH PHILOSOPHY REll). 07 getlier, and wliicli in some cases, at all events, would seem to be inconsistent with what we usually regard as reason. Let any one examine the above- cited passage from Hume, and compare it with the result of Reid's philosophy, and I will venture to say that it will be found absolutely impossible to discover the smallest difference betwixt their respec- tive theories. The cause of the success of Reid's philosophy, therefore, was mainly owing to its entire identification with the character and intellectual development of his age, in connection with the anxious desire on the part of the great mass of society to procure some antidote against a system so pernicious as Hume's, expressed as it was with such precision in its details, and argued with such logical power and acuteness in its principles. But, however this may be, there can, at all events, be no question, that this appeal to innate or intui- tive principles, without any attempt at explaining their nature, their origin, or their mode of operation, constitutes the great characteristic of that which has been called, "The Scottish School," Wherever a difficulty occurs, without even an attempt at any- thing like a nicer analysis, the knot is at once cut, the phenomenon is declared to be a principle of common sense, and hence it becomes utterly im- possible to determine, except by a sort of guess, what is a rational belief, and what is an a -priorij} intuition. The whole system is thus found to be a product of merely arbitraiy and unaccountable 98 SCOTTISH PHILOSOPHY REID. principles. We are constituted mere creatures of instinct, endued with powers of speech, which, en- abhng us to amass a larger amount of experience, give our reason an apparent advantage over that of the other animals around us, but left utterly incapable of determining, in any one case, the logical grounds of our belief, or of ascertaining, indeed, whether there be any such. The philosophy of the human mind, consequently, ceases in reality to be any philosophy at all, inasmuch as its main facts admit neither of explanation nor analysis ; and so thoroughly does Reid himself verify this conclusion, not merely under a general examination of his sys- tem, but specially in its details, that he gives as a first principle, or, in other words, a con\4ction a jyriori of reason and experience, our belief "' that '' there is life and intelligence in our fellow-men '' with whom we converse," and to j^rove that it is so, he proceeds, '' now, I would ask how a child of " a year old comes by this conviction ? Not by " reasoning surely, for children do not reason at *' that age, nor is it by external senses, for hfe and " intelligence are not objects of external senses."'' And, certainly, if by reasoning be meant a formal statement of arguments, with which Reid evidently confused it, then it is quite true that infants of a year old "do not reason." The question is not, however, whether such infants can formally state an argument, but whether any process of reasoning » Intellectual pow«r^-^^ay 6, ch. 4, sec. 8. SCOTTIsn PITII.O-'OPIIY HEFD, 99 can go on in the infant's mind, under the operation of its natural powers ? Does a child learn by ex- perience, in other words, reasoning from what it lias felt, to what it would feel in identical circum- stances ? and we say that there can be no dispute upon the point, to which any one would listen, that has in the veiy slightest degree attended to the de- velopment of an infant's mind. . We say, that not only can a child of a year old reason, and often with great acuteness, but that a child exhibits its reasoning powers in the very earliest stages of existence, as — for example ,in the j^erfect knov/ledge which it seems to acquire of the means through which its wants are supplied, so soon as it has once been fed from a mother's breast. It is true, too, that ''life and intelligence are not objects of the " external senses," but words, and signs, and acts, are objects of the external senses, and it is from these that the infant ixitionally infers the existence of " hfe and intelliofence " in those fellow-creatures with whom it is brought into contact. If, indeed, we knew intuitively, or a priori, the existence of " life and intelligence " in our fellow-creatures, apart from experience, it would be difficult to conceive what we do know from experience, and what is the use of our eyes, our ears, or our understandings at all. But the same conclusion is, perhaps, even more strongly verified, if that be possible, from the following passage, where he assumes, as a first C^*-t. L' 100 SCOTTISH FHILOSOPHY — REID. principle, " that certain features of the countenance, " sounds of the voice, and gestures of the body, " indicate certain thoughts and dispositions of the " mind."'' From this it would follow that the operations of other men's minds, their feelings, and the relation of these to the expression of their countenances, are intuitively known to infants, altogether apart from experience — that, in fact, they are innate ideas of which we can give no explana- tion, except that they are there, and that, with or without reason, we must practically believe them. We need hardly say what an enormous amount of knowledge this supposes to be innate, or rather how little it would leave for us to ascertain by any other process. If, indeed, this be a first principle, we need assuredly give ourselves Httle trouble about any investigation into the operations of the human mind, since there could remain little or nothing that was worth investigating. Nor is it available to argue, as has sometimes been hinted at, and as indeed Reid himself would seem to indi- cate, that there is some distinction that may be drawn betwixt innate and intuitive truths, as if innate truths only were a priori, v/hile those that are intuitive come to be known when we attain to the use of reason, since, in the cases of which we have spoken, it is manifest this does not apply — and, moreover, as Locke has proved, this assumption gives up t\\Q whole question, since, if reason be Intt'llectual powers — Essay 6, ch.5, sec. 9. Rr.:.. ,X to ui '^ %^ SCOTTISH PHILOSOIMIY KKID. lOl necessaiy for their apprehension, it follows that they can be neither innate nor intuitive beliefs, but rational or logical conclusions. I n fact it is perfectly clear that, if there be any distinction at all betwixt innate and intuitve truths, it consists in this, that the assumption of intuitive truths is even more objectionable than the other, since an intuitive truth, as in the case of infants knowing the thoughts and dispositions of others from the expression of their featui'es, must imply not merely one idea, but a vast amount of a priori knowledge, in order to render the process conceivable. We may now easily understand how Dr. Reid would deal Avith that most important of all the special sceptical arguments which Hume has pro- posed with regard to the relation betwixt cause and effect. In the first instance vve are told, of course, that the belief is intuitive, and that, conse- quently, no farther explanation can be given upon the subject. Yet, in an after stage of his philosophy, as if dissatisfied with this mode of superseding a question, in its consequences so unspeakably import- ant to human happiness, we find him adopting the theory under which our idea of active power gene- rally is refeiTed to that sense of power which we our- selves feel, as developed in the act of volition, from whence he draws the conclusion, that there can be no such thing as power in matter, and that power, therefore, in every instance where it is exhibited, nmst be attributed to the action of an intelligent 102 SCOTTISH riULUSOPHY IIEID. agent. Hence, accordingly, he assumes that all the events and changes in the material world, as well as every feeling produced by the action of matter on animated beings, must be regarded either as a direct operation of the Supreme Being, or of " subordi- ''nate intelligent agents deputed by him." » It is strange that Dr. Reid did not perceive the effect of this tlieoiy, widely, by the way, adopted by Divines, to be the re-constitution of that veiy scepticism, specially with respect to an external world, which it had been the business of his Hfe to overthrow. For, as Dr. Brown has demonstrated, (perhaps not very consistently in so far as he himself is con- cerned,) if we do not believe in the powers of matter, we cannot believe in matter at all, inasmuch »as it is through its powers alone that we do or can know anything about it — and farther, if we believe, as one of our most irresistible convictions, that ex- ternal or material substances act upon us and upon one another, and if this turn out, after all, to be a delusion, which the Supreme Being, or some subor- dinate agent delegated by him, imposes upon us, then it is evident that we have no good ground for any kind of behef whatever — nay, the very truth of God is logically called in question by such a theory. Whether doubts originating in a sort of unconscious realisation of these and other similar consequences had subsequently crossed his mind, or whether he became partly aware of the incon- • Active powers— EsR.iy 1, eh. 5. SCOTTISH PHILOSOIMIV RKII). 103 sistency implied in his adoption of any theory at all upon thq. subject, we cannot say ; but certain it is, that towards the close of the veiy essay in which his adhesion to it is contained, we find a strong in- dication of uncertainty and perplexity as to his absolute convictions exhibited in a passage which, for another reason, claims particular attention. It is as follows : — "■ The conception of an efficient '' cause may very probably be derived from the " experience we have had in very early life of our '' own power to produce certain eli'ects. But the " belief, that no event can happen without an effi- '' cient cause, cannot be derived from experience. *' We may learn from experience what is, or what " ivas, but no experience can teach us what neces- ^' sarily must be."'' On this point Sir W. Hamil- ton, in his edition of Reid's works, refers to a note of his own, wherein he says — " It is creditable to *' Reid, that he perceived that the quality of neces- " sity is the criterion which distinguishes native from " adveiititious notions or judgments. He did not, " however, always make the proper use of it. Leib- " nitz has the honour of first explicitly announcing '' this criterion, and Kant of first fully applying it " to the phenomena. In none has Kant been more " successful than in this under consideration."'' We have here a clear exhibition of a difficulty which has perplexed all philosophers, and in later times " Active powers — Essay 1, ch.5. '' Hamilton's edition of Reid. Intellectual powers — Essay 2, ch. 10.— Xok. ]()4 SCOTTISH PHILOSOPHY REID. confounded all philosophy — Whence do we get the idea of what are called necessaiy tiTiths 'i In an at- tempt at explaining this, originated the assumption that they are innate, intuitive, or a priori, and now the operation has in so far been reversed, and neces- sity is taken as the criterion of the knowledge of what really is innate, intuitive, or a priori. The criterion will hardly serve the purpose, however, since the assumption would carry us a vast deal farther than its patrons seem to be aware. For the fact is, that every truth is necessary, assuming the existence of the elements of which it is predicated. "Trees are woody," is a necessary truth. "The "sun gives light," is a necessary truth. "Fire " burns," is a necessary truth. For if trees were not woody, they would not be what v^'-e mean by the word trees. If the sun did not give Hght, it would not be w^hat we mean by the sun. If fire did not burn, it would not be what we mean by fire. Ac- cording to this theory, therefore, it indisputably follows that every general truth which we beheve must be innate or intuitive, since they are all neces- sary tniths. In the same way, "no event can " happen without a cause," is true, if there bean event — the only difterence being, that in this case, the proposition, instead of implying a mere naked fact, involves the exhibition of a relation betwixt two things, the negative of which would constitute a contradiction, simply because every proposition involving a relation asswnes the existence of the SCOTTISH I'lin.O.SOPHY UEID. 105 related elements. How this comes to pass, and what is the real explanation of the nature of what are usually called necessary truths, can be only determined by an analysis appertaining to a subse- quent portion of our subject. It is sufficient here to obsei^e, that E-eid had not the slightest idea of adopting necessity as the criterion for " distinguish - "ing native from adventitious notions or judg- ements," as Sir W. Hamilton supposes, since these truths which he regards as ''native," or at least many of them, are not relations at all, but mere facts, and therefore do not imply, in any degree, the character of contradiction in their negatives which Kant, and Sir William, after him, erroneously suppose to be the test of necessity. However much good, therefore, was done by Reid in his generation — soothing, as his philosophy undoubtedly did, the anxieties of many worthy people — we need not w^onder that a school, founded on such a basis, should have tended little to the real progress of philosophy as a science. Accord- ingly, the writings of Stewart are Httle more than the opinions of Reid, put into more elegant lan- guage. It could in no measure, therefore, forward the object which we specially have in view, to dwell on his dissertations here, however admirable they may be, as beautiful exhibitions of the most per- fect realisations of the Scottish shool, since the few original speculations in which Stewart ventures to indulge will come to be considered subsequently, 106 SCOTTISH I'llILOSOPHY — STEWART. in the course of our argument — and none of them have, in any measure, given even a tone to any part of i)liilosophy, nor, indeed, so far as I know, have they been ahnost noticed by any writer since his age, except incidentally. Stewart, however, was almost the contemporaiy of Reid. In his age Reid's theory was regarded with the deepest veneration, as our only defence from scepticism (^f the most dangerous and most pernicious kind. To hint, consequently, any doubt of his principles was by many, nay by the mass of religious men, regarded as something very like the qxhibition of a tendency towards infidelity. Yet, assuming Reid's principles, nothing could possibly be done of any importance for the progress of spi- ritual science, since " the principles of common " sense," adopted as a iwiori intuitions, and em- bracing directly or indirectly all or almost all the knowledge which human beings possess, evidently precluded every attempt at farther analysis. The writings of Stewart, therefore, were precisely what might have been expected. They illustrated the theory of Keid, and they did no more. But, before the time of Dr. Thomas Brown, the philosophy of Beid had lost, in a measure at all events, its prestige. It had actually stereotyjDed philosoj)liy, of which, indeed, Stewart's writings constituted a proof, for he was a man undoubtedly of great ability, and pos- sessed a singular power of lucid thought and expres- sion, and yet he could never get beyond tlie spot SCOTTISH PHILOSOPHY — STKWAllT, MUOWN. 107 froHi wlience he started, or rather from whence Reid had started. His whole capabihties were consumed in ilhistrating a theory which appeared to admit of no farther progress. Hence, as tills system was the only one known, or, at all events, the only one supposed to be possible, the idea was most naturally suggested to persons pay- ing comparatively little attention to the subject, that the science was practically a delusion, and that though the study of it might do very well to pass pleasantly a vacant hour, or might even, to a certain extent, be useful in exercising the mind on subtle verbal speculations, yet that it could never do any substantial good, either in the way of ex- tending knowledge or increasing power. Hence, those articles in the Edinhirgh Revieiv, to which we directed attention in the introductory chapter, and those articles merely embodied a wide-spread opinion, which no doubt was the great secret of their apparent effect. It was at this time that Dr. Thomas Brown was applying himself to the study of sphitual philosophy, and we can surely see, in the circumstances, amply sufficient cause for his doubts as to the value of the Scottish philosophy, without imputing unworthy notions to one of the most excellent men that ever lived, and who had assuredly abilities sufficient to warrant him in trust- ing to his own merits, apart from any \in worthy rivalry with any man, however eminent and de- serv^edly eminent might be his character. Yet 108 SCuTTISH THILOSOPHY RROASis. strange it is that Brown, though abundantly will- ing, yet never could get quit of the principles of the Scottish school. They had been so engrained in his mind, and, during his youth too, were so universally assumed to be incontrovertible, that it never appears to have occurred to him to chal lenge them. On the contrary, indeed, Brown is just as thoroughly wedded to the " Intuitive " theory as ever Reid v/as, and applies it with almost as much looseness in the explanation of phenomena. Hence, he assailed only the incidents and outworks of Beid's philosophy, and sometimes assuredly with A^ery imperfect success. His " inquiry into the rela- tion of cause and effect " is one of the most curious and interesting examples that can be found of meta- physical acuteness and brilliant illustration, nullified by a deficient logic. In fact, here was exempli- fied his weakness. His logical powers were by no means proportionate to his metaphysical subtilty and poetical imagination. It is from this cause that many of Brown's speculations, of some of which we shall have to speak subsequently, though most ingenious and interesting, yet do not satisfy an inquirer, as turning out either to be of little im- portance in themselvess, or as resting on some imperfectly intelligible ghmmering of an idea, to which he gives a sort of substance by exhibiting it only through his rich illustrations. It is thus that the apparent simplicity with which the most pro- found subjects are treated, and the glowing Ian- SCOTTISH PHILOSOPHY BROWN, HAMILTON. 109 giiage in which mental processes are described, captivate the reader, while, notwithstanding, when each discussion comes to a close, he either finds (as in the use of muscular power) that the conclusion, supposing it true, is of little consequence, or else that there is an extreme difficulty (as in the case of his inquiiy into the relation of cause and effect) in determining precisely w^hat the conclusion actually is. In one particular, however, and it is of no small importance, I should be inchned to give to Brown's lectures unqualified praise — it is in their tendency to stimula^te inquiry as to subjects connected with spiritual science. It is impossible that the enthusiasm which his language everywhere breathes could fail, in some measure, at all events, to transfuse itself into the minds of his readers. Sir W. Hamilton found the prestige in favour of the Scottish school considerably revived, in conse- quence of its theory having been adopted by the French philosophers, who eagerly availed them- selves of the assumption of intuitive principles, as a refuge from that degrading and practically per- nicious system of gross materialism, in which the speculations of the Encyclopaedists had involved their countrymen. Accordingly, he avowed him- self the professed advocate of that theoiy W'hich, amidst much indifference, had yet many zealous disciples in Scotland; he edited Reid's works, and criticised Dr. Brown's exceptions to Reid with a severity which might warrant his enemies, though 110 SCOTTISH PHILOSOPHY HAMILTON. probably with just as little truth, in retaliating the imputation of motives which he has deemed him- self entitled to insinuate against that veiy distin- guished individual, and which, assuredly, there was nothing in Brown's exceptions to call for, since, although it may be perfectly true that Brown had mis-understood the views of certain of the middle-age philosophers, or others comparatively little known — and of this Sir W. Hamilton's great learning un- doubtedly constituted him a most competent judge — yet it is perfectly certain that he did not substan- tively misrepresent Beid's theory of perception, which, on the contrary. Sir W. Hamilton has only defended by the assumption of distinctions which it is demonstrable that Beid never thought of, and still less realised. For Brown supposes, as we think every one must suppose, who has no precon- ceived opinion to maintain, nor any opponent to refute, that when Dr. Beid calls it "a, first princi- " pie of contingent truth, that those things do *' really exist which we distinctly perceive by our " senses,"'^ he means that we " assume the existence " of an external world beyond the sphere of con- " sciousness, exclusively on the ground of our irre- " sistible belief in its unknown reality."'' But Sir W. Hamilton says this is not the case, for it would have made Beid a ''hy]3othetical" instead of a "natural realist." According to Sir WilHam, * Intellectual powers — Essay 6, ch. 5, sec. 5. •• Hamilton's philosopliy of perception. SCOTTISH PHILOSOPHY HAMILTON. Ill therefore, Reicl meant, by a ''first principle of con- " tingent truth," a sort of sixth sense, by which we are made conscious of external matter qua extemal. Now, it is indeed nothing to the purpose to say that this is not true, however certain that may be, but we maintain that it was not Reid's theory ; for though he may, no doubt, tell us that " we perceive '* external objects immediately, and, therefore, that " we have the same reason to believe their existence " as philosophers have to believe the existence of " ideas, while they hold them to be the immediate ''objects of perception,"'' yet, in the use of the word "immediate," Reid does not mean that we have a present consciousness that the sensation felt originates in an external object, but that we believe in the existence of such external cause immediately from intuition, "without its being " deduced from any antecedent truth." It is in this sense that he invariably uses the term " immediate " technically, of which Sir W. Hamilton does not seem to have been aware. Thus, he says, "it is by memory " that we have an immediate knowledge of things " past,"'' by which expression Sir William unac- countably supposes him to mean a " present know- " ledge of things |ja5^" The very absurdity of such a notion one would have thought might have induced him to examine the subject more accurately, Reid merely means, that " by memory we have an * FTamilton's pliilosnpliy of perception. ^ Int"l:cctual powers — Essay 3, ch. 1. 112 SCOTTISH PHILOSOPHY HAMILTON. *' intuitive knowledge of things past, without its " being deduced from any antecedent truth ." Ac- cordingly, he repeats in the very next chapter '' the knowledge which I have of things past, by " my memory, seems to me as unaccountable, as " an immediate knowledge would be of things to " come." a Surely we cannot suppose him to mean " a present consciousness of that which is future." In truth, he explains his use of the term formally, on more occasions than one, thus — when he says " Mr. Locke placed it in a perception of the agree- " ment or disagreement of cur ideas, which percep- " tion is immediate in intuitive knowledge, and " by the intervention of other ideas in reasoning,"^ and again, " if the word axiom be put to signify " every truth which is hioitm immediately, 'without " being deduced from any antecedent truth,"'' and again, " what is the meaning of this % It is, that I " have a distinct conception and firm belief of this " past event — not by reasoning, not by testimony, " but immediately from my constitution ; and I give " the name of memory to that part of my constitu- " tion by which I have this kind of conviction of '^ ^ast events ; "'^ and once more — " That this con- " viction and belief (i. e., of perception) are imme- *' diate, and not the effect of reasoning."^ In truth, Reid had no definite notion at all as to the mode in which we become acquainted mth ex- ' Intellectual powers— Essay 3, cli. 2. '' Do. ^ Do. ** Do. ■^ Intellectual powers — Essay 4, ch. i>. SCOTTISH I'lIILOSOl'MY HAMILTON. I 113 ternal existence, as is evident from the whole tenor of liis works, and especially from such passages as these : " If the power of perceiving external objects " in certain circumstances be apart of the original " CONSTITUTION OF THE HUMAN MIND, all attempts 'Ho account for it will be in vain;"-' and again, '' If the intelligence we have of external objects were " to be got by reasoning only, the greatest part of men '^ would be destitute of it, for the greatest part of " men hardly ever learn to reason, and in infancy and " childhood no man can reason ;"'' and once more, " But, being now to speak of perception itself, ivhich " IS SOLELY AN ACT OF THE MIND, WO mUSt appeal to "another authority. "^ The reason of this is obvi- ous. He had no clear notion of what he meant by a "principle of common sense," or, in other words, " an intuition." He had no conception that he was falling back upon the old theory of innate ideas. We need not wonder, therefore, that he fell into confusion, nor that his views appear sometimes con- tradictory, as, indeed, even Sir W. Hamilton admits.'' Hence, the distinction which he drew betwixt sen- sation and perception, making them two different things, while yet he regarded our knowledge from perception as intuitive, did, in whatever sense the word intuition be understood, so completely anni- hilate, as we shall afterwards more particularly shew, the logical links connecting an external world with the mind, that, except by the assumption of some " Intellectual powers — Essay 2, oh. 5. '' Do. "^ Efcsay 2, ch. 5. '' Philosopliy of perception. I 114 SCOTTISH PHILOSOPHY HAMILTON. a priori operation, it is absolutely impossible to re- store it. That Bro^vn, therefore, was substantively right in regarding Dr. Eeid, as what Sir W. Hamil- ton calls a '' hypothetical realist," i. e., as holding our belief in an external world to depend exclusively on a mental conviction a priori, seems certain. The fact is, that Sir W. Hamilton was really himself the originator of that natural realism which he ascribes to Reid, and in the very act of so ascribing it. His zeal in refuting Brown actually led him to advance a step, and a very important step, in spiritual philosophy, in maintaining that we are conscious of external existence. Yet this, let it be observed, in no measure explains the process of our belief in it. Indeed, the form of his supposition that we are conscious of external existence involves the manifest difficulty, or rather absurdity, that it supposes consciousness not merely to make known to us our own feelings, but to infer from those feelings to the determination of something beyond them. Were this true, it would seem impossible to conceive how consciousness and reason could be distinguished. Yet, the discovery of Sir W. Hamilton, that external existence is really known through consci- ousness, and not intuition, is itself a proof of no ordinary sagacity and metaphysical acuteness, and when we consider, at the same time, the many other interesting hints as to spiritual science which he has given us, in connection with the vast store of SCOTTISH PHILOSOPHY HAMILTON. 115 leaiTiing which he had amassed, we cannot but regret that he has left only writings of so frag- mentaiy a character, and still more, that he should have allowed his mind in later years to get so confused by the mists of German metaphysics, in the use of their interminable divisions and indefinite language, as to render a large proportion even of these of comparatively little value. Such was the position of the Scottish philosophy in its native land, at a recent period — a philosophy, however, w^hich subsequently, as we have already indicated, became nearly as famous abroad as it had been at home. 116 SCOTTISH PHILOSOPHY IN FRANCE. SECTION III. PROGRESS OF SPIRITUAL PHILOSOPHY ON THE CONTINENT, FROM TI REID TO THE PRESENT AGE THE CONTINENT, FROM THE TIME OF Philosophy of France — Changes from materialistic to Scottish school — Followed by a si^ecies of eclecticism — ^German philosophy — Wolf — Kant — Origin of his philosophy — Principles of his philosophy — Its general character — Causes of its influence — Causes of the difficulty of comprehending it^ The character given of it confirmed by the au- thority of its disciples, &c. — Detailed examination of its parts — This leads to the same conclusions as to the causes of its influence, and of the difficulty of understanding it, as is indicated by its general cha- racter — Its efiects — Disciples of Kant divide into two sections, Kealists and Idealiets — Jacobi and his followers — Eeinold, Fichte, Schelling, Hegel — Subsequent state of philosophy in Geimany. The philosophy of France^ from the time of Con- dillac, exhibited, as was formerly mentioned, a progressive growth of coarser and ranker material- ism for a considerable number of years. Thinking, Feeling, E,easoning, were all regarded as the re- sults of the operation of physical machinery. Facts came to be repudiated, except in so far as they suited the cravings and prejudices of a brutal licen- tiousness, for the character of the times had par- tially, at all events, been engendered by this philo- sophy, and, by a natural reaction, gave to the philosophy the sanction and influence derivable from its practical realisation. Nothing, consequently, SCOTTISH PlIILOSOl'HY IX KUANCK. 117 was at length deemed of importance, except what ministered to bodily and selfish enjoyment. The things of this world were regarded as all in all, because in this world it was behoved that the ma- chine of humanity began and ended. Purity, truth, friendship, patriotism, were names to delude those who were so ignorant as not to know, that flesh and blood and bones manufacture the pheno- mena usually ascribed to the soul. In a society imbued with such opinions, and realising them, we need not wonder at the horrors of the revolution. It ended in marriage being abohshed, religion de- clared a mockery, and the supreme authority of the state enacting that there was no God. Of its practical results we need say nothing. As the energies of the nation became however exhausted, under the influence of theories so extravagant and practices so atrocious, and men were forced, by the operation of their moral principles incessantly though silently operating, to a conviction of their falsehood, the most eminent of the French philo- sophers, of a new generation, by a natural, or I had almost said, a necessary transition, began to attach themselves to the philosophy of the Scottish school, wliich opened the most obvious means of escape from that grovelling system which had WTOught evils so disastrous to their land, and many of them soon became of that school amongst the most de- voted and illustrious disciples. Yet, from the very nature of its principles, whether in France or in 118 FRENCH SCHOOL OF ECLECTICISM. Scotland, the disciples of the Scottish school, how- ever devoted and however illustrious, could make no progress in spiritual science, and hence a sense of this, as was probably also the case with Sir, W. Hamilton, led them to attempt a species of union betwixt it and the German school, which had at least one good effect, in diminishing the exag- gerated admiration with which the disciples of these schools regarded their respective modes of philoso- phising, so as to admit once more something like freedom in the discussion and determination of the doctrines of spiritual science. For any other pur- pose this French eclecticism has been little availing. Much ingenuity, no doubt, has been displayed, but I really know nothing that has even been suggested, calculated to increase human knowledge, or serve any purpose of utility whatever. How this should be the case will j)robably be more thoroughly understood, when we have finished our remarks on the philosophy of Germany. In Germany, from the time of Leibnitz, little was done, or had even been attempted, during a series of years. His philosophy moulded into a system of somewhat pedantic formahsm, by Christian Wolf, continued in undisputed possession of the schools, till superseded by the speculations of Immanuel Kant, which appeared soon after the publication of Reid's '^Inquiiy into the Human ^' Mind," and which, like Reid's works, originated in a desire to meet the sceptical philosophy of GERMAN PHlLOSOmiY KANT. Ill) Hume. Reid supposed himself to have done this, by assuming certain principles which, from the con- stitution of our natures, we must believe, however such belief may originate, and he specially assumed this mtli reference to all cases where our belief ajDpears to be necessary — asserting that, although experience may teach us ^' what is, or has been, it '' cannot tell us what is to be, and still less what " must be." All such beliefs Reid held to be prin- ciples of common sense, but he never informs us, nor pretends to inform us, how they are got, or from whence they are derived. No doubt, he might readily have explained our knowledge of external existences, by referiing it to a form of conscious- ness, as Sir W. Hamilton eiToneously supposes him to have done, but, as we have found, he did not do so, nor pretend to do so, probably because this would only have relieved him from a very small portion of the difficulty, inasmuch as he w^ould still have had all his other '*^principles of common sense " to account for, " both necessary and contingent," which could not have been, referred to conscious- ness, and the origin of which he had it not in his power, like Sir W. Hamilton, to leave unexplained, because he was giving forth a system, and if he had attempted to explain one, he must have felt — if the theory ever suggested itself to him — that his position would be still less tenable, in avowing the inexphcability of the others. It was much more consistent, therefore, in Reid to leave them all in 120 (iEiaiAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. the same indeterminate form. But yet that Keid, so far, must have known that these principles, and all principles, originated either from ^vithout or from within — that, if not derived from experi- ence, they must be referable to the action of the mind itself in some way, it is impossible to doubt, since there could be no other source of them con- ceived ; but, having no clear nor definite notion of the process, he felt, as we can easily understand, the risk which such an explanation involved, of just falling back again upon some theory of ideas which would open a door for the entrance of that very scep- ticism which his whole eiforts had been intended to exclude. He left their origin, consequently, in ab- solute uncertainty, resting upon the practical fact of our irresistible belief, and meeting scepticism by the assumed possibility merely of the phenomenon being caused in some way consistent with our ra- tional intelligence, though we may not be able to explain it. The Geiinan philosopher, however, evi- dently saw no such risks, or was indifferent to them. Imbued with that striking peculiarity of his coun- trymen, which leads them to grasp at a partial solution of any difficulty, if it only have the appear- ance of ingenuity, whatever may be the absurdities to which, in its other applications, it may lead them, as was very much the case with the Greeks of old, Xant at once cuts the knot by bold assertion, and, to those w4io would desire something more, he ad- dresses himself in terms of most mystical magnifi- GERMAN PHILOSOHFY KANT. 121 cence, with which, if they are not satisfied, they must just apply themselves to some other philoso- phy. He despises contradictions, and dares absur- dities, reconcihng the one, and rectifying the other by the magic use of some unintelligible term. We need hardly say that it is in vain to expect from such a system any real addition to our knowledge of spirit, and yet that system has produced effects so singular as to render it absolutely necessary that we should endeavour to explain somewhat in de- tail what it actually is — not, as has been indicated, for its own sake, nor by reason of its direct results, since Kant has, strictly speaking, no disciples. In England and in France it would scarcely, perhaps, be expected, but, even in Germany, we doubt if any man of eminence has ever avowed himself a Kantian in the true sense of the term. Fichte, Schelling, Hegel, &c., have, indeed, in so far adopted his principles under the theoretical aspect which they exhibit, but they have developed them to their legitimate consequences in absolute scepticism. Even Jacobi and others, who admit an external world, as having adopted the practical alternative of the Kantian philosophy, rest their faith on grounds altogether different from those assumed by Kant. But yet it is no less true that this system has origi- nated various schools of philosophy in Germany, has greatly modified the speculations of metaphy- sicians in France, and, in the peculiarities of its style, and vagueness of its principles, has begun to 122 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY- -KANT. give a colouring to the general literature, not merely of Britain, but of the world. Such an expla- nation is the more necessaiy, too, because in this country the philosophy of Kant, if philosophy it can be called, is scarcely at all known, except as a wonderfully profound speculation, which, could people only comprehend it, would no doubt effect a mighty change on the principles and opinions of mankind. Wliereas, the fact is, strange as it may appear, that in its incomprehensibility consists mainly its power of fascination. Expressed in vague, though apparently learned and metaphysi- cal terms, it is naturally supposed to convey some deeply profound meaning, which long and anxious study could alone enable any one to appreciate. In very truth, however, as will subsequently, we think, be made manifest without any possibility of doubt, Kant having but very indefinite ideas him- self as to the sense which he intended to convey, whenever a clear notion was wanting, sought some high-sounding word to supply its place, and thus a vocabulary was invented, exactly adapted to the use of those who desire to give some form of ex- pression to those ill-defined feelings which are so often mistaken for philosophical conceptions, and which many confound Avith deep tliinking and pro- found speculation. It is easy to understand how engaging such a system must have proved in its style, at all events, to the mass of Theological, Political, and Metaphysical theorists. GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. 123 Nor is it difficult to trace the process under which this singularly delusive species of philosophy developed itself. Kant aroused, as he tells us, from his dogmatic lethargy by Hume's sceptical argument ^vith respect to cause and effect, and percei^ang what was indeed sufficiently obvious, that if the explanation of our belief in the connec- tion betwixt cause and effect could not be found in the nature of the object, it must be derivable from the nature of the subject — or, in other words, that if it was not from ^\4thout, it must be from within ; and having satisfied himself farther, that there are man}'' other beliefs reducible to the same category, instantly came to the conclusion, that all NECESSARY propositions must, somehow or other, be known a lyriori. This he took for a great dis- covery, although it seems difficult to conceive upon what grounds he either assumed it, or it should have in any measure been admitted, inasmuch as the existence of necessary truths being a priori, has been held by every 2)hilosoj)her ivho has adoj^ted the theory of a priori truths at all, while the assump- tion of necessity as a test of a i^riori truth, was formally propounded by Leibnitz, and, in so far, was as formally recognised by Reid ; and we say in so far, because Reid has not limited his " intuitive " principles " by this category, no doubt from fore- seeing the consequences which would result there- from, though he has most distinctly affirmed that all necessary truths are " primary principles ;" and. 124 HERMAN FHILOSOPHY KANT. indeed; it is obvious that this must have been assumed by every one, as we have said, who recog- nised such truths at all, since there could be no truths by possibility better entitled to claim the character of intuitive, or a priori, than those which we believe by a very necessity of our natures. Ge- nerally, we may here say that the same thing is pre- dicable of all Kant's pretended discoveries. Even his great result, to the eifect that we cannot discern the nature of the absolute, or, in plain terms, that we cannot know " absolute essence," is not only no discovery, but has been, we beheve, admitted by every human being, with the exception of the ancient Greek philosophers, and a portion of his own speculative disciples. His veiy principle, indeed, of investigating the nature of mind ab- stractly, and away from its operations, implies an impossibility, and, therefore, could not lead, we do not say to any discovery, but to any conclusion at all, and, accordingly, he never does come to any con- clusion, except under a practical violation of it. In truth, this very first step in Kant's system, of limiting a priori cognitions to ''necessary and " universal truths," which he regards as ''indepen- '' dent of all experience,"'' not only violates his prin- ciple, since, "independently of experience," he never could have known anything about them at all, but is also the origin of the introduction into it of all manner of inconsistency and confusion. For the ' Introduction tn Kritik der Reiner Vcrnunft — Sections 1st an(^'2nd. GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. 125 fact is, that every general truth is universal in the only sense in which the term universal can aj^ply to phenomena. " Fire burns dry wood," is a uni- versal truth, i.e., it is true in every instance in which '' fire " and " dry wood " are brought into contact. "Animals have life," is a universal truth, since that which has not hfe cannot be an animal. The idea of a general truth, indeed, admitting of an ex- ception, is obviously absurd, for, under such an assumption, it would be partly false, and, therefore, could not be a truth, general or particular. When, accordingly, Kant gives us for an example of what he calls an empirical truth and, therefore, a tnith hable to exceptions, "that all bodies are " heavy," we should have been greatly obliged to him had he informed us of the excej)tional cases, or, if he had given us such cases, we should have then naturally enough, one would think, demurred to the truth of the proposition. It is, indeed, per- fectly evident, that the whole question depended upon the sense attached by him to the term "body," which must be either "ponderable," in which case there could be no exception, or " imponderable," in which case the proposition, in any form, would not be tnie. Kant understood it in both senses. It was clearly his business, therefore, to have given us the means of precisely distinguishing " a strict and absolute " from " an assumed and comparative " universahty," which, being out of his power, it necessarily followed, that so far as this particular 126 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. is concerned, we are just as far from having any- test of a priori cognitions as before. In the very same way as eveiy general truth is universal, in so far as we can understand the terms, so must, as we have already partly seen, every general truth be necessary, sujoposing the relations and circumstances realised in which it is exhibited. In other words, the relations and circumstances in which a truth is exhibited may be contingent, but, these being as- sumed, it is impossible that the truth itself, as exj)ressed in general terms, could be contingent, else identical causes might produce different effects. Thus, to take our former examples, "fires bum," is a necessary truth, for, although it is contingent whether there be fires at any given time, or in any given place, yet, if they be, they must burn, else they would not be what we mean by the word ^' fire," and consequently could not be included in the proposition, "Animals have Hfe," is a necessary truth, under the very same argument, since, otherwise they would not be what we intend to express by the word " animal." " Straight lines " cannot enclose a space," is, in the same way, a necessary truth, else they would not be what we mean by "straight lines." The element of neces- sity can no more be predicated in any one of these cases than in the others. If its necessity, therefore, was to be taken as a test of a priori truth, it was incumbent on Kant to define precisely what kind of necessity he meant, and to shew how the differ- GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. 127 ent kinds of necessity are to be distinguished. In saying that necessary truths, known a priori, are such as "contain the idea of necessity in their very " conception,"'' he merely shews that he was unable to draw any such distinction, for the question tg be deteiTnined is, whether there be any such truth ? So that, to the very parties to be convinced, the test would be obviously nugatory. The truths, indeed, which we can with any propriety call neces- sar}'-, are no more necessary in regard to the truth of the propositions than other truths, being, as will now be readily understood, merely enuncia- tions of the relation which subsists between or among various elements, which our intelligence apprehends as having a permanent existence — the necessity specially predicable of them consequently being applicable solely to the permanence of the ELEMENTS, as in the instances of space and time, and in no degree to the relationship of the parts of the propositions, which must be necessarily true in every instance of a general truth, whatsoever. It is impossible, therefore, to conceive anything, not merely more loose and illogical, but more clearly demonstrating Kant's utter ignorance of the subject on which he was dogmatizing, than the terms under which he has proposed such a test, as inevitably suggesting an inquiry into the nature of the necessity assumed by him as essential to the * " Findet sich also erstlicli ein satz, der Zugleicli mit seiner Nothwen- "digkeit gedaelit wird, so ist er cin Urtlieil a priori" — Introd., sec. 2. 128 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. conception of such propositions. For, to say that there is a necessity — the nature of which cannot be explained nor illustrated — is not '^ critical philoso- " phy/' nor, indeed, any kind of philosophy, but " pure " dogmatism, which might be allowed to pass, in an avowed dogmatist like Reid, but, in " the critic of pure reason," seems intensely contra- dictory. Indeed, his singular ignorance of the whole subject, and specially of the purpose of Hume, and the tendency of his argument, are most strikingly, and almost ludicrously, displayed in his own illustration, "If we direct our attention to " the most ordinary operations of the understand- ^' ing," he says " the proposition— every change "must have a cause — will amply serve our pur- " pose. In this case, indeed, the conception of a " cause so plainly involves the conception of a " necessity, of connection with an effect, and of a " strict universality of the law, that the very notion " of a cause would entirely disappear, were we to " derive it, like Hume, from a frequent association " of what follows, with what precedes, and the " habit thence originating of connecting phenome- " na"^ —having no conception, apparently, that this " " Will man ein solchcs aus dem gemeinsten verstandes-gebrauchc, so " kann der satz, das alle Veriinderung einc Ursache liaben musse, dazu " dienen ; ja in dem letzteren cntliiilt selbst der Begrifl' eincr Ursaclie so " offenbar den Begrifl' einer Nothwcndigkeit der Vcrkniipfung mit einer " Wirkung und einer strengen allgemeinlieit der Eegel, dass or giinzlich " verloren gelien wiirde, wenn man ihn, wie Huaie that, von einer bfteren " Beigesellung dessen, was gescbielit, mit dem, was vorbergeht, und einer " darans entspringenden Gewohnheit (mitbin bios subjectiven Notbwen- " digkeit) Vorstellungen zu verkniipfen, ableiten wollte." Kritik &ca Einlei- GERMAN PfllLOSOrilV KANT. 129 was exactly what Hume had said, and said a great deal better. For Hume, as is manifest from the veiy terms he employs, attached no importance whatever to his o^\ti pretended explanation of this phenomenon, there being, on the contrary, some probability in the supposition, that he intended it as a sneer at our utter ignorance of the philosophy of a relation on which all our faith depends. To answer him, consequently, by admitting that all he said was perfectly true, but that it could not well be conceded, inasmuch as we have naturally a strong con^dction to the contrary, while, under Hume's explanation, " the veiy notion of a cause "would disappear," which was exactly what he wanted, does look very like an extreme of simpli- city, such as we should hardly expect from one that had undertaken to observe and analyse the opera- tions of the human mind. The only mode of answering Hume satisfactorily would have been by explaining the nature of that necessity under which we believe cause and effect to be combined together, or in other words, by indicating the nexus which hnks them, and of which Hume denies that we have any logical proof. Whereas, Kant's answer, instead of critically determining the nature of the necessity, and logically proving the existence of tung —Sec. 2. To avoid any charge of unfairness, I have quoted in the text, on all occasions, from Meiklejobn's translation, in Bohn's Philosophical Library — Mr. Meiklejohn being an ardent admirer of Kant — but I have in each case compared the translation with the original, and found it sufficiently correct. I could find no one better. K 130 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. the nexus, is substantially Reid's answer, that the phenomenon cannot be explained, but that we must believe it as a matter of common sense. In Reid this was justifiable under the princijDle of his system, in the '^ critic of pure reason" it was inconsistent and self-destructive, as substantially conceding his incompetency in any measure to realise the only particular which could render his philosophy available for its professed purpose. His confusion in this case, as in his whole system, evidently originated in supposing that there can be any knowledge, or kind of knowledge, apart alto- gether from experience, or with which, as he says, "no empirical element is mixed."'' This principle is not merely the foundation of scepticism, but thus broadly enunciated evidently leads to absurdity, since if utterly unmixed, such knowledge must be known in itself, which even Kant does not venture to main- tain, and hence his self-contradictions begin with the very beginning of his system, and go on multi- plying — in this particular alone being consistent — to the very end. To work out an intelligible philo- sophy, indeed, under such a supposition, is as im- possible as to conceive " a change without a cause." E-eid, accordingly, with his sober good sense, evi- dently saw the result, and kept clear of the error, " "Wir werden also im Verfolg unter Erkenntiiissen aj^riori iiiclit " Solclie verstclien, die von dieser oder jener, sondcrn die schlecliterdings "von aller Erfalirung unabbiingig stattCiidcn." And immodialely after- wards, " Von den Erkenntnissen a priori lieisscn aber dijenigen rein, denen " gar »ichts Empiriscbes beigemiscbt ist." Kritik, &c., Einleitung — Sec. 1. GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. 131 although the superficial plausibility of such a theoiy could not have escaped him, nor any one who had given an ordinary degree of attention to the subject. So far is it, indeed, from owing its origin to Kant, as his admirers have asserted, that it was assumed, as we have seen, in some form or another, by almost every philosopher from the very earliest ages do^\Tiwards. The only peculiarity of Kant's philosophy is his asserting, in terms of so sweeping and broad a kind, the very thing which men of a truly subtle and logical mind necessarily avoided, from a sort of irresistible perception of the consequences — so that one cannot help being asto- nished as to how he could have possibly persisted in trying to rear a system on a principle which the very form of its expression seems to determine as implying the impossibility of one single step of ulterior intelligible development. The result has been, as we think it can be demonstrated, that he has attempted to rear a system mthout any found- ation on which to rest it. Hence, he has been driven to attempt an explanation of the nature of a species of knowledge which has no existence. He has had to give names to phenomena which are purely imaginary, and he has had to give body to a scheme which is verbal logic, and nothing else. The mode in which experience can be brought into contact with the a priori knowledge, which ceases to be a iwiori, when any '^empirical element is mixed up with it," implies a difficulty which per- 132 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. fects the perplexity of the whole, since we shall pre- sently find, that there is no avenue left by which the lessons of exjDerience can enter into our minds, and consequently, that while " all our knowledge " is said by him " to begin from experience,"'' there is no means provided, or possible, through which such experience can be acquired. In order to rear up a system, under such circumstances, it was absolutely necessary, not only to repudiate con- clusions which all mankind had previously recog- nised, but to imagine states of mind Avhich no one had ever felt, and conceptions which no one had ever conceived, and processes of which no one had been ever conscious — and to express these, of course, it was farther obviously necessary to invent a new terminology which it is impossible to under- stand, because its names have no prototy]3es in reality to which they are applicable — and, as if this were not sufficient, ajDparently that such confusion might be worse confounded, in not a few instances, terms previously used to express perfectly different and real notions have been adopted into this ter- minology, so that a reader must supersede the asso- ciation by which such terms and their notions had long been united in his mind, in order to connect them with new and purely arbitrary assumptions which, as we shall presently see, having no real existence in the nature of things, it is impossible that^ even the writer himself could have definitely appre- * Critique &c., Introduction — Section 1st, GERMAN PlilLOSOPliY KANT. 133 liendecl. The vagueness of the views thus origi- nated has, of course, farther led him to adopt the most inconsistent conckisions. So much, indeed, is this the case that, with a great pretence at formal logic, there is, in fact, scarcely a proposition in any one place which is not contradicted in some other place — the whole being suitably wound up by the astoundino- conclusion, that while reason . can have reference to nothing objective whatever, i.e., nothing out of the mind itself, it is yet to be held practically as a sufficient authority, and is, in fact, the only avail- able authority for our belief in a world, an immor- tahty, and a God ! Such appear to me to be the causes of the diffi- culty expressed by all, except a very few of his more ardent disciples, of understanding the "Critique " of pure reason ;" and I avow my . convictions upon the subject in the most distinct terms, be- cause, notwithstanding the magnificence of its pre- tensions, " and I make bold to say that there is " not a single metaphysical problem that does not " find its solution, or at least, the key to its solu- " tion here ;"^ a"hd, notwithstanding, or rather in consequence of the favour with which it has in some quarters been received, it does seem full time to speak out distinctly, and without any affectation of delicacy, as to the character of a system which has laid the foundation of a mdely-spread philosophical scepticism in Germany, and of a verbally profound, * Critique, &c., Preface to First Edition. 134 GERMAN PHILOSOFllY — KANT. yet substantially shallow Rationalism and Pan- theism, not only in Germany, but throughout the civilised world. It is, at least, full time to call upon all who profess any respect for this, as it appears to me philosophical quackery, to tell us precisely what they mean, and, if the difficulty of understanding the Kantian philosophy consist, as they ]3retend, in its awkward terminology to explain that terminology themselves, by translating it into intelligible terms. In the meantime, I rejoice, that in the conclusion at which I have arrived, however entirely I may be convinced of its truth, I am not resting solely on my own assurance- — for the same conclusion is not merely indicated, but avowed by many, of whom some, at all events, cannot be re- garded as uncandid Avitnesses, however they may account to themselves for their predilection in favour of a system which they characterise in such terms. It is said by a countryman of his own, of some celebrity in general literature, that '' many " doctrines of Kant's pliilosophy are perhaps clearly " understood by none — and each of his disciples, '' believing that another understands them better '' than himself, is either contented wdth an obscure '' conception of them, or perhaps sometimes assents, '' from a persuasion that others understand what '* he unfortunately wants capacity to comprehend. "^^ "■ If" says '' Chalybaus, Kant had not in this » Georg Christoph Lichtenbcrg — Vermischte schrii"ten. See Edin- hvrgh fievleir, No. vi., p. 352. GEiniAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. 135 *' strange manner immediately taken away what he ** had just assumed — thus contradicting himself at " every turn ;"'' and Cousin not only tells us " that *' his opinion is opposed to the common sense of all "mankind"'' — that '^nihilism should be the final " word of the Critique of pure reason"'" — the avowed object of which, be it observed, was to refute the scepticism of Humo ; but he actually tears to pieces, and ridicules eveiy notion, more particularly Kant's own, and only endeavours to excuse the extravagance of his metaphysics, which were " to "solve all problems," however difficult, by the merit which he attaches to his attack on " the em- " pirical theory of Locke" — a merit, which it will be easy to perceive, that we at least value at a veiy low rate, and to the excellence of his ethical theoiy, which, be it good or bad, (for with this, at present, we have nothing to do,) is in direct opposi- tion to the only principle in the " Critique," so far as I am aware, which the Author has not positively and absolutely contradicted in that work itself.'^ This contradiction he reserved for his works on ethics and religion. If anything farther were needed to authorise our conclusion, or at all events to entitle it to a careful examination, it would be the singular fact, that none of Kant's translators, " Historical development of speculative pliilosopliy, &c., from the German of Dr. H. M. Chalybaus, translated by the Eev. Alfred Edersheim, Section 3rd, p. 7G. '' Lec;ons sur la Pliilosopliii; de Kant — Leron 8. "^ Do. ^ See also Klopstock's opinion of Kant, as given in Life of AVordsworth, vol. 1, p. 130. 136 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. commentators, or imitators have, so far as I can discover, risked any explanation of his theoiy, ex- cept in the most general terms, without being com- pelled either, on the one hand, to acknowledge that they did not understand it, or, on the other, to avow that in many, even of its essential and fundamen- tal doctrines, it is untenable and contradictory. We need hardly add that the Commentaries of such Commentators are not very consistent, that, so far as the nature of Kant's philosophy is con- cerned, they are nearly as obscure as their original ; and that they contain nothing, so far as I know, which advances in the slightest degree our know- ledge of our o^vn minds, or opens a way, directly or indirectly, to any species of information that can be useful, except in so far as they may serve to warn us against vague and indefinite speculations. These general remarks will be thoroughly appreciated in considering the system in detail, which, under the circumstances, it is evident, we should not be justi- fied in evading. The object of Kant, in his Critique, is clearly enough exhibited in the preface to his first edition, where he says — " The grand question is, what and "how much can reason and understanding, apart ''from experience, cognise 'C'' But, if, as we believe to be the fact, they can cognise nothing, * "Weil die Hauptfrage immer bleibt, was und wie Viel kann 'Verstand und Vernunft, frei vcu aller Erfaliruiig, erkennen und nicht? ' Vorrcde Zur erstcin Ausgabc." GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. 137 apart from experience, then would it follow that the grand question is no question at all, and that any attempt, consequently, at solving it, must end in contradiction, confusion, and absurdity. Now, one would be inclined to suppose, from the veiy terms under which this "grand question" is proposed, that Kant had intended to analyse and determine the amount of a jn-iori knowledge existing in the human mind, by some species of abstract reasoning, away altogether from any re- ference to experience, and that some such notion had originally suggested itself to him, and had even been the ground-work of his earlier specula- tions, seems clear from many passages of the work ;* but, finding, probably, that it was impossible, even by the most copious use of mysticism, to pro- pose a 2^'i^iori cognitions discoverable without any appeal to experience, he changes his ground, and we are accordingly informed that "all our know- " ledge begins from experience ;" but, though " it "begins from experience," he holds, "it by no "means follows that it all arises out of experience" — a part of it, he thinks, is antecedent to experience existing in the mind itself, and which he calls scien- tific or a prmn. The rest, we are told, comes from experience, which therefore he regards with the ancient Greeks, as emjDirical, or a posteriori. Tlie a priori knowledge he divides into analytical or explicative, when the predicate is of the essence " See specially Prefaces to both First and Second Editions. OF THE 138 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY — KANT. of the conception, as "that all bodies are extended" — the idea of extension being essential to the idea of body — and synthetical or augmentative when the predicate is not essentially contained in the con- ception, as in the proposition, *' In all changes of " the material world the quantity of matter remains *' unchanged " — the idea of permanency, it seems, being unessential to the idea of body, though it must be presumed, somehow, " universal and neces- " sary " in itself A. posteriori knowledge must, in all cases, be sjrnthetical, under the terms of the theoiy. Nov, according to these views, as truths of ex- perience, are, and can only be particular, and as Kant has given us no other kind of truth, except that which is a lyriori, it would seem to follow, not as a probability, but as an obviously- demon- strative conclusion, that all general truths must be a 2y^^iori, of the one kind or the other — analytical, or synthetical. Yet, strange and almost incredible as it would appear, Kant does not seem to have seen this, and accordingly he tells us that the proposition, " bodies are heavy," is a conclusion derived from experience, i.e., it is a 2^osterio7'i.^ Now, no doubt, experience might teach us that any one body is heavy, but how it could teach us that bodies generally are heavy, does seem alto- gether inconceivable. Setting aside, therefore, the test of mere generality, which, although, no doubt, * Critique, Introduction — Section 4. This conclusion is derived from the whole passage, which it is unnecessary to quote, as being of considerable length. GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. 139 it would have rendered the whole object of his Critique manifestly ridiculous, was yet, under his own definitions, no less unquestionably the true one ; he provides, what he deems the infallible tests of "necessity and universality," for discriminating betwixt a priori and a posteriori knowledge, but which, however, just bring us back, though some- what more circuitously, to the veiy same con- clusion — for, as was 2:)reviously proved, every general truth is, in point of fact, necessary, and every general truth is universal, so far, at all events, as we can know anything about necessity and uni- versality — and hence it must follow that, accord- ing to Kant, every general truth, of whatsoever kind, is a cognition a 2y^'iori. At all events, tLere is here a difficulty, and, as it appears to me, an insuperable difficulty, at the veiy outset of the system, which Kant and his disciples have absolu- tely overlooked. If general truths cannot be dis- coverable by experience- — and we presume no one will maintain this to be possible — then all general truths must be a priori cognitions, since there is no other source to which they can be attributed. We say nothing of other consequences, which are suffi- ciently manifest, but if this be true, the "infallible " tests, which we are now considering, are at once and hopelessly annihilated. Having now reached the point at which experi- ence is assumed, as the beginning of our knowledge, it might have been supposed, as the critique avow- edly originated in Hume's speculations, that we" 140 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. should next have been infoimed as to the mode in which such experience is to be attained, but this is not the case. In order, however, to have any con- ception of what follows, we must suppose that the philosopher of Konigsberg imagined the mind to be a receptacle of some kind or other, in which compartments are contained.'' Of these the first is the sensory, or sensibility, which merely contains the "universal and necessary" notions of "space "and time," to which subsequently he seems to add "consciousness," though in what sense, and for what purpose, I am utterly unable to explain. These, we are told, are a priori cognitions, existing in this locahty or faculty, or whatever it is to be called, altogether apart from, and prior to, ex- perience. Consequently, " sjoace and time " are only " subjective conditions," to which he "denies "all claim to absolute reality," therefore, "time," and, of course, space, "are not things in them- " selves, nor are they any objective determinoAions *' pertaining to or inherent in tJwigs," so that, " if "we take away the subject, or even the subjective " constitution of our senses in general, then not " only the natures and relations of objects in " space and time, but even space and time them- " SELVES disappear."'' The only difference which he • * "Die Flihigkeit (Receptivitiit), Vorstellungen durch die Art, wie wir von Gegenstiinden afficirt werden, zu bckommen, heisst Sinnliclikeit." Die Transsc, Aesth. — Sec. 1. Cousin— Lecture 8. '' Wir liabcn also sagen wollen : dass alle unsere Anschauung Niclits als die Vorstellung von Ersclicinung soi ; dass die Dinge, die wir anschauen, nicht das an sich sclbst bind, wofiir wir eie anschauen, nuch iluc Yerhaltnisse GERMAN PHILOSOPHY —KANT. 141 takes betwixt time and space is, "that while space " serves for the foundation of all external intui- " tions," he regards " time as a necessary represen- " tation, lying at the foundation of all our intui- " tions." But, if neither space nor time be external reahties, how is it possible that there can be any external intuitions or perceptions at all, seeing that we cannot conceive an external w^orld to exist, except in sj)ace, and during time ? This must have occurred to himself, had he not used words to which no fixed ideas were attached by him. It is clear that he had no distinct notion, or rather he had no notion at all, as to the mode in which the " intuitions " and " representations," of which he speaks, can become " intuitions " and " representa- " tions " to us, and, consequently, he in this way allowed himself to be deluded by mere vague ambiguities, although, in no possible acceptation which the term will admit, nor under any con- ceivable theoiy of their mental forms, can the difficulty be obviated, nor the existence of an ex- ternal world, at least to us, be rendered consistent with the assumption of the subjectivity of time and space. "^ It is, indeed, certain, from the whole tenor of so an sich selbst bescliaffen sind, als sie uns erscheinen ; uud dass, wenn wir unser Subject oder auch nur die subjective Beschaifenheit der Sinne iiber- haupt auflieben, alia die Bescliaffenheit, alle Verliiiltnisse dor Objecte im Eaum und Zeit, ja selbst Eaum und Zeit verscbwinden wiirden, und als Ersclieinungen nicbt an sicli selbst, sondern nur in nns existircn konnen." — Tr. Aesth. Allg. Anmerkungen Zur Tr. Acstb. • See Cousin, Lemons sur la Philosopliie do Kant — Le^on 8. 142 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT, the Transcendental ^Esthetic, that his theory had, by a species of monomania, so completely acquired the command of his mind, as to bhnd him to absm'dities, however gross, and contradictions, how- ever glaring. Determined, as the avowed opponent of Hume, to stick to an external world in words, he yet, at every turn, shews its complete incompati- bility with his other principles. He consequently reduces his external world to a mere shadow, a mere image, assumed as a species of magazine that might, by some unaccountable means, afford matter to the schemata and forms of liis mental recejDtacle, but wliich to us, under his system, is absolutely unknowable, and its existence even impossible. " My purpose in the above remark," he says, " is " merely this — to guard any one against illustrating '' the asserted ideality of space, by examples quite " insufficient — for instance, by colour, taste, &c., " for these things must be contemplated, not as "properties of matter, hut only as changes in the " subject — changes which may be different in differ- ^' ent men."'' Again, "on the contrary, if I " ascribe redness to the rose, as a thing in itself, or " to Saturn his handles, or extension to all external " objects, CONSIDERED AS THINGS IN THEMSELVES, " Die Absiclit dieser Anmerkung gelit nur dahin : zu verliiiten, dass man die behauptete idealitiit des Raunies nicht durcli bei Weitem unzulang- liche Beispiele zu erlautern sicli cinfallcn lasse, da namlich etwa Farben, Gescbmack u. s. w. mit Reclit nicbt als Bescliaffenheit dor Dingc, sondcrn bios als Veranderung unseres Subjects, die sogar bei verscbicderien jMenschen verscbieden sein kiJnnen, betrachtet werden." — Transsc. Aesth., sec. 3, where the original affirms the doctrine even more strongly than the translation. GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. 143 ''without resfavdino' the deteriniiiate relation of " those objects to the subject, and without limiting *' JIY JUDGMENT TO THAT RELATION" — the relation being absolutely unknown, and perfectly arbi- trary — "then, and then only, arises illusion." From this it is clear, that the extension which we know a priori is not "the extension of external " objects considered as things in themselves," which seems to mean, if it mean any thing, that it is not TO things in themselves that we apply our A priori COGNITIONS — while, farther, as if this was not enough, all knowledge of external quahties, declared, as the food of experience, to be essential for "beginning our knowledge," is absolutely and explicitly ignored. They are not to us "properties " of matter," but only " changes in the subject." We are not to ascribe "redness to the rose," nor any other property — not even extension to external objects, "considered in themselves"— but only to certain judgments, which, somehow or other, are formed of them, and our notions of all such pro- positions are to be strictly " limited " thereby. Yet, it must be understood, to appreciate this mass of contradictions, that, notwithstanding, Kant does not deny the existence of an external w^orld ; on the contraiy, he undertakes to prove it, and by a * "'Dagegen wenn icli der Rose au sicli die Rutlie, dem Saturn die Henkel, oder alien ausseren Gegenstanden die Ausdelinung an sicli beilege, olme auf ein Lestimmtes Verbiiltniss dieser Gegenstiinde zum Subject zu seben und mein Urtbeil darauf einzuscbriinken, alsdenn allererst entspnngt der Schein." — Tr. Aest., sec, 8. — Note. 144 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY — KANT. process, lie says, far more perfect than ever was proposed before, and his proof is to the following- effect : — '' I am conscious of my own existence, as " determined in time. All determination in regard " to time pre-snpposes the existence of something " permanent in perception, but this something cannot " be something in me, for the very reason that my " existence in time is itself determined by this per- "manent something. It follows that the percep- " tion of this permanent existence is possible, only " through a thing without me, and not through the " mere representation of a thing without me. Con- " sequently, the determination of my existence in " time is possible only through the existence of " real things, external to me. Now, consciousness "in time is necessarily connected with the con- " sciousness of the probability of this determination "in time. Hence it follows, that consciousness in "time is necessarily connected also mth the ex- "istence of thino-s without me, inasmuch as the " existence of these things is the condition of de- " termination in time. That is to say, the con- " sciousness of my own existence is, at the same " time, an immediate consciousness of the existence " of other things without me.^" Now, we have * " Icli bin mir meines Daseins als in der Zeit bestimmt bewusst. Alle Zeitbestimmung setzt etwas Bebariliches in der Walirnebmung voraus. Dieses Beharrliclie aber kann niclit Etwas in mir sein ; weil eben mein Dasein in der Zeit durcli dieses Bebarrlicbe allererst bestimmt vrerden kann. Also ist die Walirnebmnng dieses Bcliarrlichen nur durcb ein Ding ausser mir und nicht durcli die blose Vorstellung eines Dinges ausser mir moglioh. Folglich ist die Bestimmung meines Daseins in der Zeit nur GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. 145 not the slightest hesitation in saying that all this approximates, as nearly as possible, to the " pure ^' unintelligible," and we challenge the most ardent admirer of Kant to explain, even generally, what he means. The only ghmmering of sense is to be found in the conclusion of the passage, where, in violation of every principle of his system, he seems to appeal to a dogmatic faith. He evidently had got himself into a position of perplexity, from whence there was no extrication, except in the use, not merely of ambiguous but absolutely mean- ingless terms. He had, in truth, undertaken to prove a contradiction. An external world is not to be resuscitated by any proof, assuming the non- objectivity of time and space, since, if one truth be to us more necessary than another, it is that an ex- ternal world can only exist in space, and during time. If these, therefore, be assumed as purely subjective, or, in other words, as mental cognitions, and not as objective realities, then the non-existence of an external ivorld becomes an a 'priori cognition! If there be an external world, therefore, — nay, if there be an internal world,^ — nay, if there be any existence at all, the " critique of pure reason " be- comes a pure delusion, since all things that exist durcli die Existenz wirkliciier Cinge, die ich ausser mir wahrnehme, moglich. Kun ist das Bewusstsein in dcr Zeit mit dcm Bewusstsein der Mogliclikcit dieser Zeitbestimmung uotliwendig verbunden ; also ist es audi mit der Existeuz der Dinge ausser mir, als Bedingung der Zeitbestimmung, noth- wendig verbunden, d. i. das Bewusstsein meines cigeneu Daseinsist zugleich ein unmittelbares Bewusstsein des Daseins anderer Dinge ausser mir."— Transsc. Analjtik, B. 2., Widcrlung des Idealisnms. L 146 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT, we necessarily believe to exist in space, and during- time — and the system which denies tliis, conse- quently must, by us at all events, be regarded as false and impossible. In so far, then, as we have hitherto proceeded it would apjoear that we derive the " matter" of our knowledge from experience," and this we do through some sort of "representation" of external existence, merely as existence, inasmuch as its properties, as are told, are not known as properties of the object, but as " changes in the subject." This external •existence, however, does not exist in space, " nor ^' during time, for space and time, according to this "system, are not absolute realities," nor do they " absolutely inhere in things as conditions or pro- " perties," inasmuch as, being " universal and " necessaiy cognitions," they are to be found only as conditions of mind, and kno^vn only a priori. How these things could be — how we can know external existence without knowing its properties — or how we can know its properties, seeing that they are not known as properties of the object, but as " changes in the subject only" — or how intuition (perception) estabhshes a connection with space and time, which exist only a ]priori in the sensory — or how there can possibly be external existence at all which neither exists in time nor during space — are points not explained, nor, need we add, can the}'' be explained. It is, indeed, manifest that the ad- ' See Cousin Lccons sar la I'liilosopliie de Kant. — Lcfon 8. GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KAXT. 147 mission (jf an external world is an excrescence on the Kantian system, and absolutely irreconcilable with it. Its assumption was originally forced on the author of that system, in consequence of his having started in opposition to Hume, and being naturally unwilHng to avow, that instead of answer- ing Hume, he had come back to Hume's principles again, he perseveres, in direct violation of his own theory, to maintain the existence of such external world, though thereby plunging into pei'petual and gross inconsistencies. Accordingly, his more emi- nent disciples (Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel) re- pudiate it altogether, while Jacobi and others, who admit external existence, are obliged materially to alter the system, in order, with any appearance of reason, to effect their object. It may, indeed, appear, we must however remark, before conclud- ing this branch of the critique, that these extraor- dinary contradictions are modified by Kant's assertion, that "we have only to do with phe- "nomena, and that thincrs in themselves, while " possessing a real existence, lie beyond our sphere ;"'■* but this only adds a contradiction more. It is, in truth, impossible clearly to discover what he means by phenomena. That he does not mean "pro- "perties" of the object is evident from what has been already said. He probably in this, as in other cases, had no precise notion of what he meant, for we think it must already be obvious enough, " Pri/face to 2nil Edition. 148 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. that the system is, in a great measure, one of mere caprice, so that it is rarely possible to assign any- thing approaching to an intelligible reason for its determinations. Perhaps, by phenomena, he may mean ^'those changes in the subject," which, he else- where informs us, is all that we know of '^ proper- "ties," though even this it is difficult to imagine, since elsewhere he tells us that '' phenomena have no scientific value." Havino- now exhausted the contents of the o sensorium, we have next to direct our attention to the compartment of the intellect, which is called the " understanding." The use of the understanding is to " cognise, by " means of those representations which the sensory " or sensibihty receives from experience, and clothes " WITH FIGURE AND DURATION by its CI priori appre- " hensions of time and space." Now, here the first particular which comes naturally to be explained is clearly the way that " understanding " gets " such representations " from the '^ sensory," and this explanation, already substantively given in Kant's own words, as I can make nothing of it that has an appearance of sense, I shall now state, as expounded by Mr. Morell, another admirer of Kant and his philosophy. " This is effected," says Mr. Morell, "by a mediating representation, which " has such an affinity to the matter, on the one " hand, and the form on the other, that, by virtue *' of its intei-vention, the formal notion and the GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. 149 *' outward plienomenon become united. This medi- *' ating representation is tirae, which Kant calls the '' schema of our notions, and by the aid of which, " we reofard the abstract forms of the understand- '' ing as having relation to something objective, ^' concrete, and actually present."'' To me, the explanation, I honestly confess, is as incomprehen- sible as any part of Kant's works, which is saying a good deal. I cannot conceive what is meant by a " representation " having an " affinity to the matter," in any sense which will suit the phenome- non. I cannot understand how " the formal notion ''and the outward phenomenon" can "become " united by virtue of the intervention of a represen- " tation ;" on the contrary, the proposition appears to me mere senseless verbiage, and I cannot but be- heve that a proposition which makes "time connect "the abstract forms of the understanding" with "something objective, concrete, and actually pre- " sent," or, in other words, makes "time" give us our feelings of hardness, softness, colour, smell, taste, is downright nonsense, and an insult to com- mon reason. But, assuming the thing to be possible, how- ever it is effected, and accordingly taking for granted that the understanding actually receives "the representations of the sensory, clothed with " figure and duration," the next point is as to " An Historical and Critical view of tlie speculative pliilosopliy of Europe, in the ninteentb centurj-— By J. P. ilovell, A.M., vol, 1., p. 2G!l. 150 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY- KANT. what it does with tlieiii, and we are told that it ^' thinks " them. To eifect this, it has three faculties — memoiy to recall the sensorial represen- tations, imagination to unite them, and conscious- ness to ascertain the identity of the united repre- sentations with those representations as originally existing in, and transfused from, the sensoiy, by referrino- both to " the me" — thouoch what " the " me " is, or how discovered, or how it differs from " the sensory and the understanding," on the one hand, and the faculties on the other, we are not informed . Yet, without some explanation of these particulars, it is manifest that the whole system is once more impossible. Setting all this, however, still further aside, it must be observed, that in order to have any kind of conception as to the ulterior development of this extravagant speculation, we must keep in view Kant's primary object, which he declares to consist in giving a complete map of our a priori cog- nitions, that is, of all these truths wliich are " universal and necessaiy." In order to accompHsh this, he set himself to discover those particulars which could be predicated of all existences, under the impression that these being " universal," in so far as applicable to every existence of whatever kind, we could not acquire a knowledge of them by ex- perience, and, therefore, that they must be also '' necessary," and referable consequently to a jiriovi cognitions, inasmuch as he could not discover any GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. 151 other source from which their origin might be derived. Nor is the process, under which he ar- rived at this most sinsfular conclusion, at all diffi- cult to trace. Educated in the Wolfian philosophy, which consists of a mixture of formal logic, with the theories of Leibnitz, he satisfied himself that the loo'ic was true, whatever mici'ht be said of the philosophy, and, finding that the categories of Aristotle constitute the foundation of formal logic, he assumed, as indeed many had assumed before him, that in the processes of formal logic, we have a development of the processes of philosophical and practical reasoning. He assumed, in other words, that the mind, in reasoning, goes through the steps of a syllogism, in which case it is clear, that the most general truth, or major of the syllogism, must lie dormant in the mind until called into operation by the minor proportion received from experience, since otherwise, under the assumption that in reasoning the mind goes through the steps of a syllogism, it is evidently and indisputably impos- sible that we could ever begin to reason at all. It was manifestly in this way that Kant thought out, a priori, his system of metaphysics. And accordingly, in this view, he provided minor propo- sitions, derived from experience, which passed into the " sensoiy," whence, being clothed with the attri- butes of space and time, they are subsequently trans- mitted for gfeneralisation to the " understandino-." That in this theoiy we have the origin of the 152 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. Kantian doctrine of the nature of the " under- standing" is proved by the whole tenor of his critique, and specially it seems to be formally pro- pounded in the following passage : — " All intui- "tions (perceptions) as sensuous, depend on " affections ; conceptions (operations of the under- " standing) therefore upon functions. By the word " function, I understand the unity of the act of ar- " RANGING DIVERSE REPRESENTATIONS (images) UNDER " ONE COMMON REPRESENTATION (generalisation) . " Conceptions then are based on the spontaneity " (voluntaiy action) of thought, sensuous intuitions ^' (perceptions) on the receptivity of impressions, ^' (capacity of receiving impressions.) Now, the " understanding cannot make any other use of these ^^conceptions than to judge by means of them (i.e., "judge to what conceptions intuitions belong) . As '^ no representation, except an intuition, relates im- " mediately to its object, a conception never relates " immediately to an object, but only to some other re- " presentation (image of memory) thereof, be that an "intuition, or itself a conception, a judgment, there- " fore, is the mediate cognition of an object, conse- " quently the representation (of memory) of a repre- ' ' sentation (by perception) of it. In every judgment " there is a conception, which applies to, and is valid " OF, MANY OTHER CONCEPTIONS, (i.e., embraces many " other generalisations,) and which, among them, " comprehends also a given representation (by " generalising it)^ — this last being immediately con- GERMAN PHILOSOHPY KANT. 153 nected with an object, for example, in the judgment — all things are divisible — our concep- tion of divisible api3lies to various other con- ceptions ; among them, however, it is here particularly appHed to the conception of body, and this conception of body relates to certain phenomena which occur to us. These objects, therefore, are mediately represented by the con- ception of Divisibility (i.e., Divisibility to a certain extent embraces them all). All judg- ments, accordingly, are functions of unity in our representations, (i.e., are generalisations) in- asmuch as, instead of ,an immediate, a higher representation, which comprises this and various OTHERS, is used for our cognition of the object, and thereby many possible cognitions are col- lected INTO ONE. But we can reduce all acts OF THE understanding TO JUDGMENTS, SO that the understanding may be termed the faculty of JUDGING, for it is, according to what has been said above, a faculty of thought. Now, thought is cognition by means of conceptions, (i.e., thought consists in logical or syllogistic judgments,) but conceptions, as predicates of possible judgments, relate to some representation of a yet undeter- mined object (i.e., remain in the understanding dormant till called into operation by some intui- tion derived from experience). Thus the concep- tion of body indicates something — for example, metal — which can be cognised by means of that 154 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. " conception (i.e., when metal is intuited through " experience it becomes known as body through " the conception of body which, a priori, lay dor- "mant in the understanding). It is, therefore, a " conception (a dormant predicate) for this reason " of itself, that other representations are con- " TAINED UNDER IT, by mcaus of which it can relate '' to objects. It is, therefore, the predicate to a " POSSIBLE JUDGMENT ; foT example — eveiy metal '' is a body — all the functions of the understanding, " therefore, can be discovered when we can com- "pletely exhibit the functions of unity (i.e., the "most general predicates applicable to existence) " in judgments ; and, that this may be effected veiy " easily, the following section will shew."'' Accord- ingly, in the following section, we have the process which is thus explained : — " If we abstract all the " content of a judgment, (i.e., everything which " makes it special,) and consider only the intellectual " form thereof, (i.e., in so far as it is applicable to " everything,) we find that the function of thought * " AUe Anscliauuiigen als sinnlich berulien auf Affectionen, die Bcgriffo also auf FuDctionen. Icli verstehe abcr unter Function die Einheit dor Ilandlung, verschiedeno Yorstellungen unter einer gemcinscliaftlichcn zu ordnen. Begriffe griiaden sich also auf der Spontaneitat des Denkens, wie sinnliche Anscliauungen auf der Ecceptivitat der Eindriicke. Von diesen Begriffen kann nun dor Verstand kcinon anderen Gebrauch machen, als dass er dailurcli uvtlieilt. Da koine Vorstcllung unmittelbar auf den Gcgenstand gelit, als bios die Anscliauung, so wird cin Bcgriff uiemals auf eiuen Gcgen- stand unmittelbar, sondern auf irgend eine andero Vorstellung von dcmselbeu (sie sci Anscliauung oder selbst scbon Bcgriff) bezogen. Das Urtlieil ist also die mittelbare Erkenntniss cines Gcgcnstandes, mitbin die Vorstellung einer Vorstcllung desselben, &c."— ^er Tvans:>c. Aualytik Erstcs Bucli. Des Transsc. Leitfadens Erstcr Abscbnitt. GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. 155 " in judgment, (i.e., the forms or predicates of our "judgments,) can be brought under four heads, of "which each contains three momenta (species). "These may be conveniently represented in the "following table: — 1. Quantity of Judgments; " imiversal, particular, singular : 2. Quality ; affir- " mative, negative, infinite : 3. Relation ; catego- " rical, hyiDothetical, disjunctive : 4. Modahty ; " ^problematical, assertorial, apodeictical."'' Now, these forms of judging being universal, that is to say, being applicable to eveiything, since all things must be regarded as "universal, particular, or " singular," as " affirmative, negative, or infinite," as "categorical, hypothetical, or disjunctive/' as "problematical, assertorial, or apodeictical," and, as in so far as " universal," also, " necessary," seeing that they could not be derived from ex- perience, it follows that in them all there must be some nexus, as in the case of "cause and effect," which originates in a lyriori cognition. Accord- ingly, it is at once perceived, we are told, that the " necessary" hnk or nexus which can alone sanction a " singular" judgment (generalisation) is that of " unity" — a "particular" judgment, that of "plural- " ity" — a "universal" judgment, that of "totality" — * "Wenn wir von allem Inbalte eincs Urtheils iiberliaupt abstrahiren uud nur auf rlie Llosc Verstandesfonu dariu Aclit gebon, so finden wir, dass die Function des Denkens in demselbcn unter ^^er Titel gcbracbt werdcn konne, deren jedcr drei Mumente unter sicb cnthiilt. Sic k'Jnnen fiiglicb in folgcndcr Tafel vorgestcllt werdcn." — Dcs Tiaussc. Analytik Erstcs Buoh. Pes Transsc. Leitiadcus Zwciter Abscbuitt. 156 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. an "affinnative" judgment, that of "reality" — a '' negative" judgment, that of "negation "—an "in- " finite" judgment, that of " limitation " — a " cate- "gorical" judgment, that of "inherence and sub- "sistence" — a "hypothetical" judgment, that of " causality and dependence" — a "disjunctive" judg- ment, that of " community "^ — a "problematical" judgment, that of "possibihty" — an " assertorial " judgment, that of "existence" — an " apodeictical" (demonstrative) judgment, that of " necessity." In other words, a " singular" judgment would be im- possible without an a j^'^iori concept of "unity" — a "particular," without an a priori concept of "plu- " rality," &c. Thus we have the categories, the " universal and necessaiy" predicates in all proposi- tions deriving their matter from experience, and which, as " universal and necessary," must exist a jiriori. Now, on the slightest consideration of this theory, we cannot help being struck by the enormous amount of mental j)henomena which it leaves en- tirely unexplained, unaccounted for, and indeed im- possible. We cannot help wondering what becomes of all the other general ideas and general proposi- tions which constitute the mass of our knowledge, and, apart from which, we endeavour in vain to get AT THE CATEGORIES. For, let our othcT general ideas be "universal and necessary" or not, they, at all events, cannot be ideas of experience, for experi- ence, even according to Kant's own system, only GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. 157 teaches us particular facts, or if it gives us general ideas, the difficulty (if possible) is only the more complicated. Whence, then, do we get the ideas of hardness? of colour"? of magnitude? of desire? &c. ? and how do we get a knowledge of the propositions in which they are involved ? If every idea which is not attributable to experience be a priori, then there must be a priori concepts in the understand- ing which coiTespond to each, and, in that case, what becomes of the essential tests of "universality '^ and necessity?" The true test of a priori cog- nitions, according to the Kantian system, we must again conclude, is not " universality and necessity," but "generality," or, if this be not the case, it is manifest, that under that system the origin of gene- ral truths is inexplicable. Being nenher truths of experience, nor a 2)noi"i cognitions, we must con- clude that there are no general truths at all ! But, if this be the case, h'ow do we get at the categories, or call into operation the concepts ? since these are the very truths of which the categories are predi- cates, and which the concepts realise. Thus, to take an instance of Kant's own, recently quoted — " The conception of body indicates something — for "example, metal."'' Now, we should like to know how he got the idea of metal ? or, at all events, how he came to deem himself entitled to use such a * " So bedeutet Jer Begriff des Korpcrs Etwas, z. B. Mctall, was durch jenen BegrifF erkannt werden kann." — Transsc. Analytik. Des Transsc. Leitfadens Erster Abschnitt. 158 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY — KANT. word in a scientific argument \ He could not possi- bly liave got the idea from experience, for "metal" expresses a general idea. Have we then a concept, a 'priori, of metal ? If so, the concept must, under the theory, imply a "universal and necessary" truth, and farther, such concept must imply a know- ledge OF MATTER wliich, we are told, no concept does, inasmuch as matter is the subject of the pre- dicates, and is derived from the sensory exclusively. Or have we no a priori concept of metal'? Then, his own illustration must be delusion, since the categories can never be predicates at all — the veiy truths being entirely swept away, to which, accord- ing to his account, they are applicable. All that remains, indee^, is the particular facts derived from experience, which of themselves could never IMPLY ANY proposition, and, therefore, could never call any concept into operation. The whole of this absurdity results from confus- ing, as we have seen that he does, the process of formal logic, with a development of the ratiocina- tion process as a mental operation. The categories, as invented by Aristotle, from whom Kant acknow- ledges that he copied the idea, and whose purpose he seems to have imagined to have been identical with his own,"" included all minor generalisations, because, instead of being intended for the same * " Es war cin eines scharfsinnigen Mannes wiirdiger Ansclilag des Aristoteles, diese Grundbcgriffc aufzusucLcn."— Transsc. Analytik Erstea Buch. Drittcr ALsclinitt. GERMAN PHILOSOPHY — KANT. 159 purpose as Kant's, they were merely intended to express the predicates of verbal propositions, so as to include within them every possible form of MINOR generalisation OR PREDICATE. Tlie formal logic, indeed, so far from developing the process of reasoning in the human mind — as many besides Kant have imagined — is purely a verbal science, if science it can be called, teaching the accurate use of words. Thus, the syllogism is intended to en- sure that the words in the minor are used in the same sense as the words in the major proposition, so as to guard, as far as possible, against any change of meaning in the terms during an argument, and the categories are, therefore, of importance in consti- tuting the syllogism, by directing us to the most general predicates under which the terms of major and minor must hoth he included, either by identity or by contrast. But, both the categories them- selves, as well as the less general terms included under them respectively, must, in the first instance, be formed from the lessons of experience in the generahsation of particular facts They are, in truth, formed, not syllogistically, for in this way they never could be formed, nor could any process of reasoning be reahsed, but by a process the very REVERSE OF THE SYLLOGISM. Thus, having from ex- perience determined, for example, the quahties of metals, we term the union of these quahties, as again determined by another process to be afterwards ex- plained, by the general name of '' metal," and hav- IGO GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. ing, by experience, known thus the union of several qualities in one locality, and having generahsed this knowledge by a process also to be subsequently explained, we acquire the general idea of '' unity." If, indeed, every idea, which is not derived from ex- perience, is to be held a priori, cr intuitive — as Kant, and indeed Reid likewise, suppose — then it is evident that every general truth, of whatever kind, must be refeiTed to this source, since not one of them can possibly be referred to experience, which gives particular cognitions only. Nay, particular cognitions, it is manifest, must also, under such a supposition, be known a priori, since it is evidently impossible to know a general truth, while we are ignorant of every particular embraced under it. It is strange, that neither Kant nor Ileid,a nor, so far as I know, any of their followers perceived these results, which yet appear, not only logically in- disputable, but exceedingly obvious. Such being the case, even supposing that we could get at par- ticular facts by experience, we must have, according to the Kantian theory, one concept for generalis- ing hardness, another for generahsing whiteness, another for generalising sweetness, &c. It seems hardly necessary to say, that all this imphes con- tradiction and absurdity. ^ It will lie understood, that we have no intention, either here or else- where, of comparing, for one moment, the clear and instructive writings of Reid, with the mystical conjectures of the German speculator. We merely desire to indicate that, in this particular, both systems appear to imply the same misconception. GEifMAX rillLOSOPHY — KANT. KU It thus would seem demonstratively to follow, that the very principle on which this theory of Kant rests orimnates in an absolute delusion. No proposition can be expressed, nor conception consti- tuted, which does not involve knowledge of experi- ence. The axioms of mathematics, for example, even the most simple of them, speak of length, equaUty, or similar qualities or relations, which terms abstractly, and away from experimental know- ledge, have no meaning at all, and could not exist as concepts or as intuitions ; for length must be the length of something, and equality the equality of something, and Vv'e must have, or must have had, a knowledge of something which gave us the par- ticular ideas, or else we must know length, without knowing anything that is long, and equality, v^dth- out having had experience of any tvfo things that are or were equal ; and the moment that this some- thing is introduced, the proposition consequently involves, not only in reality, but manifestly experi- mental knowledge. But farther, the idea that the most general predicates of propositions, or in other words, the categories, give us '^'^ universal and neces- " sary " cognitions in the same sense as the proposi- tion '^eveiy change must have a cause," is neces- saiy, implies an utter confusion of things perfectly different. It implies a confusion betwixt genersi ideas and propositions, as will immediately be ex- plained, and, accordingly, Kant has not added a single instance of what he calls ^^ universal and M 162 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT, ''necessaiy truths," to those previously recognised^ viz. : —Mathematical axioms, and the proposition, " Every change must have a cause." Nay, in de- termining " space and time " to be merely mental schemata, he seems to have swept away even mathematical axioms, from the class of "universal "and necessary," or, rather, from the categoiy of possible truths, altogether. For, if "space and time" be not objective, there can be neither "length nor "equality," nor any mathematical truth of any kind. They become mere states of mind — forms, in other words, of mental schemata. But farther, a general idea never can imply a necessary truth, in the same sense as "mathematical "axioms," and the proposition, "Every change must have a cause," imply necessary truths. For a gene- ral idea, j^er se, neither affirms nor denies anything. It is merely the expression of a mental state. Nor does any general idea of its own nature imply the ex- istence of an absolute fact which we must necessarily believe. Indeed, the only modes even of necessary existence, which general ideas express, that we must, from our essential constitution, necessarily believe, viz. : — " of time and space," are singularly enough excluded by Kant from the modes of existence ALTOGETHER. Kelations alone, therefore, can imply necessary truth in the same sense as mathematical axioms, and the proposition, " Every change must have a cause," since we can deny the existence of essences and substances in eveiy instance, without GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. IH^ any contradiction ; but we cannot deny the validity of the relations betwixt them, supposing the elements which imply them to exist, as must he assumed in every proposition affirming or denying a relation. In each case, consequently, the necessity of the truth is predicated of the relation, and not of the elements which are related. The existence of the elements might be denied without any contradic- tion ; but their existence being assumed, that the relations of such elements to one another must be what it actually is, obviously implies necessaiy truth, and is just what we mean by it. Thus, '^mathematical axioms," and the proposition, ''Every "change must have a cause," express relations which, to deny, would imply a contradiction of the terms under which such relations are expressed. But no absolute fact, or property, using the word in the widest sense, however expressed, can imply such a necessity. On the contrary, Ave might assume all existence to be annihilated, without any sense of absurdity, and express such an idea, with- out any contradiction in the terms. Hence, unless we can cognise relations, apart from any facts OF WHICH they are RELATIONS, which is an evident absurdity, in itself implying contradiction in the terms, it foUoAvs, demonstratively, that unless the facts and matter of our cognitions be a priori, it is impossible that we can have any knowledge a jyriori of necessary truth, in the sense under Avhicli "ma- " thematical axioms," and the proposition, "Every 164 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. " change mustliavea cause/' are said to be necessary. It is true, that the existence of time and space, as objective modes, is felt by us as necessaiy truth ; but this, it will now be obvious, is true in a totally different application of the word " necessaiy," and the repudiation of this truth by Kant— who, as we have repeatedly said, regards " time and space " as subjective, or, in other words, mere states of the mind— seems to prove, in the most striking way, his error in assuming '^ necessity " as the test of a priori cognitions, seeing that, in this way, he was obliged to include " space and time " among them, in direct opposition to the test itself, inasmuch as we NECESSARILY believc them to be objective, and not subjective, and this so irresistibly, that it is im- possible to do an act, or speak a word, or think a thought, in which this objectivity is not directly and essentially implied. The argument, however, goes farther still, for, the notion that a relation involves the idea of a nexus, a link, an interme- diate and absolute something that binds existences together, or connects them with one another, which gave its point to Hume's argument denying the connection betwixt cause and effect, and which is assumed by Kant as true in all cases of what he calls " universal and necessary " truths, according to this reasoning, is a perfect delusion. According to it, there can be no such intermediate something, relations being merely the connection, or bearing of any property or properties in one existence, with. (;ERMA^' PlIlLOSOPliY KANT. 1()5 or on, any property or properties in another. The relations of existences, therefore, consist inthe nature, of the existences themselves which are related, and it is their own natures, or properties, and nothing without us, and still less, anything within us, that bind them to, and connect them with, each other, both in reality, and in our beliefs. How this comes to be the case, will be afterwards more par- ticularly explained ; yet, the fact is manifest and certain enough, even in its exposition, to. warrant us, in so far, in founding upon it, and if so, then it would follow, that the nexus, or hnk which Kant was to supply for us in aiwiori cognitions, has no exist- ence, though, if it had, it would only make Hume's conclusions more certain than ever, because, to us it would be absolutely indiscoverable, and this, we trust, makes a full and final end of the categories, for any such purpose, at all events, as Kant applied them, and on which, indeed, we fear, that too much time has been wasted ; but we have been endepovouring to give something like an air, at all events, of intelligibility to this most confused and contradictory system, and thus, in so far as pos- sible, save to others the annoying toil which we have had in attempting to discover the principles on which it might be supposed to be rested. We now reach the third and last compartment of the mental receptacle, which is called the "reason," though, in what the ''understanding" essentially differs from tlie ''reason," or how it 1G6 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. contrives to get on without the "reason," the author never clearly determines. His whole thoughts, it is evident, were fixed on some notion perpetually present to his mind, that every idea not derived from experience must exist in the human mind a priori, as a " universal and neces- '' sary " tiTith, absolutely indifferent to the inco- herency and inconsistency of his system in other respects, as if his devotion to the processes of the formal logic would necessarily guard him against the risk of error. Certain it is that the *' reason," in some way, is often called into requisition by him throughout the previous parts of his work, but whether it be the same " reason," or a different "reason," there seems to me to be no possibility of discovering. At the point where we have now arrived, at all events, we have a "reason," discriminated, indeed, from the "understanding," but it would seem, by no veiy definite line, as it is only employed in still farther "generalising," or rather " universahsing, its concepts." To appreciate the position, then, which this "reason" occupies in the Kantian philosophy, it must be remembered that the concepts of the " understanding" only apply to beliefs of which we have experience, and which they generalise. But there are other beliefs of which we neither have nor can have experience — these are " the thinking " subject or the me, the universe, and God." " The "thinking subject," says Kant, "is the object of GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. 1()7 *' Psychology — the union of all phenomena (the " universe) of Cosmology, and that which contains *'the supreme condition of the possibility of all " that can be thought, the being of all beings, is ^' the object of Theology."'' These three ideas are contained in the reason, and, as concepts have their matter from experience, so these "ideas of reason" have their matter from the "concepts," by "uni- " versalising " them under the " Categoric, hypo- " thetical, and disjunctive forms of reasoning." In other words, the Categories of " quantity, quality, "and modality," are thus universalised by the Category of "Relation." How the process is ac- comphshed, or indeed, precisely, what it means, T frankly acknowledge myself unable to explain. This, however, is clear, that as the concepts, apart from experience, have no matter, and consequently of themselves would be utterly without object and void, so the "ideas," being only those concepts universalised, are necessarily without object and void. They apply to nothing real. They are mere phantasies, which may amuse us or regulate in some way our speculations, but, having no experi- mental content, they can give us no practical truth. The cause of this extraordinary conclusion is obvi- ous. According to common opinion, the mind, re- ceiving facts from experience, generahses or univer- salises, not merely the facts, but also the mental process which reahses them, and hence that process becomes applicable to all identical cases, whether » Transsc. Dialektik Ersles Bucli. Abso. 3. I (58 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY — KANT. WE HAVE EXPERIENCE OF IDENTICAL PHENOMENA OK NOT. But, according to the Kantian theory, uni- versal principles, applicable to experience (Catego- ries), and universal principles applicable to concepts (ideas), heing a priori cognitions, can only apply to the phenomena presented to them, and can, conse- quently, give no more than they get. Hence, as we have no experience of the '"^me," nor of the '^ universe," nor of '' God " — these being merely the result of combined categories, or concepts, appre- hended by the universals, or 'ideas'' existing in the reason — we have absolutely nothing, save " a " prioy^i cognitions," universalised. Thus, the *' ideas " of reason, must, undoubtedly, under such a theory, be void and without object. We need hardly add, that this is to invert what is usually supposed to be the nature of reason, for it is usually believed, that the veiy use and purpose of reason is to assure us what mil and must be, through our experience of what has been, and of what will and must be, in respect of the knowledge which it gives \is of the nature of the power w^iich operates in each instance, so that, though we may never have experience of that identical power a second time as directly addressed to our senses, yet we can perfectly understand its character, and measure its degree by its effects, in any future case where evidence of its presence may be exliibited to us. Moreover, the character of our "ideas" of the *'me," a ''universe," and a ''God," are so en- tirely different from each oilier, and are derived (JERMAN I'lIILOSOPIIY KANT. 169 from sources so entirely different, that to confuse them with universaHsed ideas of a common charac- ter, and referable to the same origin, seems to manifest an almost inconceivable caprice in any one pretending to philosophise. We derive our idea of the "me" from immediate consciousness, of a "universe" from the combined action of almost all our feelings and faculties, and even then it is but a partial notion, since the idea of a "universe," in the widest sense, imphes the conception of an infinity, which it is beyond our powers thoroughly to cognise, while our idea of a " God " is the result of reason and intelKgence, determining under their ordmary laws. That any man should, therefore, have seriously proposed such a conclusion as philo- sophical seems so inconceivable, that we might naturally be supposed to have fallen into some mis- conception upon the subject ; but this seems quite impossible, for however vague on other particulars, on this Kant is so distinct as to leave no room for misconception. Arguments are given by him at great length, for the purpose of proving that we cannot possibly attain any knowledge whatever, scientifically available, of a "universe, an immor- " tality, or a God." Whether he also denies the possibihty of any scientific cognition of the " me," I am really uncertain ; it would seem that he does so substantively,'' but that he feels ashamed openly to avow it. "Pure reason," therefore, according » Traiissc. Dialektik Zweites I'ucli. 1, Hauj>st., &c. 170 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY— KANT. to the Kantian pliilosophy, relates only to objects of which we can know nothing, and can, therefore, in respect to such objects, be of no use, except to lead us astray. Why he did not, under such cir- cumstances, imagine a still purer " reason," which would have combined all the " ideas " of reason in one grand unknowable " absolute," we cannot say ; such an apex seems certainly necessary to complete his system, and his successors, accordingly, have logically realised it. With Kant's " practical reason " we have here nothing to do, except in so far as wdth reference to the consistency of his philosophy, it may be ne- cessary to add, that it diametrically contradicts the whole of his speculative theory, and restores to us, happily, that '^self, universe, immortality, and " God," which his " pure reason " had assured us was unattainable, and all conclusions with respect to which it had denounced as " sophisms." We have thus endeavoured to give a fair and im- partial outline of the Kantian philosophy in its leading features, for its details are, in most cases, reducible to no principles — being, indeed, fre- quently to us altogether unintelligible — the specu- lations of a man deluding himself ; and we have done this, because we must respectfully maintain that this system derives the authority which has given currency to its phraseology, from no cause whatever except its being almost entirely unkno^\Ti, and for this we think it must be admitted, that GERMAN PHILOSOPHY — KANT. 171 its professed commentators are mainly responsible. These commentators, whether consciously or un- consciously I know not, have concealed that which is uninteUigible in the system by evading it, and shrouded that which is contradictory and absurd, by the use of mysterious terms ; while in no in- stance, so far as I am aware, has any one attempted fully and clearly to explain its principles, or informed us as to how a system which, in so far at all events, they so much admire, has failed, not merely to rea- lise its pompous pretensions, but to effect any good whatever in the precise development of one single new fact, or the admitted determination of one single new principle. It seems full time, therefore, we repeat, considering the amount of vague and sceptical theories which it has generated, to call upon those who admire this system, at all events, to explain definitely what it means, to reconcile its apparent inconsistencies, and to point out plainly and precisely some good that it either has done, or is, hereafter, likely to accomplish. To preclude, therefore, any excuses for farther delay, we have en- deavoured, after repeated perusal of the Critique itself, and a careful examination of all its most emi- nent commentators that we could find, to give, what so far as we are aware, no one has attempted before, a complete sketch of the leading features of the sys- tem, tracing each particular to its principle — and, if it be anything like what has been described, it can hardly fail, we think, to be regarded as one of the 172 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT. most presumptuous pieces of ostentatious Diysticism ever palmed upon the world imder the name of philosophy. It may, however, be asked most naturally, how a system so confused and contradictory — not the re- sult of observation, but deduced, a 'pTlori, from the formal logic — could have exercised so wide and im- portant an influence ? But let any one consider the darkness still brooding over the principles of intellectual, moral, political, and theological science • — subjects on which men will and must speculate, to whatever purpose their speculations may be — and his wonder will be greatly diminished. It is hardly possible to conceive a theoiy so extravagant on these subjects which, under the ckcumstances, will be without disciples. In regard to the Kantian phi- losophy, moreover, the difficulty that seems to be im- plied in the question is entirely and at once resolved, when we consider the nature of the influence it has exercised — for, in truth, the philosophy of Kant, qud philosophy, died with its author. Its principles were, indeed, to a great extent, made available in Germany, as foundations for theories of wild scep- ticism — and these theories, indirectly, have been more or less propagated elsewhere in modified fomis. But, throughout the world at large, it has not been his philosophy, nor even the principles of his philo- sophy, but his terminology, which has survived — imbuing men's minds with some indefinite notion of profound thinking, as if there were something fiEllMAN PHILOSOPHY KANT, JACOHi. 173 under it, which only the elite are privileged to un- derstand. Such a stylo of writing, as we have for- merly said, could hardly fail to captivate all whose ideas are not very precise, or who may desire, for some reason or another, only indefinitely to indi- cate them. It is thus that tlie Kantian, termi- nology, and with it the vague style of thinking which that terminology implies, modified according to circumstances, has come, and with the most per- nicious effect, morally, politically,and religiously, to colour the literature — we might almost say of the civilised world — with a greater or less tinge of phi losophical mysticism. The immediate followers of Kant, even before liis death, divided necessarily into two parties, a great majority adopting the idealistic or sceptical, the others the realistic, side of his philosophy. It was, indeed, obviously impossible, with even a shew of reason, to defend both ; for, as we have seen, they are directly antagonistic to each other. The assumed existence of an external world, was in- deed a mere excrescence on the system of Kant, primarily adopted when he was first roused to specu- lation by the scepticism of Hume, and retained throughout in direct opposition to the other parts of his theory, from a natural unwilhngness to admit that that theorv had led him back as^ain to Hume's conclusion, even in a more absolute form, though of course continually at a greater expense of proba- bility and consistency. 174 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY JACOBI. Accordingly, Jacobi, wlio may be regarded as the chief of the reaHstic followers of Kant;, casting aside his speculative, substantively adopted his practical philosophy, which, apart from the novelty of its phraseology — adopted apparently to conceal its inconsistency with his speculative science, and its perjDetual straining at originality — is little different in principle from the opinions of the rest of man- kind. Jacobi consequently assumes, as facts, not merely the existence of matter, and our knowledge of all external qualities, as discovered by experience, but generally all our beliefs, internal and external, in so far as guaranteed by our feelings and our faculties. He did not pretend to explain how such behefs were realised, for, in thus far, he was like Reid, purely a dogmatist in his philosophy ; but he maintained that to us they implied necessaiy truth, on the obvious ground, that wherever they are brought into doubt, philosophy, in any reason- able sense of the term must, ij)so facto, be at an end. He objected, therefore, absolutely, to the principle of philosophising assumed by Kant in his Critique, and relative works, in attempting to de- duce a philosophical system from the formula of logic, under the supposition that the most general no- tions are worked out in the mind a prior i of all ex- perience, and have a practical appHcation, therefore, solely to the species of objects which experience enables us to cognise, because he saw that thus we must inevitably reach a point, where there would GERMAN PHILOSOPHY JACOBl. 175 be no matter for our cognitions at all, and conse- sequently where our conclusions must, in direct opposition to our feelings and convictions, of ne- cessity, be deprived of objective validity. This ar- gument, indeed, evolves an absurdity which must appertain to all attempts at studying the human mind, imder the assumption of its containing general truths a priori, whether innately or poten- tially. For, if assuming particular facts as true, under the guarantee of our feeHngs and perceptions, we ascend, by mental operations on those facts, to general ideas and propositions, then there' can be no limit to the practical certainty of our generali- sations, till we reach the absolute, in so far as a knowledge of the absolute may be embraced within them, because each step in the process will apply, not merely to identical cases, but to identical classes, however much they may differ in degree, or even in kind, so far as other particulars are con- cerned; but, if we assume that general truths exist in the mind a jy^iori, whether innately or poten- tially, and exist altogether apart from the particular facts of experience, which are known only in so far as embraced by these a p>riori cognitions, on reach- ino' the absolute, we find it altoo^ether indetermin- able and impossible, not merely because it can have no matter, as being beyond experience, but inas- much AS WE have no more GENERAL A PRIORI COG- NITION, THROUGH WHICH IT MAY BE APPREHENDED. The very existence, therefore, of such a notion in 176 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY — REINOLD, JACOBI. our minds, seems to imply inconsistency and con- tradiction, since, under the very supposition, it is neither anything in itself, nor is it possible that we can have any conception even as to what it means. No doubt, the theory has a logical apjpearance, but it is the logic of words, not of tilings, and, conse- quently, the words which express it, must necessarily be void and meaningless. It is, in fact, a recurrence to the mode of philosophising nearly universal dur- ing the middle ages ; but it does seem almost in- conceivable that any one should ha,ve been deluded by it during the eighteenth, or perhaps we should rather say during the nineteenth, centuiy. His detennination of this fimdamental principle was the great merit of Jacobi. His ulterior philosophy is imperfect. Indeed, he did not pretend to put forth anything like a systematic philosophy, and his incidental views are mixed up with a theological mysticism, bon'owed, probably, from the style of his master, but which, of course, entirely excludes them from the sphere of our present investigations. The followers of Jacobi are Httle known in this country, nor have I been enabled to discover any- thing which they have proposed, implying any material modification of the science of intellectual philosophy. The purely sceptical development of Kant's philosophy seems to have taken its rise from Carl Leonhard Reinold, who, perceiving the utter incon- sistency of his speculative and practical reason. GERMAN PHILOSOPHY JACOBI, REINOLD. 177 was thereby induced to seek some more general principle to which they could both be referred, and from which, consequently, they could be deduced — and had it been, that the existence of both was merely unaccountable, no doubt such a result would have been conceivable ; but, the existence of both being absolutely contradictory, we need hardly say, that he failed in his direct object, though he suc- ceeded in giving a full exhibition of the difficulty, and thus in summoning all disciples of the metaphy- sics of Kant to an attempt at disco vermg a " purer reason," for generalising "the ideas," so as to give a theory of the absolute in the determination of some one essence, which should form the basis of all things, and to which all effects should be referable, as their primary origin. Accordingly, a rush, if we may be allowed to use the expression, was immediately made in this direction, and that not. merely because a determination of this question must be essential to the validity and consistency of the Kantian philosophy, but because the difficulty thus exhibiting itself in tLat philosophy stands in close connection with a strong tendency of the human mind, however it may be accounted for, to believe that there is a unity in all things — a common source, to which they are to be all referred — an essence, which generates them all, and on which, conse- quently, they must be all dependent. Indeed, this tendency is more or less exhibited, in all forms of philosophy. We can trace it as an under-cun'ent of 178 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY REIXOLD, FICHTE. thought, running through all systems, and all theories. Hence, the origin of absolute sensation- alism or materialism on the one hand, and absolute ideahsm on the other. From this desire to dis- cover unity of essence and origin, each party is humecl into an extreme hypothesis, without reflect- ing, that in either view common sense and reason must be left behind and forgotten, since we can no more believe thought and feeling to be results of hardness and colour, than we can disbelieve our senses, when they assure us that hardness and colour are external realities. It was, therefore, by no means in a sj)irit of hos- tility to the Kantian philosophy, but rather for the purpose of following forth its principles, by resting them on a surer and broader foundation, that Fichte denounced our belief in an external world altogether, as a doctrine of science. But he was soon enlightened as to his error, by Kant's abso- lutely repudiating this development of his theory, and declining to give any sanction whatever to Fichte's speculations. There can in reahty be no doubt, however, that Fichte was perfectly right in his determination of the true and logical results of Kantism, and the only mode under which it could even supei-ficially be rendered consistent with itself, nor is it improbable, that an unpleasant suspicion to this effect was, in some degree at all events, the cause of the irritation of the Konio-sbero- saee, and his absolute refusal of any aid whatever in GERMA^I PHILOSOPHY FICHTE. 1 79 consolidating Fichte's views, for the development of his own principles. The veiy fact, however, that Fichte's is a system of avowed idealism, renders it altogether miavailable for determining the objects of our present investigation, which has in view the explanation of phenomena, as we have them, and believe them, and not the substitution of new phenomena, whether flowing from the formuliTO of a verbal logic, or from any other source, in direct opposition to the assurances of our feelings and faculties. Had Fichte, indeed, attempted to ac- count for our behef in external existence, by any evidence sufiicient to supersede that belief as a practical truth, his theoiy might have deserved the attention of those desiring to ascertain the philoso- phy of the human mind ; but, seeing that he merely supersedes a difficulty, by denying that we are to beheve as matter of science that which we must beHeve as matter of fact, we hold him to depart altogether from the object of philosophy, of which we understand the very end to be the explanation of our necessary beliefs of matters of fact, so as to ascertain the precise nature of the mental operation, in which such beliefs originate. To say that these beliefs are not real, puts an end to philosophy and to all manner of practical investigation, since, if the beliefs which we cannot help are imaginary, then all confidence in our faculties, and all conviction indeed of every kind, become substantively and scientifically impossible. There cannot, therefore, be a common 180 GERMAN PHILOSOPHY SCHELLING, HEGEL. belief^ as contra-distinguished from a philosophical faith, except in so far as philosophy may give us additional facts. Philosophy takes the common belief for granted, and professes to explain it. But, if it be thus with respect to Fichte, much more does the same argument apply with regard to Schelling and Hegel, who, in their wish to reduce all things to a common unity, or ascertain the na- ture of the absolute under the application of formal logic, first invent cognitions above and beyond " personality and consciousness ;" and then Hegel, assuming by a 2:)rocess of reasoning, as usual, merely verbal, and which, with an appearance of logic, is consequently perfectly unintelligible — that the universe is just a development of the absolute in the exhibition of an infinite activity — proceeds, with perfect consistency, to reduce this activity to the mere play of relations, without any reality whatever to which these relations could appertain. Thus, the metaphysicians of Germany have pushed the ideal philosophy, if jDhilosophy it can be called, to the highest pitch of extravagance. Even Hume never pretended to j^ush sceptical idealism to an absolute system, which his clear and logical mind saw would be contradictory and self-destructive. His only object was to shew, that as no principles could be logically proved, so every conclusion must be scientifically uncertain. It was reserved for Fichte, and Schelling, and Hegel, at once to deny what every one believes, and, from this absolute GERMAN PHILOSOPHY IN ITS RESULTS. 181 scepticism, to re-construct wliat they are pleased to regard as a perfect system of philosophy, out of materials, in the reality of which nobody believes. It is hardly necessaiy to add, that since their time the philosophy of Germany has become a mass of confusion. The disciples of the all-perfect theory of Hegel have divided into a variety of sects. Not one step of progress, however, has any one of them effected in any portion of spiritual science. The only practical result of their speculations has been scepticism in faith, and pantheism in religion, consequent on the propagation of those vague notions which such extravagant theorising has naturally, and, indeed, necessarily engendered, and which men receive the more willingly, and cherish the more fondly, because of the full scope which they afford for the indulgence of dreamy specula- tions on all subjects connected with the past, the present, or the future, by which they delight to pamper a loose and effeminate imagination, having neither power nor tendency to regulate the under- standing, nor direct the judgment, nor purify the heart. 182 PHILOSOPHY OF THE PRESENT AGE. SECTION IV. STATE OF INTELLECTUAL PHILOSOPHY DUR- ING THE PRESENT AGE, AND ITS RELATION TO GENERAL LITERATURE AND THE CIR- CUMSTANCES OF SOCIETY. French Philosophy — Its materialistic character about the beginning of this century — French philosoijhers — Adopt the Scottish system — French eclectical philosophy — Cousin — Ee-introduction of materialism — Comte — His misconceptions and inconsistency — British philosophy — Mr. James Milne — Sir W. Hamilton — Mr. Ferrier — Nature of his system — ■ Its principles — Its value as a system of scepticism — As a system of absolute philosophy — Principle prominently put forth by him — The amount already accomplished in intellectual science — Analogy betwixt its present state;, and that of physical science, anterior to the time of Bacon, more fully developed — True and only practical object of intel- lectual philosophy, and how to be practically realised — State of the science thus viewed at the present time, with a brief summary of modern systems — Cause of the comparative success of German philosophy, and the effect thereof on society — Impossibility of preventing, or even retarding, speculation on spiritual processes, and the principles of those varied sciences depending thereon — Disastrous eflects which must, therefore, result from neglecting the study of the human mind— Only mode in which real success can possiblj' be attained. The French school of spiritual philosophy, as we have seen, was, at the beginning of the nineteenth century, purely sensational, or, we should rather say, materialistic. It had pushed the principles of Condillac to absolute extravagance, regarding all mental states as merely the result of physical opera- tions, in direct opposition to the dictates, both of intuition and experience. The utter impossibihty, FRENCH PHILOSOHPY COUSIN. 183 therefore, of maintaining such a theory, so soon as men's minds calmed from a state of revolutionary frenzy, to such an extent as to enable them to cast off a measure of their prejudices, generated aten- dency towards the Scottish philosophy, first exhi- bited by M. Laromiguiere, and then followed up by M. Royer CoUard, until, mixing with the specu- lations of the later German school, French philo- sophy assumed the character of a species of eclec- ticism in the hands of M. Victor Cousin. This notion of an eclectical pliilosophy, which proposes to select the truth from all systems, and combine it into a great whole, has ever been a favourite idea at certain stages of philosophical history, from the apparent reasonableness and impartiality which characterise it. But such a philosophy is always liable to the insuperable objection, that it leads us to look at systems rather than at facts, and thus, almost of necessity, induces us rather to attempt working out of them all, a theory logically con- sistent, than to seek out of nature a series of induc- tions experimentally true. Our ingenuity, in such a process, is exercised, rather than our observation. Words, rather than facts, are the phenomena that we investigate. Hence, in such systems of philo- sophy, we find exhibited, not only an indifference to facts, but, almost without exception, a substan- tive inconsistency, necessarily resulting from an attempt at reconciling contradictory principles. Accordingly, in the philo«oi-)iw of Cousin, whi'^^^ ^ 184 FRENCH PHILOSOPHY COUSIN. partly, at all events, an attempt at combining the Scottish and German theories, while we find many important tniths beautifully expressed, we should yet be disappointed in seeking for some clearer explanation of intellectual phenomena. In truth, the introduction of a priori cognitions into his system, under however modified a fonn, undermines, substantively, the conclusions of his psychological anal^^sis, inasmuch as they imply, to a certain extent, an a priori knowledge of the very facts to which psychology addresses itself. If, indeed, the particulars embraced under the Categories of M. Cousin, with the elements which they involve, exist in the mind as knowledge a priori, it seems diflficult to conceive what experience could teach us, or what is the use to which the faculty of reason is to be applied, seeing that every general tnith, as in all such cases, must have been known before experience began, or reason called into operation, unless, indeed, reason be a power merely of looking into the mind, and drao'pinP' from thence the know- ledge which, a p>riori, lies concealed in it. In fact, this theory of innate ideas, intuitive principles, a p)rio7^i cognitions, or by whatever names they may be called, arises, as will afterwards appear, from confusing the conclusions which the mind, in the exercise of its faculties, derives from experience, with knowledge of some Ivind or other, supposed to exist in the mind absolutely, and anterior to ex- perience, which is a mere delusion, since such FRENCH PHILOSOPHY- — COUSIN. 185 knowledge could not exist, without rendering the powers and faculties of the mind utterly useless, since it would substantively supersede their opera- tion altogether. The assumption of relations, qua relations, on the other hand, existing in the mind, we have already seen to be a supposition, if pos- sible, still more untenable. On all this, however, it is unnecessary to dwell, as the explanation of the apparent difficulty involved in the origination of general ideas cannot be fully developed until we have had an opportunity of discussing the subject, as a portion of philosophical science, to the determination of which our attention will, by-and- by, be directed. That the use of the word " laws" may have tended still farther to the confusion of this subject, seems more than probable. That word, as thus employed, has, indeed, no definite meaning. It might mean, either, that a priori cognitions exist in the mind as laws, or, that the mental powers have laws which enable them, a priori of experience, to work out such cognitions for themselves. In either case, however, the conclusion is equally objectionable, for general conclusions, if we may trust to our consciousness, are not a priori at aU. They consist in ideas, or notions, or conceptions, or by whatever name they may be called, worked out, not a p>riori of experience, but from the FACTS WITH WHICH EXPERIENCE MAKES US ACQUAINTED. From this error in its principle therefore, the phi- losophy of Cousin is, as a system, altogether use- 186 FRENCH PHILOSOPHY — COUSIN, COMTE. less — being merely a jumble of assumptions, ac- cording to the Scottish school, mixed up with the uninteUigible jargon of the idealistic disciples of Kant. Pari-jxissu with Eclecticism, however, an at- tempt has been made, and with no small success, to resuscitate materialism in France. The most cele- brated, by far, of this school is M. Auguste Comte, whose merits, however, as an intellectual philoso- pher, we caimot help thinking, have been most extravagantly over-rated. His theories are not new, nor true, nor consistent. According to M. Comte, the sciences progress through three stages : The Theological, the Metaphysical, and the Posi- tive. During the first stage, men explain all phe- nomena by assuming the direct action of a God. During the second, they endeavour to explain phe- nomena, by the evolution of essential causes. In the third, philosophers, bidding adieu to all such imaginary causes, endeavour, by an appeal to phe- nomena alone, to determine laws, and thus to rise, step by step, to a grand and all-comprehensive generalisation. Now, it is true, that in the earlier stages of human progress, men usually refer the origin of phenomena to the action of a great first cause — none ever doubted it — but so they continue to do, which M. Comte seems to have forgot, during all the stages of their histoiy. They, no doubt, discover by experience, that God has con- stituted seco^'^arv causes, and are thus led to inves- FRENCH PHILOSOPHY COMTE. 187 tigate the nature of such causes, by subsidiary means ; but they are only the more strongly con- vinced that there must be a great efficient cause of all these causes, and that for a full explanation of the phenomena, that cause must, of necessity, be recognised. It is also tnie, that men, when thus led to seek for secondary causes naturally, in the first instance, endeavoured to ascertain the sub- stantive essence of the causes, as most hkely, if it could be discove^jpd, to realise the most perfect knowledge. This every one knows, and all history records. But, though experience once more teaches us that this is unattainable, under the form, at all events, which they supposed, as our faculties are at present constituted, yet no one is the less convinced, which M. Comte seems also to have forgot, that there are such essences, on which phenomena depend, and that, though we may be unable to discover their absolute nature, yet that such essences are no less certainly knowable. As to his third stage, it is sufficiently obvious that he has borrowed for it, in connection with his materiahsm, some form of the German ideahstic theory of the absolute. Accord- ing to him, the absolute is to be attained, not by a priori cognitions, but by successive generahsa- tions from experience, and in so far we agree with him, that if it is to be attained at all, this is the only possible process for reahsing it. The fact is, how- ever, that M. Comte has left this process — to which he has given the somewhat arrogant title of the 188 FRENCH PHILOSOPHY COMTE. "positive" philosophy — shrouded in a veil of more impenetrable darkness than even that which en- velopes its German prototype. For what are the phenomena, or facts of experience, on which his generalisations rest, if we know nothing whatever of essence, under any form \ They can only be images, or species, substantively nothing at all in so far as we are concerned, leaving to us no substra- tum, as resting, in so far as we know, on no essence. So nearly do the extremes of idealism and materia- lism approximate to each other. It is quite unne- cessary, however, at greater length to develope the details of M. Comte's philosophy, which, as a sys- tem of pure materialism, 'is just the system of all materialists, from Epicurus downwards, and liable to the same objections. M. Comte, however, is much more glaringly inconsistent than, perhaps, any of his predecessors, since, while his " positive " philosophy is founded on the assumption, that we know nothing whatever of essence, and that all true philosophy consists in ascertaining pheno- mena, and determining the laws which regulate them, he yet, substantively, himself, determines the essence of spirit — thus, in his "positive" philosophy, falHng back to what he calls the second scientific stage, by identifying it with matter, as matter is REALISED BY THE SENSES. In otlior words, accord- ing to Comte, it is experimentally known, that w^heels, or some such physical machinery, generate thought, and that ner\'es, or some such physical FRENCH PHILOSOPHY COMTE. 189 instrumentality, generate goodness and truth. Now, to assert, ahsolutely, that spirit and matter originate in different essences, may be philosophi- cally indefensible ; but surely it is much more phi- losophical than to assert that matter is the essence of spirit — the phenomena being entirely different. It may, indeed, be, that in the nature of things, both are different exhibitions of the same essence, as an essence may have different qualities; but to us this is of no consequence, since we can " posi ''tively" determine nothing on the subject what- ever. They are to us different, in so far as the phenomena are different — the contrary assumption being merely a hypothetical conjecture, directly op- posed to the only facts that we know, and conse- quently, in the highest degree, inconsistent with the very fundamental principle of the " positive " phi- losophy, assuming our knowledge even to be as limited as Comte imagines it. Wliatever he may be, therefore, in other respects — as to which we are not called on to express any opinion — Comte, as a logician, assuredly belongs to the very lowest order. Yet, this man has been lauded, and by persons of some reputation too, as if he had dis- covered something new, or had evolved opinions of importance to the interests of science, whereas his theory is a mere repetition of the most common- place materiahsm of former times, under the most untenable and inconsistent form. About the same time as Comte in France, Mr. James Milne was attempting to re-introduce sensa- 190 BRITISH PHILOSOPHY MILNE. tionalism into Great Britain, in his '^analysis of " the phenomena of the human mind," though, as it appears to me, with much greater abihty and logical acuteness. I must, however, decidedly pro- test against the supposition, that in so doing, he was, as has been asserted, following forth the phi- losophy of Locke. It is, indeed, the most entire mistake to suppose that Locke was, according to the modern sense of the term, in any measure a sensationalist. He did not by any means attribute our ideas solely to sensation, nor even to sensation and reflection, although he beheved our simple ideas to originate in these sources, and believed that it was through reflection that we had cogni- sance of them. But our complex ideas he attri- buted — indirectly, at all events — to a strictly intel- lectual source, as is indisputable from the express words of his first letter to the Bishop of Worcester, in which he says, " I never said that the general " idea of substance comes in by sensation and re- " flection ; or that it is a simple idea of sensation " or reflection, though it be ultimately founded in " them; for it is a complex idea, made up of the " general idea of something, or being, with the re- " lation of a support to accidents, i'or general " ideas come not into the mind hy sensation or rejiec- " tion, hut are the creatures or inventions of the un- " derstanding." Now, we are by no means prepared either precisely to explain, or to defend this argu- ment. We do not see how a "o^eneral idea" is neces- sarily a " complex idea," nor do we tliink that Mr. BRITISH PHILOSOPHY MILNE. 191 Locke could have very clearly understood what he meant by " a complex idea, made up of the general '^ idea of something, or being, with the relation *' of a support to accidents ;" but we maintain, that the concluding words of the passage remove Locke from the school of the modern sensational- ists, although, no doubt, in evading any explana- tion of the mode under which the ideas which he does not attribute to sensation or reflection, in the limited sense of the term, are constituted, or rather, in failing when he attemj)ts such explanation, he may, we admit, have led others to sensationalism, with the hope of perfecting his system, by giving it unity, in explaining under a sensationahst theory the phenomena which he had refen-ed to other, though undetermined, or insufficient causes. While, therefore, we do not deny that Locke leant to sensationalism, we think it indisputable that he did so under the most modified form, and that no man would have, or indeed did, more earnestly de- precate every form of materialism. Milne, however, not only excludes other intellectual causes, but he seems to exclude even reflection itself, as a source of our ideas, and has endeavoured to explain all mental phenomena by a reference to sensation alone, under the collateral action of a principle, known, since Hartley's time, by the name of " the ^' association of ideas." Hence, like all other ma- terialistic philosophers, Milne is a pure nominalist — his mental analysis consequently resohang itself 192 BRITISH PHILOSOPHY MILNE. into an ingenious play of words, giving the appear- ance of an explanation which, however, conveys no information, and is available, consequently, for no practical use. Nay, admitting most readily, that this work is free from the extravagancies which usually disfigure idealistic theories, yet it is impossible not to feel, that many of its conclusions, however ingeniously and skilfully stated, are yet in direct opposition to the evidence of our consci- ousness. Who, for example, could induce himself to believe that memory has nothing in it exclu- sively characteristic, but is a mere result of associa- tion connected or combined with ideas of personal identity and time 1 We feel conscious, on the con- trary, that without the specific something, which characterises and discriminates memory, the words ^'association, personal identity, and time," could never have been invented, and would, indeed, be entirely Avithout meaning. The ideas even, which they are intended to exj)ress, could to us have no existence. In tlie same way, Mr. Milne is, of course, a strenuous advocate of Hume's theory, as to the relation, or rather the want of relation, be- twixt cause and effect. He maintains, as if it were indeed a proposition nearly demonstrative, that cause and effect can only be known to us, as a uni- form sequence of antecedents and consequents, that we consequently know nothing more about the matter, and hence that it is from no real knowledge of any necessary connection betwixt them, but BRITISH rUILOSOPHV MILNE. 1 !):{ from a mere habit of connectino^ them, that we constitute our conclusion upon the subject. Now, this theory is obviously, as much as the other, in opposition to our firmest belief, so that, if it be adopted, all assurance of every kind must be at an end — not merely because our conviction of the necessary connection betwixt cause and effect lies at the very foundation of almost all our belief, but because it is a conviction so strong and irresistible, originate from whence it may, that if it be untrue, it is obvious that our faculties cannot be confided in. The character of the philosophy, however, which proposes seriously sach a theory, can easily be determined, by comparing the fact with its pro- posed explanation, and probably no process could more thoroughly expose its weakness. The fact to be explained, is '^ a universal conviction that there " is some bond of connection betwixt cause and " effect which necessarily unites them." The ex- planation is, '^ that this supposed bond v/hich we " imagine necessarily to unite cause and effect, is a '' pure delusion, and originates merely in our obser- " vation of such a connection arbitrarily existing ;" in other words, the fact is explained by denying its existence. This would be perfectly legitimate in a sceptic, but in a materialist it is evidently absurd. There can be little doubt, however, that Sir W. Hamilton, of whom we have already incidentally spoken, as belonging to the Scottish school, is en- titled to the first place among the philosophers of 194 BRITISH PHILOSOPHY HAMILTON, the present century. It is, indeed, true that his philosophy is only fragmentary, yet in its frag- ments it has effected a material improvement on the school to which he professes to belong, by the almost unconscious modifications which he has in- troduced, not only on sonije of its dogmatic prin- ciples, but even into its very mode of philosophising. But, though professedly of the Scottish school, yet Hamilton's unaccountable estimation of the value of the formal logic gave him a strong bias in favour of the Kantian metaphysics, as the undoubted off- spring of that logic, although how the two systems could in any degree be reconciled with one another, does seem utterly inconceivable. Indeed, probably the difficulties in which he found himself involved in making the attempt, is the cause of our having little more than incidental papers from him on strictly philosophical subjects. Gradually it is cer- tain that he tended more and more towards the later German and French eclectic school, and, from that time, the clearness of his views and the practi- cal importance of his speculations began progres- sively to diminish. Assuredly, however, his partial adhesion to the Kantian and Eclectic philosoj)hy has, at all events, given it an authority in this country, which, otherwise, there is no reason to be- lieve that it would have realised. How far the merits which he attributes to it are well founded, we have already partially considered, and the con- clusions already attained will be subsequently illus- BRITI3U PHILOSOPHY HAMILTON, FERRIER. 195 trated when we enter on a detailed analysis of the mental states and operations ; but we may remark, in passing, that, indisputably, the most important discovery which he himself has suggested in intel- lectual philosophy, in including our perception of external existence under consciousness, is diametri- cally opposed to the veiy fundamental principles of Kantism, which regards perception as a pheno- menon of the subject, and, consequently, avoids all explanation of the process under which the external and internal existences are combined, as implying an impossible residt, under any conceivable form of determination. The last work of any importance which has ap- peared in this countiy on the subject of spiritual philosophy, is Mr. FeiTier's "Institutes of metaphy- " sic : the theoiy of knowing and being" — a work which strikingly indicates that sense which uni- versally prevails among thinking men, of the un- satisfactory state of intellectual science, and exhi- bits the fmits of an evidently earnest struggle in a powerful mind, to rest it on a more solid foundation. Were it not, indeed, from the earnestness of tone which pei-vades this treatise from beginning to end, one could hardly help thinking, from the nature of its assumptions, and the singular character of its conclusions, that it had been intended as a logical jest, for the pui^ose of ridiculing the deficiencies and contradictoiy principles of spiritual philosophy in its present state. But let it not be supposed 196 BiirrrsH philosophy — ferrier. that we find fault with Mr. Fenier on this account. On the contrary, we honour the man who, at any risk of misconception and misinterpretation, dares to give forth what he believes to be the tmth. Our astonishment is, how he could have brought him- self to beheve that it is the truth! Nor can we imagine, supposing it were the tmth, how he ex- pects it to serve the interests of humanity, nor why he should have given himself so much trouble to work out a system of which the results can never be applicable to any practical purpose whatsoever. The truth seems to be of little importance, if it be just as useless as eri'or. Its pursuit may be an innocent amusement, but would hardly be worth much pains to realise it. That Mr. Ferrier's speculations, however, are per- fectly original, w^e are, in so far, quite willing to ac- cord to him ; that their tone and character should bear a certain resemblance occasionally to the Ger- man school, is only what might have been expected in the pupil and friend of Sir W. Hamilton during his later years. In one particular, at aU events, he differs from the Germans, in so far as, while they prosecute philosophical speculations under the pro- cesses of the formal logic, Mr. Fenier is of oj)inion that philosophical speculation should consist of " an unbroken chain of clear demonstration carried " through from their first word to their last."''' Now, this we apprehend to be his first mistake, inasmuch " Inlro.— Sect. 11. BRITISH PHILOSOPHY FKRRIEK. 197 as demonstration could never prove any actual state, or condition, or substance to exist at all, be- cause it applies solely to relations. Hence;, mathe- matical demonstration, qua demonstration, never applies to any actually existing state, condition, or substance, but to the relations of thingSy ASSU^riNG THEIR EXISTENCE, Hor Can any instance be adduced, nor is it possible that there could be such an instance, where pure demonstration applies to anything but relations. Starting, then, from this error, he farther assumes the existence of what he calls necessary tniths, as the foundation of his de- mons tations — whereas, as has been already said, we maintain, and are inclined to believe, that all who investigate the subject will agree with us, that there is no one truth more necessary than another. The circumstances which involve the ti-uth may be supposed contingent, i.e., we could conceive them to have been otherwise, but, these being assumed, the truth itself which they imply must be necessary. There can be no exception. To take Tilr. Ferrier's own example — ^^ Nature might have iixed that ^Hhe sun should go round the earth instead of " the earth round the sun." No doubt of it, but that is a necessary truth, unless Mr. Ferrier means to maintain that " nature could not have " fixed that the sun should go round the earth, in- *^ stead of the earth round the sun." At all events, if nature actually has such a j)ower, it cannot be a matter of contingency whether nature has it or not 198 iiUITlSH PHILOSOPHY FEKRIER. — nay, to say ''nature has a certain power — but it is uncertain whether nature has it or not" — is directly opposed to the "law of contradiction" ; the great test of all necessary truth — so that, by his own test, the very example which he has himself suggested of contingent is proved to be necessary truth ; and so it will be in every case of every kind of truth whatever. There can be no contin- arent truth. The word contingj-ent does not apply TO TRUTH. All truth qua truth must be necessary. It is, however, clear that this species of truth which Mr. Ferrier recognises only as truth, cannot apply to anjrthing but relations ; for no other species of truth would admit of the '' law of contradiction " being brought into operation. The existence of anything, therefore, however firmly all the world may believe in it, cannot strictly be regarded as truth according to Mr. Ferrier's definition of truth, because anything, with the exception of time and space, can be conceived non- exsistent, without implying a contradiction in terms. " The world " exists," is only a truth, if it be assumed as a tnith, in which case, of course, like all other truths, it becomes a necessary truth, but, unless it be so assumed, it is not a truth at all, since the opposite assumption — the "world does not exist" — imj)lies no contradiction whatever ; or, if it be put in an- other form — "w^e are conscious that the w^orld " exists" — the conclusion is precisely the same, since our "consciousness" of external existence, being as- BRITISH PHILOSOPHY FERRIER. 199 sumed as false, involves no contradiction, and in- deed we shall find presently that Mr. Ferrier actually denies that we are, in the ordinary sense of the word, conscious of it. So, in regard to the proposition, " I exist " and all others. This, however, Mr. Ferrier does not seem to have perceived, and, accord- ingly we receive from him, as the canon of all reason, that we are to " affirm nothing except what is en- *^ forced by reason as a necessary truth — that is, " as a tnith, the supposed reversal of which would "involve a contradiction, and deny nothing, un- ** less its affirmation involves a contradiction — that *' is, contradicts some necessary truth or law of *' reason."'"' This sweeps away all existence, and we doubt whether Mr. Ferrier, scientifically speak- ing, would hesitate to adopt the conclusion, were it not that "the subject i^lus object," "the thing or thought, mecum" vanish along with everything else. We now come to his propositions, and the first is to the following eftect — " along with whatever " any intelligence knows, it must, as the ground or " condition of its knowledge, have some cognisance " of itself ""^ Now, there is no attempt at a de- monstration of this ; it is taken for granted, and in this breaks down his whole argument, under HIS OWN PRINCIPLES, for, to deny the proposition, " contradicts no necessary truth nor law of reason." But, farther, under the veiy terms of the proposi- tion, we find ourselves in an inextricable difficulty — » Intro.— Sec. 3t. ^ Prop. 1. 200 lilllTISH PHILOSOPHY FERKIEK. for either we k>;ow the intelHgence which thus gives us ^' some cognisance of itself," or we do not. If we do not, then the proposition is not true, or at least not to us, since we cannot know that an unknown existence gives us "cognisance" of any- thing — for to predicate anything of that which is unknown, would be to affirm, in violation of that " law of contradiction" which Mr. Fen-ier truly enough gives us as the test of all necessary ti-uth — of course using the word necessary in its only in- telligible sense — as expressing the admitted relations of assumed elements. If, on the contrary, it is in this proposition implied that we do know such in- telligence — though a confusion upon this subject runs through the whole book- — we shall find that the assumption involves a direct contradiction of all the rest of his propositions. Tliis will be made perfectly clear, by attending to the second and third propositions. The second proposition is in the following terms : — "The object of knowledge, whatever it may be, *' is always something more than what is naturally *' or usually regarded as the object. It always is, " and always must be, the object with the addition " of oneself — object |>?ti6' subject — thing, or thought, " mecum. Self is an integral and essential part of " every object of cognition ;"" and the third, which completes it, rans in these words — " The objective " part of the object of knowledge, though distin- • Prop. 2d. liHlTISH PHILOSOPHY FERRIER. 20l " guishable, is not separable in cognition from the ** subjective part or the ego ; but the objective part " and the subjective part do, together, constitute the " unit or minimum of knowledge."'' Now, it is manifest, that by the terms of these propositions, there is no possible way under which Mr. Feri^ier could have discovered that a cognition consists of an objective and a subjective part ; for to know that a cognition, or anything else, consists of two parts, we must know, at least, one of the parts, per se, which imphes, of course, an indirect knowledge, at all events, of the other per se, since, if this be not the case, we affirm that we know, what under the assumption we do not know, in violation of the " law of contradiction." Hence it follows, neces- sarily, that if we know one of the parts, ^je?* se, the union, or, in other words, " the object j^^us subject " do NOT " constitute the minimum of knowledge." There seems something like an unconscious attempt at meeting this insuperable difficulty in the third proposition, where it is said, that '^the objective part "of the object of knowledge, though distinguishable, " is not separable in cognition from the subjective " part or the ego ;" but it is quite in vain, inasmuch as it is a distinction without a difference, since that which is " distinguishable " must evidently be " se- " parable " in thought, else we could distinguish in thought that which is inseparable in thought — an affirmation which is again manifestly disproved by • Prop. 3d. 202 BRITISH PHILOSOPHY FERRIER. the "law of contradiction." But, \vithout discus- sing the verbal distinction which might be taken betwixt the words '' distinguishable " and " separ- "able/' it is, at all events, certain that that which we can " distinguish " we must know, since, to " distinguish " expresses knowledge and something more, and can have no other meaning ; so that, if we can distinguish ''the objective from the sub- "jective part" of knowledge, it follows again, be- yond question, under the ''law of contradiction," that we must know each ^9er se, and consequently that "the objective part and the subjective part do" NOT, " together, constitute the minimum of know- " ledge." And it is in vain to reply to this, that we know the " subjective part of a cognition " as that which is permanent of it, since this is merely another self-contradiction in the theory, because, if we know the permanent from all the incidental parts of cognitions, it is manifest that, be the process what it may, we must know it somehow or other jper se, and consequently, once more, that "the " objective part and the subjective part do " NOT, " together, constitute the minimum of know- " ledge." Not only, however, is it impossible to know that a cognition consists of a " subjective and an objec- " tive part," consistently with the assumption, that in their union they " constitute the minimum of "knowledge;" but the veiy terms — "oneself," " intelligence," " knowledge," and the Hke, accord- BRITISH PHILOSOPHY FERRIER. 203 ing to the theory of Mr. Ferrier, are void and utterly without meaning ; for we have, according to his account, only reached the existence of " ob- *' ject plus subject " — and we say the existence, because it is impossible that " we " can know, or that "intelligence" can know anything, till the "we" or the "intelligence," which does know,. has been determined. We have not discovered, however, any such " we " or " intelhgence," but have only a cognition or phenomenon, as it would be called in ordinary language, which depends upon nothing ; but, if it exist at all, must exist absolutely and per se. We have just the "idea" of Hume, which may imply a theoiy perfectly suitable for a sceptic, as leaving everything in a state of uncertainty, but is utterly inadmissible, under any system which assumes anything as certain, even though it should be only mathematical axioms. It is obvious that we cannot assume this " object j^lus subject," there- fore, which exists only as an absolute cognition or phenomenon, as known by " oneself" or by any " intelligence " whatever, ^9er se. We do not, indeed, know ourselves, per se, at all, under this theory, as has already been proved, and as, indeed, Mr. Femer maintains in the strongest terms. " But matter, "per se" he says, "the particular per se, the ego ''per se, are what we neither know, nor are ignorant " of ; and these, therefore, are not things which " absolutely exist, or of which true and substantial " being can be predicated, without giving utterance 204 BRITISH PHILOSOPHY FEllRIEK. "to a contradiction. "a It is, therefore, evidently impossible that we can know, that ave can know ANYTHING, sinco tliis woiild imioly, that we know, that what we do not know knows something, to affirm which would manifestly violate the " law of " contradiction." Nay, it is impossible that " we " can know anything, since there is no "we" to know, seeing that to j)redicate the " ego, ^7er se, as " a thing which absolutely exists, is to give utter- " ance to an absurdity." We must either know " ourselves," and " intelligence " absolutely as ex- istences, or it is manifest that we cannot say that we " know," nor can we predicate anything about them whatever. No one cognition even can, un- der the assumption, have any connection with any other cognition. They are separate phenomena, each existing absolutely by itself, and consequently the " cognisance of self," which Mr. Ferrier speaks of as essential to every cognition, can have no rela- tion to any real being, but is merely a delusion, constituting simply a portion of an isolated pheno- menon. From the beginning to the «nd, therefore, of Mr. Ferrier's book, there runs the inconsistency, and no doubt, the necessary inconsistency of assum- ing an "intelligence" and a "knowledge," which, under his system, is not, and cannot be. It seems, indeed, singular enough that he should have given us a theory of " knowing " which precludes the possibility of knowledge, and even supersedes the Suminarv and conchiJ'ion — 8ec. 24. BRITISH PHILOSOPHY FERRIER. 205 veiy existence by which alone knowledge could be acquired. In conclusion, it is obvious, that if the *' object of knowledge must always be object j^^us " subject," Mr. Ferrier's argument should have be- gun and ended with the first three propositions, which are substantively one, being merely explana- tory of each other — for we can, under his principles, get no farther. We have reached not only the mini- mum, but also the maximum, both of knowlege, if knowledge were possible, and also of existence. We perceive, before another proposition is enunciated, that "object />/?<5 subject" mustbethe "sum of know- ledge," must be the "sum of phenomena," must be "substance," must be "the absolute," must be " all-existence." He never advances a step, nor is it possible, under his system, that he should have done so. The rest of his propositions, so far as they bear upon the subject, are just the same thing, or parts of the same thing, repeated and re-repeated. They seem mere surplusage. At the very end, indeed, he once more tells us — for we have the same thing substantively, both in the first and second proposi- tions — that " minds, together with what they ap- " prehend, are the only veritable existences."^ But let it be remembered that these " minds " are not per se existences, but phenomena of cognition, and that in the same way " those things which they " apprehend" are not per se existences, but likewise PHENOMENA OP COGNITION — for he adds, in thus far, * Summary and conclusion — Sec. 2G. 206 BRITISH PHILOSOPHY FERRIER. with the utmost consistency, " that minds without "any apprehensions, and apprehensions without any '^rnind, are mere absurdities" — where, in contrasting "minds" not with what are usually supposed to be the " subjects " of apprehensions, but with " ap- " prehensions " themselves, he seems to indicate that he holds the one to be just as little absolute as the other. While, therefore, as an argued system of scepticism, proving the absurdities to which the principles usually adopted in spiritual philosophy naturally and necessarily lead — whether the scepticism be absolute, or merely relative to the present state of the science — we hold Mr. Ferrier's work, for in this view many of his ulterior proposi- tions become available, to be one of no ordinary ability, and, as relatively sceptical, of considerable practical importance and utility ; but, as we under- stand him to repudiate all forms of scepticism, and to propose his theoiy as an absolute system of philo- sophy, we cannot but regard it as an utter failure, implying assumptions impossible in themselves, con- tradictory in their terms, and altogether opposed to the determinations of universal consciousness. We can now, therefore, understand why Mr. Fer- rier's system should, " to use his own words, be an- "tagonistic, not only to natural thinking," but, " moreover, to many a point of psychological doc- " trine, ""^ and, that while it is only " by accident that "philosophy is inimical to psychology, in reference to • Intro.— Sect. 43. BRITISH PHILOSOPHY FERRIER. 207 " natural tliinking, she is essentially controver- sial." Tliis antagonism of ''natui-ally thinking," and philosoj^hical speculation, must always, of course, be a favourite topic with all who deny the evidence of consciousness, and, like Mr, Ferrier, profess to sup- pose that philosophical conclusions can only be rested on some sort of mathematical demonstration, because demonstration of this kind, being inappli- cable to the subject, can either lead to no conclu- sion, or must lead to a false one. But it is more difficult, at first sight, to understand the cause of his dishke to psychology, since he admits, that it is only by "accident that philosophy is inimical to " psychology." There may, therefore, according to his -own account, be a j)hilosophical psychology, and that we humbly think is the very psychology which, for the sake of human belief and human happiness, it is desirable that we should determine. It can only be, therefore, psychology in its existing forni that he condemns, and in so far we agree with him, that it is a state far from satisfactory. We agree with him, indeed, as will be obvious from what has been abeady said, that its princijDles imply contradiction and absurdity. But this, instead of being a reason for rejecting the evidence of consci- ousness — on which, in conformity wdth universal and irresistible belief it professes to found — should rather be an inducement to inquire in what respects its analysis is imperfect, and its assumptions unten- able ; or, if we believe this to be impossible, we have, 208 BRITISH PHILOSOPHY — FERRIEPt. and, as it seems to me, can have no other course, than to avow scepticism as the only philosophy, since, even were it possiljle to prove demonstrably our consciousness unworthy of confidence, it would merely be scepticism in another form. Nor does there seem any reason why Mr. Ferrier should repudiate such a method of philosophising, since he has himself assumed the trust- worthiness of consciousness in his first proposition, as evidence for the " cognisance of oneself" — an assumption on which the whole of his subsequent reasoning rests, however inconsistent it may be with his other as- sumptions, and really to assume that same consci- ousness as sufficient evidence, also, of our mental faculties, for which he expresses so much contempt, seeing they are merely the modes in which consci- ousness of ''oneself" exhibits itself, does not seem any great stretch of assurance. We have dwelt on Mr. Ferrier's philosophy at greater length, not merely because he exposes with considerable efifect many of the ambiguities and inconsistencies with which our ordinary systems of psychology are chargeable, but mainly because he gives forth, in its fulness, that notion of the identity of knowledge and existence which Hes at the foundation of almost all the theo- ries, either wholly or partially generated by the metaphysics of Kant, and which, indeed, must be in- volved in every form of idealism, but which we do not think any author has explained with so much clearness, or indeed so thoroughly and emphatically BRITISH PHILOSOPHY FERRIER. 20,') realised. Of course, in a work on philosophy, we have nothing to do with consequences. Our busi- ness is to correct error and ascertain truth at whatever expense. We cannot hesitate, therefore, to say, speaking under this view of the subject only, that such a notion, w^iether right or WTong, implies scepticism of the most decided character — that it is substantively Humeism, though the conclusion may be somewhat differently argued out in different cases, according to the nature of the principles assumed — and that, consequently, any attempt at identifying it with certainty of belief, however zealous, must be unsatisfactoiy — and that every presumption of the success of such attempt, however sincere, must be logically delusive, since the veiy notion itself sets at defiance the determinations of consciousness. In the foregoing sketch of the progress of phi- losophy it will be observed that we have, for the most part, purposely avoided entering on the con- sideration of details unessential to the respective systems, amongst which, however, we find in the writings of almost eveiy philosopher, much that is valuable. It is, indeed, quite a mistake to suppose that as yet nothing, or next to nothing, has been accomplished in the analysis of the human mind, however Httle may have been done for ascertaining the principles of spiritual science. So far is this from being the case, that, on the contrary, almost every philosophical work, as has been said — every history of any value — every sermon above the 210 P110(JRESS OK PHILOSOPHY. ordinary average — contain incidental analyses which we know and feel to be true ; nay, it is impossible to read even the more eminent Poets and Novel- ists without being made aware of the extent to which they have studied the human mind, or of the success, in many instances, with which their efforts have been attended. It is, indeed, sometimes most erroneously supposed, that the excellence of these writers consists in their style rather than anything else, and that any one could have written those works who had the same facility of composition. But this is by no means the fact. On the contrary, the great merit of such writers consists in the ac- curacy with which they have observed the constitu- tion of the human mind, and the acuteness with which they have detected its pecuharities. The difficulty of this any one may readily ascertain, by attempting to discover the more subtle processes of the mind for himself. Let him put his conclu- sions into any form of words that he may choose, he will quickly be made to know, that minute and anxious examination and comparison of character is necessary, and, at the same time, a careful scrutiny of the operations of his own mind, in order to dis- cover the germs of mental peculiarities there, before he can either determine anything worth determin- ing, or state his views with discrimination and accuracy. The great evil is, that the analyses, thus made, apply merely to incidental facts empirically known, without any reference to their origin or PROGRESS OF PHILOSOPHY, 211 development, and that, consequently, while we feel that the results as given are true to nature, we have no means of discovering in what causes they originate. It is, in truth, empirical philosophy which ascertains facts by experience and observation indeed, but attempts no explanation of the princi- ples on which they depend. There is in this way exliibited, as was previously indicated, a strong analogy betwixt the state of mental science at the present time, and that of phy- sical science antecedent to the time of Bacon— an arfalogy which will now, perhaps, be better under- stood. There can be no doubt, that then many most important facts and details in physical science had been discovered, but they exhibited little con- nection among themselves. They were reduced to no principles. They had nothing of the character of a whole. They had been discovered incidentally, and by happy accidents, if we may so speak, rather than under any process of strictly scientific inves- tigation — and consequently, though empirically known as true, they neither could be accounted for on any satisfactory principles, nor were they bound together by any common laws, so as to render the empirical knowledge of them in any great measure practically available ; and so it is at present with respect to intellectual science, and from the veiy same cause. The same vicious principle of investigation, even ivhen professedly repudiated, is checking its pro- gress, vdiich in physical science Bacon superseded. 212 CHARACTEll 0¥ MODERN PHILOSOPHY. It is the assumjDtion that there are, in some fomi or another, innate or a j^riori, or necessary ideas or cognitions in the human mind, and that they are to be determined antecedent to experience. This is a result, indeed, of all kinds, both of idealism and materialism, and necessarily ends in scepticism, whe- ther formally pushed to its legitimate result or not ; for it is perfectly clear, that those a priori cogni- tions, if they exist at all, must imply a knowledge of absolute essences, since it is impossible to know, without knowing the properties that are known — and as these, by the assumption, are not known by experience, they must necessarily be known in their essence as existing a priori in the mind. Hence it is, that all those philosophers more or less uncon- sciously confuse essences with general truths — a theory which is, however, only logically realised by those who identify knowledge with existence. The recent German philosophy specially appears to regard them as the major propositions in syllo- gisms. Thus it becomes impossible to understand anything, unless we have an a priori knowledge of the essence or general truth from which it is derived. Under such a view we can easily account for Schelling's theory of an " Intellectual intuition," which is yet above the intellect, which supersedes consciousness, and by v/hich alone we can appreciate the unconditioned and the absolute, since, if a know- ledge of essence actually exist a priori in the mind, there can of course be no limit to the extent of know- CHARACTER OF MODERN PHILOSOPHY. 213 ledge which may be realised. In truth we have thus, in this assumption of a priori cognitions, the origin of this new word " unconditioned," which, in so far as it means anything, must mean the highest essence, the essence of essences, of whicli nothing can be predicated but its essentiality. It was necessary that the intellectual essence, which discovers this, should be " above consciousness," inasmuch as the assumption of such knowledge at all is a mere delusion, and consequently, of course, it cannot well be within consciousness. To us " the unconditioned " is simply nothing at all. It is, indeed, true, that some attempt has been made to realise an ''unconditioned," by confusing it with infinity and eternity, which, no doubt, are " uncon- "ditioned," in so far as they are mere modes, in which, and during which, existence may be ; but, the moment that we realise infinity and eternity in an infinite and eternal something, we instantly im- ply conditions as appertaining to that something — for the veiy conception of something necessarily imphes, that that which it is must be predicable of it ; but nothing can be predicated of that which is '' unconditioned," since, predicates being merely another name for conditions, if any thing- could be predicated of it, it could not be ''un- conditioned." It is evident, therefore, that the "unconditioned " must, to us, be nothing at all — for to us that is nothing, of which nothing can be predicated. 214 CHARACTER OF MODERN PHILOSOPHY. We need not wonder, therefore, at the confusion which lias been generated in the systems of those who have defined j^hilosophy to be ''the science of the unconditioned," which, in reahty, is the "science " of nothing at alL" To us the primordial essence — the substance of essence — -the essence of essences, if we may so speak — cannot be absolutely realised, and all philosophy attempting to discover it, must necessarily degenerate into the mere logomachies of verbal disputes. As it appears to me, philosophy, whether of mind or matter, is " the science which explains the " causes of known and admitted facts." Hence, in mental science, we must take the facts which our consciousness exhibits to us, just as in physical science, and then endeavour, as also we do in physical science, to trace them to their principles. Except in so far, therefore, as we may have some absolute knowledge of our own mitids — a point which will come afterwards to be considered — we have nothing to do with essences absolutely, because we have no consciousness of them, but only with phe- nomena, or essences as they relatively exhibit themselves. The only particulars, consequently, which we have to explain, as has been said, are the facts and phenomena of consciousness, which we must, therefore, assume as true, in the form that such consciousness recognises them. To assume that these are not facts, but the appearances of facts, the erroneous suggestions of natural thinking — and CHARACTER OF MODERN PHILOSOrilY. 215 chat we are deluded in supposing them to be facts, even in any one case, and still more in all cases — is to introduce a system of universal scepticism ; and to introduce new facts inconsistent with consciousness, as the result of some supposed demonstration, is to systematise scepticism, and absurdly enough to constitute a science under a theory of which it is the essential principle that there can be no science. The clear and logical Hume saw that iaconsistency, and avoided it. Indeed it is manifest, that if we assume facts scientifically, in a sense and under an aspect, in and under which our natures repudiate them practically, it is not a human, but an ultra- human science, if science it can be called, that is generated. It is not, therefore, the mind of man that can be the instrument of such a science, sup- posing it to have any reality, but something above and beyond the mind, teaching us that the mind is mistaken, and guiding us under a different autho- rity. To suppose that such a study can ever be of any practical use seems simply ridiculous, since it is from the very nature of the case, away from human things, beyond the reach of the human mind and of which the results, as in every case of a mere verbal science, must be either unintelligible or incredible ; still, if any one chooses to follow forth this sort of speculation, we can have no manner of objection, w^e only state our reasons for repudiating it ourselves. We understand, by intellectual phi- losophy, the science which explains mental facts 216 CHARACTER OF MODERN PHILOSOPHY. and phenomena in the sense that all men feel and practically recognise them, and by such means, too, as all men, competent to understand ordinary language, can appreciate — and we say a,ll men, be- cause these processes which occur in the human mind, however unconsciously they may sometimes operate, being common to all men more or less, must necessarily be knowable by all men when they are analysed, the prejudices or habits which con- ceal them indicated, and their exact character pre- cisely ascertained. To all men, consequently, under such circumstances, they become manifest, and are felt as true, just as in physical science, if the language describing such process be intelligible to them. It is, indeed, another test of the truth of any system of philosophy, that its analyses are found level to the comprehension of every human being who has paid such attention to ordinary lite- rature as to understand definitely ordina^iy lan- guage. Whenever, consequently, we find a system of psychology or ontology, or, in a word, any system professing to develope the nature and processes of the human mind, v/hich persons possessed of ordi- nary education cannot understand, it is simply because such a system is, of its o\\ti nature, unintel- ligible, as being founded on suppositious facts, and exhibiting, therefore, not really profound analyses, but that appearance of subtlety which results from the use of vague and newly-invented terms. Now, this repudiation of all philosophy, resting CHARACTER OF MODERN PHILOSOPHY. 21 7 on tlie supposed existence of a jwiori essences in the mind, applies not merely to systems avowing such a theoiy, but also to the admission of the principle, hoAvever unconsciously, in the assumption of a i^riori truths of any kind, form, or degree ; and hence it is that Dr. Reid seems charafeable with the substantive adoption of this very error, Avhich his system theoretically negatives ; for, in affirming the existence of certain truths, which he terms ''intuitive" — or '^principles of common sense," which, by our natural constitution, we must be- lieve, and which yet can neither be analysed nor explained — he evidently assumes, under some form, those very " innate ideas " which he, in words, ad- mits Locke to have exploded. Indeed, in main- taining such truths to be inexplicable, wliile he gives no means of determining precisely what they are — for he by no means limits them to what are usually called necessary truths — Reid estabhshed a theory even more pernicious than the strict theory of innate ideas, since, according to him, there can not only be no limit to such truths, but each of them must involve a number of innate ideas, all ready-made, and existing as propositions in the mind anterior to every sort of experience. Every proposition, accordingly, wdiich he was unable to analyse, he immediately assumed as a " principle ^' of common sense." In this way the Scottish philosophy quickly became stereotyped. It could advance no further. Stewart hardly even made 218 CHARACTER OF MODERN PHILOSOHPY. the attempt. During his days the thunders of war silenced the voice of philosophy, and men were very well satisfied with a system which gave them some sort of assurance, however dogmatically and arbi- trarily asserted. Stewart, at all events, seems tc have regarded. B.eid as 13 early perfect. Some suspi- cions as to th: indefinite number of his ''principles " of common senj-e," do seem to have occasionally and slightly disturbed his convictions, but he re- covered his equanimity by calling them " laws of " thought." It was a simple remedy, yet, such was nearly all his contribution to the progress of intel- lectual philosophy. Brown lived upon the verge of the time when men began to speculate more anxi- ously than ever, and the veiy character of the times seems to have impressed him with a conviction that there was some weakness at what were supposed to be the very foundations of the science ; but his adop- tion of the theory of intuitive ideas hung like a dead weight on his energies, so that he not unfrequently misconceived Reid's meanino- in stiTjoo-Hng- after originality, which, however, from the influence which Beid's primary principles exercised over his mind, he necessarily failed sucessfuUy to reahse. Sir W. Hamilton was impeded in his efforts by the same cause, and only incidentally, in attacking Brown, discovered the elements of the true theory of perception ; but at this point, when much more might have been expected from him, he fell in with the Kantian metaphysics, and, from thenceforward, CHARACTER OF MODERN PHILOSOPHY. 219 we have nothing worthy of the hopes which his earher efforts had generated. The French philosophers had, at a still earlier period, endeavoured to open a way to themselves, for some advance in intellectual science, by combining the German with the Scottish philo- sophy. But the union was impossible. Reid prides himself justly on the clearness and simpli- city of his philosophy. The system of Kant, on the contrar}'-, is, from beginning to end, as we have seen, vague, and, in many particulars, unintelligible. The combination consequently gives us a jumble of what is precise and distinct, with what nobody can clearly understand. We can hardly say, therefore, that the parts of the combination are inconsistent, because it is scarcely possible to discover what the system really is which the combination constitutes. One particular only have they in common in their adoption of innate ideas — the one calls them "in- ^' tuitive truths," and the other " a j^^'iori cogni- tions," but whatever names they may get, they are the veiy same thing in reality. It was impossible, therefore, that the two could co-exist, and, accordingly, the Scottish philosophy gradually receding, the German philosophy, as there was no other choice, has made proportionate progress, both in its ideahstic tendency, and still more in its tone and terminology, and for the evi- dent reason, that people will rather struggle through a thicket, than make no progress at all. They will 220 CHARACTER OF xMODERN PIIlLO^iOFllY. take indefinite ideas rather than none. But the result of this on intellectual philosophy, and its consecutive and dependent sciences of Theology, Morals, Politics, &c., has been to unsettle all prin- ciples, and to generate a sort of demi-scepticism universally — and we say universally, because, although there are many who know nothing of philosophy as a science, yet is their belief in no degree less affected by the state of phi- losophy at the time — the general character of be- lief in the literary world gradually pervading its whole forth-givings, and thus instilling itself into the minds of multitudes, who know nothing of its origin, nor even of the special sources from whence they themselves had gradually derived it. Accor- dingly, such is the position in which we actually are. It is Hume's theory, in so far, practically realised. Every subject is flooded with terms which nobody well understands. In Germany, indeed, for some time, scepticism was almost universally avowed, and, if there they are beginning to recover their senses a little, the wave, though it may be in the first instance with mitigated force, seems to be rolling gradually over other lands. It would, in- deed, be difficult to say, with regard to spiritual facts and relations, in any of the sciences to which we have alluded, what is considered as settled, or what reaUy is settled, on anything like precise and rational grounds. No doubt there are many things which we believe more or less firmly, and cannot CHARACTER 01' MODERN PHILOSOPHY. 221 help practically believing, but tl^e principles on which such beUefs rest seem more uncertain than ever, and hence the practical results on human life must be modified accordingly. It is in vain to tell us, as some more or less well-meaning persons do tell us, that we should abstain from such specula- tions altogether, seeing that we have succeeded so imperfectly hitherto, and that philosophical theories have probably done more ill than good, because it is impossible to induce men to abstain from such speculations, and specially in the present age. Those points which are involved in intellectual science, and which the conclusions of intellectual science can alone enable us therefore to determine, be it for good or evil, meet us at every turn. The Theologian, the Moralist, the Politician, the Bar- rister — nay, as w^e have seen, the Novelist and the Poet — perhaps above all, we might say, the Journa- list — stumble upon them peqDetually, and must decide them in some shape or another, directly, or indirectly ; nay, in this present age, if we could even banish them from formal literature altogether, we should find the Porter in the street, the Peasant in his cabin, the Manufacturer in his workshop, propounding questions on the principles of Religion, Morality, and Politics, and each, to a greater or less extent, regulating his conduct by the answer WHICH HE IS capable OF GIVING. So far from being able to elude and avoid difficulties depending on intellectual science, we find, on the contrary, the 222 PROSPECTS OF AMELIORATION. whole of society -occupied with, tliem^ and it is evi- dent, that they well tell specially as affecting the interests of education, and that right rapidly, on the fate, not merely of individuals, but of nations, whether we be willing or not. People will not, in the present state of society, take assertions for granted. If we cannot give them certainty, they will realise scepticism, and practically carry forth its principles both religiously and politically in the gratification, more or less exclusively, of their own interests, desires, and caprices. Hence, however frequent may have been our past disappointments, it would seem that we are by no means to give over the attempt at determining the principles of intellectual and spiritual tnith, so long as we have any hope, even of a measure of success. It is a duty which we owe to our fellow-creatures, to our country, and our God, the more especially, as we are forcibly directed to it by the very consti- tution of the human mind. To me, however, suc- cess, in so far, in such an attempt, seems very far from being hopeless. As has been said, not a few important truths have already been incidentally determined, and the number of our facts, at all events, in reference to points of very material im- portance, have of late years been prodigiously in- creased ; but, in attempting their scientific gene- ralisation, philosophers have, with one exception, been invariably confused by the notion, to which we have so often alluded, that there are many PROSPECTS OF AiMELI0RAT10^'. 22Ii beliefs which are inexphcable, and which, in some unaccountable way, we believe, simjDly because w^e cannot helj) believing them, but that how they originate, or why we believe them, it is impossible to tell. Now it matters nothing — and let it be ob- served that this theoiy is equally true of materialists as of idealists — it matters nothing whether these beliefs be called by the name of innate ideas, intuitive tniths, principles of common sense, a 'priori cogni- tions, laws of thought, or by any other alias what- ever, if they be assumed to be inexplicable in their origin. Shew that they naturally arise from the operation of our feehngs or faculties, so that all can realise the process, and the whole subject is clear ; but unless this be done, it is obvious that we must regard them, somehow or other, as innate pro- positions, IIIPLYIXG AN A PRIORI KNOWLEDGE OF ALL THE SPECIAL IDEAS WHICH THEY INCLUDE. And, that their origin maij be explained, seems certain, since there can be no mental process which is essen- tially inexphcable, inasmuch as the very meaning of the word process implies some operation, and of course, if there be an operation, it must ad- mit of analysis. We may, indeed, readily admit, that there are operations w^hich never have been analysed ; but to say that it is impossible to analyse them, is just to say that there are compounds which cannot be reduced to their elements — a proposition which seems neither more nor less than a contradic- tion in terms. Now, we maintain that this notion 224 PROSPECTS OF AMELIORATION. of inexplicable ideas existing in the mind a pynori, however universally entertained; is not only eiTO- neous, but must necessarily involve a principle of scepticism, because, assuming general ideas as exist- ing a 2)^'iori in the mind, we must also assume the particular ideas which they involve to exist a 'priori there too— thus completely annihilating every sort of experience, and substantively iden- tifying existence and knowledge. In this way, consequently, science at once becomes divorced from consciousness. They are antagonistic, and yet both necessary beliefs. Instead of taking facts as we have them, just as in physical science, we assume some knowledge of the substantial essence of mind, and thus get Materialistic theories on the one hand, and all the innumerable varieties of Realistic, as they are improperly called, and Idealis- tic theories — such as of Intuitional or Presentcitive E-ealism, Natuml Idealism, Absolute Idealism, Eofotistical Idealism, &c. — on the other. The truth is, that almost all these distinctions are entirely ima- ginary, originating in the rejection of facts as we have them, and the assumption of other facts in their room — a proceeding which results from the supposi- tion, that there are innate or intuitive truths exist- ing a priori in the human mind, and more worthy of scientific reverence than the ordinaiy convictions of ordinary mortals. In getting rid, therefore, of these innate, intuitive, or a p)riori ideas or cogni- tions, we get rid of tliis whole mass of confusion. PROSPECTS OF AMELIORATION. ^IL') and brines philosophy back to the simple and single explanation of phenomena, orig^inating' in the opera- tions of our minds on the facts of experience, whether internal or external, presented to them. We, in one ^yord, to the fullest extent, concur in the doctrine of Locke, repudiating all forms of a piv'ori ideas or cognitions, whatever name they may assume, or under whatever form they may pre- sent themselves. Our object will, therefore, be to reduce every intellectual phenomenon to the simple operation of our mental feelings and faculties on the facts presented to us by experience, and to do this in such a way as that the process may be at once understood, and felt to be true ; and, " bold as the assertion may be," to use the language of Kant, with reference to a very different system, we are not without hopes, that this, in so far, can be effected. Certain we are, at all events, that till it be effected, intellectual philosophy, as a science, can only be a system of verbal quibbling — for any practical purpose it must be a mockery and a delusion. We need only add, that a propo- sition sometimes put forth, to the effect that the ordinary plan of psychological philosophy is wrong, and that we should study the human mind, not by analysis of our mental processes, but solely by ex- amining the psychological j^henomena of history and experience, is about as absurd as if it were pro- posed to study chemistry apart from analysis, and simply by carefully examining the phenomena of Q 226 PROSPECTS OF AMELIORATION. nature as they usually exhibit themselves to our senses. In either case we should discover the superficial character of the effects, but it would be perfectly impossible to form even an approxima- ting conjecture as to the nature of the causes. This, indeed, is more manifestly true of mental, than even of chemical philosophy. CHAPTER in. MODE OF INVESTIGATING THE NA- TURE AND PHENOMENA OF THE HUMAN MIND. Remarks on the theory that the human mind can only be known by observa- tion, and in no measure by experiment — Misconception involved in this theory — Nature forces men to speculate on spiritual subjects, and this through all classes— Advantages of the study when properly prose- cuted — General mistakes on the subject — Use to be derived from objec- tions to the study — Necessity of precision and clearness — How these are to be attained — Primary assumption — How followed forth — Must begin the study from the simplest forms of thought — Impossibility of a priori classification under such a mode of prosecuting the subject — Ne- cessity of avoiding pre-conceived theories — Mischievous results of these exemplified — Circumstances which at present favour the prosecution of the science according to such a mode — Order of details. It has been objected, as we have ah-eady said, that the study of the human mind can only be j)rose- cuted by observation, and not by experiment, and that, as aU human beings are necessarily acquainted with every fact which the philosopher can possibly observe, therefore the science must resolve itself into a mere science of classification, which, though it may afford scope for the subtle and accurate exercise of our faculties, can never materially increase human power, extend human knowledge, nor add to human 228 MODE OF INVESTKJATING happiness. But, the assumption tLat mental philoso- phy resolves itself into a mere science of observation, is an utter misconception, however generally it may have been adopted. It may, indeed, be true, that we cannot experiment upon mind precisely in the same way as we do on matter, by repeating the process of analysis in different forms on identical objects, which is really all that physical experiment means, whatever mystical sense may occasionally be attached to it — although even this may be effect- ed as to the mind, by long habit, to a much greater extent than, on a sujoerficial consideration, might be supposed ; but we can do better, and attain our pur- pose more thoroughly, by repeating the process of experiment on the self-same state of mind as often as we please, since states of mind do not disappear like lumps of matter, in the very process of analysis, but remain in our powder so long as memory retains them, and consequently may, in the self-same form, be submitted to analysis, again and again, through the instrumentality of reflection — being thus subject to examination and discrimination to an extent, and with an accuracy and completeness, so soon as the habit has been acquired, implying results no less satisfactory than are attainable under physical ex- periment. Nay, as has been indicated, although it may be impossible precisely to remember, and thus to renew, in the case of more complicated states of mind, every element in the exact relative intensity of each feeling, as each primarily existed, yet we THE NATUKK OF TllK MI.NU. 229 can at any time recal our simpler processes of mind to their full original extent, which is all that is neeessaiy, and this as often as we may deem it de- sirable — as with reference, for example, to simple acts of sensation, memory, reasoning, and feel- ing — and subject them to renewed examination, till we become so well acquainted with their nature as to be able to detect them in any process however complicated ; so that if the states and processes of our minds are not analysed by us, and known to us, it certainly is not for want of means, at all events, of submitting them to analysis and investigation. If, however, it be indeed true, that as all men realise the same states of mind, so all men must know them equally well in their parts and relations, then it must follow, that we are naturally and ne- cessarily conscious of the precise composition of all our mental states, or, in other words, of the precise faculties and feelings which come into operation in each instance, and the precise mode under which they act upon each other, and in this case, no doubt, the veiy idea of analysing them formally would be absurd, since, by the supposition, the analysis would be intuitive. Except as a species of subtle gladia- torship, therefore, which might seem to stimulate our perception of verbal distinctions, the study of the philosophy of mind would assuredly be the most frivolous of all frivolous occupations. Even were such the case, however, it would be still abso- lutely impossible for us to avoid sj-.eciilating iqoon 230 MODE UK i:^ VEST 1 GATING the subject ; such seems to be our mental consti- tution. But, under such a view, that constitution would indeed exhibit a singular anomaly. It would truly reahse the fable of Tantalus, with re- spect to the whole human race, shewing us forth as wretches created for the purpose of being- baffled in the veiy objects which the veiy nature, baffling us, had forced on our pursuit. The assump- tion, however, as nature herself assures us, in the very tendency which she has given us, is utterly unfounded. Were it, indeed, true, that we all know " the precise faculties and feelings w^hicli " operate in each mental process, and the precise " mode in which they act upon each other," it is manifest, that there could be no errors in our rea- soning, and that there could be no misconceptions in natural thinking, or, if there were, that the evil would necessarily be without remedy or redress. We should almost know at once all that we could possibly know of mental states, and of the varied, and, as is usually supposed, profound sciences, of rehgion, morals, politics, &c., thereon dependent ; but so far is this from being the case, that the more we study our own minds, carefully and with- out prejudice, the more thoroughly do we become acquainted with the faculties and feelings which they comprehend, and, of course, the more compe- tent are we to appreciate all relative and cognate sciences. Hence, there are, probably, no two indivi- duals in existence whose knowledge of the character THE NATURE OF THE MINI). 231 of tlieir beliefs, and the operation of their feelings, is exactly equal. It is indeed true, that every one has made some greater or less progress in the determina- tion of these particulars, just as every one has made some greater or less progress in determining the pro- perties and relations of physical existence ; but few proceed, in either case, beyond very narrow limits, because, in both cases, the mass of mankind are checked, either by want of application, or the in- dulgence of prejudice. The majority of our race, consequently, know their states of mind merely in the mass, as wholes, just as they know material objects ; but their elements — the particular feel- ings or faculties they involve — are as little known to them, as the elements of those physical bodies which they see scattered around them, and hence it is, that we are so exceedingly apt to misconceive our motives, and to adopt, unconsciously, the most unsound and pernicious principles. We neither know our real feehngs in the one case, nor the true grounds of our behefs in the other. It is conse- quently here, at the very outset, that the unspeak- able importance of the study of this science begins to discover itself, in the very compulsion with which it forces us at an endeavour to eradicate our pre-possessions and prejudices, that we may be enabled fairly to see, and accurately to examine, the operations that are going on within. The diffi- culty of this, every one will readily acknowledge ; for, however ignorant we may be of their power 232 MODE Of 1NVE5JTIGAT1NG over ourselves, we can all sufficiently appreciate their influence with respect to others. Nor is it less necessary, for the successful prosecution of the study of mental philosophy, that w^e acquire the power and habit of accurately determining complex from simple states, and the precise faculties and feelings which operate in each case, that thus we may avoid ascribing to one faculty that which has, in reality, been the result of another, or to one set of feelings, that which truly is to be ascribed to another — and, in acquiring this power and habit, an amount of intellectual acuteness and clearness of logical perception is generated, exceeding all that could be derived from the study of any number of other subjects whatever. But it is a mere waste of time to reason abstractly upon points wdiich ex- perience immediately and iiTesistibly determines, as, indeed, may be ascertained by any number of instances or experiments. All men are conscious of sensations, for example, but all men do not know how much, and of what they assure us. And why? Just because we are, in general, satisfied to take im- pressions acquired by habit, and so instantaneously acquired, for primaiy states of mind, which, of course, would admit of no farther analysis. We, con- sequently, never attempt to analyse them, or if we do, it is very superficially, and, consequently, we never know anything upon the subject beyond these vague ideas which the mere habitual impression con- veys to us, which, scientifically, is worthless, though, THE NATLKE OF THE MIND. 233 no doubt, it may be perfectly sufficient for enabling us to caiTy on the ordinaiy practical business of human life. Again, all men reason ; but do all men reason coiTectly 1 So far is this from being the case, that not only can extremely few reason con-ectly, but comparatively few can even be made to understand the process of a legitimate argument. Now, why is this 1 It is simply because they do not know what reasoning is, nor what the faculty of reason is, and consequently cannot possibly know when it is legitimately exercised or applied. Again, all men claim certain rights and privileges as ap- pertaining to themselves and others, under the sanction of natural law. This is admitted, but no one has ever clearly determined where this sanction is to be found, or in what it precisely consists, or by what limit such claim is to be bounded'? Now, why is this ? Simply because these particulars depend on feelings and states of the human mind which have never been satisfactorily ascertained. We have, indeed, a vague belief that such rights and privileges, somehow or other, appertain to us, but little more is known upon the subject. Again, all men have certain apprehensions of sublimity and beauty ; but how few know exactly what sub- limity and beauty actually mean ? or are capable of discriminating a false and fictitious from a real taste 1 Again, all men employ terms expres- sinof o'eneral truths ; but how few know all that ^uch general truths imply? or could determine, 234 MODE OF INVESTIGATING accurately, what it is that they intend to convey by them ? or could explain how they got them ■? or shew why faith may safely be reposed in them 1 Finally, all men have notions, however vague, of infinity, eternity, and absolute existence ; but how few appreciate, with any degree of precision, what these notions actually are which they thus feel, rather than know ? or to what extent, or with what view, such notions have been given them? On all these particulars, and a thousand others of a similar character, the knowledge of human beings, so far from being identically the same, is nearly as varied as the variety of individuals who in any degree reahse it, while it will hardly be disputed, as matter of fact, that none realise it to such an extent as is desirable, and, we beheve, attainable ; yet, these particulars relate to considerations not merely not of trifling import, but to considerations beyond all comparison the most interesting in the history, and the most important in the destiny, of man. The principles of taste, morals, politics, law, religion, and generally of all that bears most directly on human happiness, can only be ascertained with any degree of precision by a more or less accurate knowledge of mental philosophy, and they are, of course, ascertained with a clearness, just in propor- tion to the extent and precision with which such knowledge is realised. Now, although such objections as those to which we have been thus indicating the reply, may be THE NATURE OV TUE Ml.NJ). 235 supposed, naturally enough, to suggest themselves witli respect to a science on which so much has been written, and yet, in which so little progress has been made, and may have, in a certain measure tended to retard its progress ; yet we cannot help thinking that they are also useful in aiding its de- velopment, in so far as they exhibit clearly enough the causes of past failure, and thus afford us some guide with respect to the course, which in our subsequent investigations, may guarantee the best prospects oP success ; for we thus discover that no system of mental philosophy can command public attention and sympathy which does not teach men something that they did not previously know — or, at all events, know precisely — with respect to the nature and properties of their own minds, or of some portion of the spiritual world, and teach them this in such a form as to satisfy them of its PRACTICAL truth. Instead of disputing about words, we must, therefore, if we are to do any good, direct our attention to thino's and facts, endeavour- ing so to explain them as that every one, possessed of ordinary intelligence and education, may not only know that he has been influenced by certain feelings, and arrived at certain conclusions, but may know farther the process under which such feelings were generated, and such conclusions attained, and hence, of course, as involved therein, the special feelings and faculties which each such process had called into operation — and, as a result of all, the 236 MODE OF hWESTlGATINO mode under which such feehiigs and faculties may subsequently be detected, when existing and operating in new combinations. In a word, each step in the science of intellectual philosojohy, as in all other sciences, ought to be a positive step in the acquisition of practical and useful knowledge. If we study for this purpose, and adhere to the resolution therein implied, keeping in view that all men of ordinary education and intelligence must be able to understand us, we shall, beyond ques- tion, in so far, at all events, succeed either in making actual progress in spiritual science, or else in satisfying ourselves that the subject is beyond our reach. Hence, from the system that we pro- pose to realise, it is obvious that not merely all unintelligible, but even all vague and indefinite terms must be excluded. These, as has been said, are never used, whatever apologies may be offered for them, except to conceal either conscious or un- conscious ignorance. No doubt, it may be very- natural to delude ourselves, or attempt to delude others, by attributing profound meanings to our vague language, which we indicate that only cer- tain singularly profound intellects can understand; but such a species of philosophy never has done, and, we may safely say, never can do any good, for the minds of all reasonable men are substantively the same — and, hence, any actual fact or phenomenon can be explained in language intelligible to every- body. We may assuredly conclude, therefore, that THE NATURE OF THE MINU. 237 facts, which cannot be intelligibly explained to all who clearly understand ordinary language, are merely suppositious facts — notions, in other words, which have no real existence, and are, therefore, to say the least, but very imperfectly appreciated, even by those who propose them. A neglect of this most unquestionable truth has caused much of that confusion which confessedly exists in intellectual science, and, consequently, it is abso- lutely essential, if we are to do any good, that in prosecuting the subject, we carefully attend to it. In the same way, we hold ourselves bound to avoid any reference of our intellectual states to intuitions, whether in the form of innate ideas, or a priori operations of any kind, holding such a reference to be substantively a confession of ignorance, and consquently, no real explanation of such processes at all. No doubt, it may be, ex facie, a very simple way of meeting scepticism, if adopted in sufficiently general and cautious terms — and, when farther analysis of them is beyond our power, of course we must be content ; but we trust to be able to shew that, in most cases, at all events, the analysis of states of mind is not beyond our power, and that we can in all, or almost all, mental processes, trace them up to the immediate operation of faculties or feelings, on some object or objects presented to them. Hence, we must begin by realising the mind as an existence, like every other existence, possessing cer- 238 MODE OF INVESTIGATING tain properties, usually called faculties and feelings, of which we desire to know the precise nature and re- lations. For this purpose, we, in the first instance, receive as facts all opinions universally entertained. These facts it is our business to explain, by shewing how they are to be accounted for, in such a way as to satisfy every reasonable being ; not, let it be observed, that we are to admit every opinion com- monly or even universally received as true. A universally-received opinion must be the result of some common mental process — of this there can be no doubt ; but, whether it be true or false, is to be determined by ulterior considerations. If it be false, it is the business of philosophy to explain the miscon- ception, and to shew in what common cause it origi- nates. That we are, somehow or other, cognisant of external existence — by vision, for example — is a uni- versally-admitted fact ; and it was long a universal opinion, and it is still believed by many, that we actually see the external objects, however distant they may be, of which our eye-sight makes us cogni- sant. Now, the fact or phenomenon is certain, but the opinion impHes an entu^e mistake. Nor is its origin difficult to discover ; it is one of the many false beliefs which unreasoning habit palms upon us. The philosopher, however, tells us that we, in reality, see not the distant object of which we are indirectly cognisant, but only the rays of light reflected from it, since they alone come into con- tact with the eye, and the explanation, simple as it THE NATURE OF THE MIND. 239 is, at once satisfies every one who can understand ordinary language, that the philosopher is right, and his own original opinion wrong ; and, accord- ingly, no intelligent man who ever heard the expla- nation, if he had no theory to defend, ever for a moment doubted its vahdity. Now, in the same way must we act in all cases ; when we reduce a process to the operation of our feelings and facul- ties* there is no farther proof required ; the mere analysis carries its proof in itself. We are made perfectly certain, that the philosophy of the process has been ascertained, and we rest contented, with- out any desire even of farther information. On the other hand, till we actually reach this point, till we ascertain the precise mode in which the operation is worked forth, in the direct action of our feelings and faculties, no fonn of explanation, no interposi- tion of innate ideas, intuitive convictions, principles (3f common sense, a priori cognitions, laws of think- ing, or by whatever name the same substantive idea may be expressed, will ever satisfy us ; and in this way, in mental analysis, we can attain a much more perfect and definite conclusion, ulti- mately, than in physical analysis, for, in physical analysis, we never can reach an ultimate existence. We no sooner succeed in one analysis than we de- sire to analyse again tl^ elements discovered by it ; but, when we have analysed a mental state, and reduced it to the simple operation of some feeling or faculty, setting aside the incidents of which, in 240 MODE OF IXVESTIGATINQ the analysis we luay have disencumbered the pro- cess, we are satisfied. Arrived at the direct action of a primary property of mind, we feel that we can go no farther ; the essence, in so far as possible, is attained ; the end accomplished ; philosophy has done her work. Now, in order to effect such an analysis, it seems necessary that we should make a commencement from the simplest forms of thought, tracing up- wards and upw^ards, as the states of mind become more complicated, till we reach the most complex combinations of human thought and feeling, in de- termining the inferences which flow from the very constitution of our mental powers and relations, with which originate the principles that constitute the alone true science of ontology. Now, this process, it will be obvious, is comparatively easy, while we direct our attention solely to such pro- perties as sensation and memory, which every one directly knows and feels, and, as to the operation of which, a simple statement of the fact is enough to convince us ; but, whsn we come to reason, and other faculties of a more subtle character, and as to which, consequently, immediate consciousness can- not exactly determine what they are, or how they operate, in respect that veiy similar phenomena are apparently produced by different causes, as in the case of belief, for example, which, in some form, seems to arise from habit, and feeling, as well as reason, while reason itself seems to admit of various THE NATCRS OP TUE MIND. 241 kinds of proof, it is manifest that our analysis must be much more cautiously conducted, and our con- clusions tested under every variety of form. AU this, however, clearly shews, that under such a mode of studying philosophy, every kind of a priori division of the subject — in so far as it may imply, in any measure, a pre-determined theory — must be utterly inadmissible. The truth is, that in mental philosophy the phenomena run into each other so nmcli as to preclude the possibility of their formal classification, at all events, in the present state of the science, nor, indeed, does any for- mal classification seem necessary ; for, though no doubt, in those sciences, wherein actual and impor- tant discoveries have been made, classification may conduce to precision and perspicuity — yet, in mental science, with respect to which we are still, in so far as principles are concerned, limited to the very elements of knowledge, any attempt at formal a priori classification can only have the efi^ect of in- volving us in, and binding us to, some theory at the outset — a result of which the pernicious conse- quences, whether it originated in such attempted classification, or in some other cause, have been but too clearly realised with respect to almost all the systems of mental philosophy which have been trans- mitted to us. Locke started with a general division under which he was to explain all our mental pro- cesses by sensation and reflection. The consequence R 242 MODE OF INVESTIGATING was, that lie not only felt it necessary to strain all mental phenomena, so as to force them into a ver- bal reference to one or other of these particulars, but he was ultimately compelled to increase their number, and that without clearly explaining- what the addition was intended to imply.'' It was from this cause, in a great measure, that he unintentionally paved a way for the theory of Cond iliac and the materialists. Reid commenced with a pre-conceived theory, called forth by the special circumstances in which he was placed, to the effect that there are certain common -sense principles in the mind which admit of no anlysis, and for our belief in which, consequently, we can assign no cause ; and, with such an effective instrument, he quickly reduced all mental process to mere inexplicable phenomena — thus stopping at once, and so thoroughly, the pro- gress of philosophy, that not one of his followers, while adhering to his principle, has been able to make a single step in advance. Kant, under nearly the same circumstances, set out with his theory of a priori cognitions, and, in following it forth, so absolutely excluded, not merely that very external world, the preservation of which was his primary motive for effort, but even mind itself, from all possibility of being rationally conceivable, that liis disciples have most logically abandoned the fornier to its fate, and most of them, equally logically, have ' First letter to the Bishop of Worcester. THE NATURE OF THE MIND. 243 almost as thoroughly superseded the latter. But Kant, not satisfied with one, had another pre-con- ceived theoiy as fundamental of his system, in the doctrine that the processes of fonnal logic exhibit the mental operation which takes place in the rational determination of truth. Hence he was led to the conclusion, that universal propositions, or in other words, the major propositions in syllogisms, were the very things that he wanted for those a priori cognitions which he had previously assumed. It consequently followed, according to this theory, that these cogfuitions either ascend in the mind, if we may so speak, in an infinite series, or else that at some point, the proposition, or a iwiori cognition, on which all the descending series de- pend, must be wanting — the foundation of this system, it will be observed, being at the top, and not at the bottom. Hence, whichever of these alternatives be adopted, it is obvious that the system must end in absolute scepticism, if not in absolute absurdity. Warned, therefore, by the example of these able and ingenious philosophers, we shall at least endea- vour to avoid the rocks on which they seem to have made ship^vTeck. Apart from all theory, and all attempt at classification — which, as we have seen, almost necessarily implies theoiy — we shall endea- vour to trace our mental processes from the begin- ning, selecting for this purpose the simplest states of mind for analysis, and thus progressing through 244 MODE OF INVESTIGATING those which are more compHcated. In this wd,y, we shall endeavour to explain — or, at all events, to discover the principles under which may be ex- plained — all those phenomena which are universally admitted to be practical facts, and shall candidly avow our difficulties when we feel them. That we are exposed to a serious disadvantage in such an attempt, from the general prejudice which prevails against the philosophical study of the human mind, or of spiritual truth of any kind, must be admitted ; but this seems amply compen- sated by that almost universal tendency towards an empirical study of it, which distinguishes the present age. All classes dogmatise on the pro- foundest doctrines of theology, morals, pohtics, education, &c., and, as it appears, without appa- rently having any solid foundation on which to rest their speculations. This can hardly be regarded as a very satisfactory state of things, even to the parties themselves, and hence there can be little doubt, that the prejudice, which exists against spiri- tual philosophy, arises mainly from its felt insuffi- ciency for the explanation of spiritual phenomena, and that all men consequently, will be prepared to give a fair consideration to any system, which, re- pudiating every pretence at mysticism, professes in precise and intelligible terms to analyse and ex- plain particulars, which, even appreciated under a vague form, yet interest men so deeply, in spite of themselves. The science, indeed, which we desire 1.1.^ NATUllE OF THE MIND. 245 to expiscate, however much disregaruecl in its phi- losophy, is evidently the science of" tlie day, because the progress of the human mind, stinudated by the advance of physical science, and the incessant ac- tivity and collision of intellect therefrom resulting all over the world, has forced the subjects ^vhich it embraces, on eveiy man's notice, and we cannot bid them away from us. We are perfectly satisfied, therefore, that if any attempt at the expiscation of such a subject ultimately fail in commanding public attention, it must be because it has, in the first place, failed in accomphshing, even in a measure, its destined end. According to the mode which we liave now pro- posed, for prosecuting the subject, the subsequent arrangement of our details, appears readily to de- velope itself Having determined wdiat we know of the mind as a whole, we shall next proceed to consider the modes in which it exhibits itself in consecutive order, beginning with its simplest forms, progressing in the series of its successive develop- ments, and endeavouring at each step, as we ad- vance, to determine wdiat each of our faculties and feelings is, what each can effect, and how they operate in relation to one another. For the sake of precision, however, we shall, in the first instance, limit ourselves to a consideration of those, which, though perhaps not very accurately, are yet usually called intellecti\^l faculties. The philosophy of 246 MODE OF INVESTIGATING THE NATURE OF THE MIND. our feelings will come subsequently to be consi- dered, should circumstances pennit a further de- velopment of our views, and this, again, opens a way to the fullest exhibition of ontological science which is within the reach of the human mind. CHAPTER IV. NATUEE OF THE HUMAN MIND. Law of Parsimony and its relation to the present subject Dogma of those who maintain that existences of essentially different kinds cannot gene- rate, nor act on, nor coralline with, efch other — This dogma rests on no sufficient foundation, and is contrary to experience — Absurdity and per- nicious results of idealism — Position of Hume with respect to this matter — Ci\use of the hori'or with which Theists usually regard ma- terialism — Only possible theory of materialism perfectly harmless — Distinction betwixt this theory and the more gross theory of materialism — Tendency of Theists, in opposing maierialism, to annihilate the essence of mind aliogether — Absurdity and impossibility of the ordinary and gross theory of materialism — Only philosophical opinion possible with respect to the nature of mind — Yet it is of no practical importance whether we proceed in analysing the processes of the mind under this, or the only possi])le materialistic theory — Identification of mind and matter so as to constitute a complex whole — This a certain fact, though we cannot explain its rationale — Necessity of exposing specially, in this science, dogmas resting on insufficient authority — Points relating to this subject which can only be determined at a subsequent stage of our inquiries. That human beings have a natural tendency to generalise, as it has been called, causes and exis- tences, or, in other words, to reduce causes and existences to the smallest possible number, by substantially identifying them with one another, is a fact so clearly proved by experience, in all cases, as not to admit of difference of opinion. 218 NATURE OF THE HLMAN MIND. This tendency has been called the law of parsi- mony, and implies, practically, that we are neither to admit more causes than are true and sufficient to explain the phenvomena, nor, consequently, to ad- mit more existences than p^re true and sufficient to embrace the phenomena. From this tendency it would seem to follow, that all causes may be ulti- mately reducible to one cause of causes, and all existences to the development, directly or indirectly, absolutely or creatively, of one source of existence. Such a conclusion seems not only probable, but certain, if we are to put confidence in the irresis- tible suggestions of our natures, as they are consti- tuted. But, though we may thus be justified in referring all causes to a primary cause, and all existences to a primary existence, as, somehow or other, generating both the one and the other, it is obviously a mere begging of the question to assume one particular mode under which this result is realised, as if we were bound down to the one form of conclusion, which would determine all causes to be the same, and all existences to be essentially identical. The primary cause, or primaiy existence may, for aught we can tell, at all events a lyriori, have pro- duced existences, and, consequently causes, both different from itself, and from one another ; and, therefore, to assume, on such a point as this, or, indeed, on any point, that of which we have no knowledge a priori, and which is indiscoverable by KATURE OV THE HUMAN MI^D. 249 tidiything implied a posteriori in the phenomena, seems absokitely inconsistent with the veiy law on which the conclusion professes to rest for its valid ity> since it is to substitute assumption for fact, in direct violation of the most important principle which that law is intended to vindicate, inasmuch as the law of parsimony requires not merely that certain given causes or existences be ''sufficient to explain the plie- "nomena," but also that they be "true," as proved by satisfactory evidence ; wliereas, in so far as men- tal philosophy, at all events, is concerned, the as- sumption that all causes and all existences are one and the same thing^exhibiting itself in difterent modes, or forms — seems not only insufficient to ex- plain the phenomena, but is so far from being indis- putably true, that it is a mere guess — a mere con- jecture — which, so far as our feelings and reason can guide us to a conclusion, is manifestly'- and indisput- ably false. Yet, it is under such an assumption that idealists, on the one hand, and materialists on the other, can alone justify their respective theories. By an utter perversion, in thus far, of the law of parsimony, the former have reduced all existence, and, consequently, all causes to mind ; and the latter have reduced all existence, and, consequently, all causes to matter. To such conclusion they have been apparently led by an hypothesis which, it must be admitted, has long prevailed among philo- sophers, to the effect that existences of essentially dlficn-ent kinds cannot possibly generate, or act on, 250 NATURE OF THE HUMAN MINB. or combine with, each other. Whence this dogma took its origin, it is very difficult to imagine ; but, wherever it originated, there seems no foundation for it. We have never, indeed, seen any attempt at proving it, nor can we discover, either from the primary tendencies of the human mind, or in any deduction of reason, the shadow of a principle on which it could be rested. On the contrary, so far as universal experience goes, it would seem alto- gether inconsistent with our knowledge of the facts. The mind acts upon the body, and the body upon the mind, and though, no doubt, we cannot explain how such mutual action takes place, yet have all human beings no less surely convinced themselves, as matter of practical fact, that body and mind are essentially different kinds of existence; and, assur- edly, it would require something more than the assertion of an unproved and unaccountable dogma of philosophers to satisfy us that they are, theoreti- cally, mistaken. Like many other similar theories, it has been transmitted from generation to genera- tion without examination, and received, in virtue of its antiquity ; and, as might under such cir- cumstances have been expected, the deductions, either consciously or unconsciously drawn from it being necessarily false, have tended materially to prejudice the interests of intellectual science, by those misconceptions as to the veiy primary na- ture of the human mind, which they have gene- rated. NATURE OF THE HUMAN MIND. 251 At the same tiine^ we are by no means prepared to say, that the tlieories thence resulting are equally absurd or equally mischievous. The assumption that all supposed external things are merely decep- tions, originating in modifications of our states of mind — that our strongest intuitions, meaning there- by MERELY THE BELIEFS INVOLVED IN THE EXERCISE OF OUR FACULTIES AND FEELINGS THEMSELVES, are consequently pure delusions — that the facts, which we must practically beheve, are nevertheless scien- tifically untrue — implies a doctrine, not only sub- versive of all real philosophy, but evidently of all behef, and, therefore, Qecessarily nms into nihilism, or relationism, as was exemplified in the progress from Berkely to Hume, and from Kant to Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel. It is a mere mockery of the human intellect, and, when seriously proposed, is rather to be answered by ridicule and contempt than reasoning, inasmuch as, by its very nature, it sets aside all reasoning. That able men have adopted it, is merely a proof that able men are frequently apt to be seduced into extravagant specu- lations by a love of notoriety, and that they occa- sionally delight more in subtle investigations and verbal arguments than in the elucidation of plain and practically indisputable truth ; yet, from this censure — which assuredly applies to the larger pro- portion of idealistic philosophers — we must admit that Hume appears, in a great measure, entitled to claim an exception. Hume, taking philosophy as 252 NATURE OF THE HUMAN M1M>. he found it — with its unsound principles deeply rooted in his mind, as they had been universally recognised by all that had preceded him, and as they were universally recognised by all his contem- poraries — reasoned logically from those premises, which, under the circumstances, it was almost im- possible for him to have doubted ; and he does so, with a simplicity, a precision, and a moderation which cannot but command our respect. He pro- pounds no new principles — he invents no new words — he uses no vague terms ; but he takes matters as he had them, and, by singularly effective and lumi- nous arguments, without any appearance of dis- ingenuity or unfairness, at least, for the most part, he arrives at conclusions which, probably, in the first instance, startled himself, as much as they ultimately did other people, but which yet were so clearly founded on a legitimate deduction from re- cognised principles, that it was some time ere any approach, even to their refutation, could be ima- gined. In truth, however unintentionally, there can be no doubt, that few have done so much for phi- losophy as David Hume. He forced philosophers backwards to the determination of first principles, which, apart from the singular precision and logical power with which he reasoned out the then re- ceived dogmas, ad ahsurdum, would not, probably, to this day have been effected. It is to him, in fact, that we owe our assurance for the necessity of a re-construction of the science, and if this has only, NATURE OP THE HUMAN MIND. 253 even yet, been but very imperfectly realised, matters would have been in a still worse condition, had we been iofnorant both of our errors, and of their leij^iti- mate consequences. But, while we thus condemn idealism in any shape which it ever has, or which, perhaps, practi- cally, it could possibly assume, we are by no means prepared to speak so harshly of the opposite theory of materialism under every conceivable form. It is, indeed, true, that materialists have generally been practical Atheists or Pantheists ; but this, we apprehend, has rather arisen from their previous habits and dispositions leading them to adopt a species of materialism utterly absurd and unten- able, than from any necessary result of the ma- terialistic theory regarded in the only possible form under which it can be, in any sense, legitimately adopted. It is this usual result that has led Theists, not unnaturally, perhaps, to regard every tendency to materialism with a species of religious horror ; yet, considered as a mere guess, with regard to the primordial nature of essence, which is the only character that it can legitimately assume, the materialistic theory in itself seems perfectly harmless. We know nothing of the primordial or substantive essence of matter any more than we do of mind, and, accordingly, in the very same way, if, instead of io-norinsf external existence altoo^ether, and assuming such supposed existence to consist merely in our own states of mind, we could conceive 254 NATURE OF THE HUMAN MIND. idealists admitting external existence; but, regard- ing it essentially as a species of spirit, or, in other words, as different forms under which mind de- velopes itself — and some of them have approxi- mated very nearly to such a supposition — we might regard it, as we regard the materialistic theory, abstractly considered, as a silly, perhaps, and unwarranted, but, at the same time, a harm- less hypothesis. The materialistic theory, how- ever, has, it must l)e admitted, in its legitimate form, something' more to recommend it than even such an idealistic hypothesis as that which we have now supposed ; for, setting aside the singular, but indisputable fact of the soul, for the most part, to all appearance, decaying along with the body, which might be balanced by the equally indisputable fact, that the body is sometimes acted on by the mind, it does seem extremely difficult to conceive an ex- istence which does not exist in space, or which, ex- isting in space, exists in it immaterially. We have no experience of anything existing in space, except matter, or mind in connection with matter ; hence, as it is impossible to conceive primary and simple notions transcending experience, so we are extremly apt, from a tendency thus originating, either to image mind as an extremely subtle and refined matter, or — as some Theists seem actually, though unconsciously to have done, in attempting to get quit of this assumption — to annihilate the essence of mind altogether, by substituting in its place NATURE OF THE HUMAN MIND. 255 those faculties and feelings which are merely its properties, or, in other words, the modes, under which mental essence exhiljits itself. Now, this latter error is evidently much more objectionable tlian the fonner, both philosophically and religi- ously, as just leading us back again, by a very ob- vious process, to a much more gross form of that very materialisi.n, from which it is intended as an effort to escape. AVhereas, we repeat, that the assumption of mind being a subtle form of matter, as a hypothesis explanatory of its essence, seems in itself perfectly harmless, and this is the only possi- ble form which the materialistic theory can assume, without absurdity and contradiction ; for, surely, nothinof can be conceived more absurd and contra- dictoiy, than the ordinaiy form of that theory which identifies mind with solidit}^, and desire, passion, emotion, &c., with the physical particles which generate in us a sense of taste, colour, or smell. No man would presume even to avow such extravagance in express terms, however necessary a result it may be of the modes in which material- istic theorists frequently put forth their opinions ; nor is the extravagance diminished, by supposing that thought, feeling, &c., are not, indeed, hardness, colour, or the hke, but only the results of these generated by a mechanical process ; for we know that physical machinery can only generate physical results — that wheels, pinions, levers, and the like, break only, or move in some way or other, the ob- 256 NATURE OF THE HUMAN MIND. jects submitted to their action, and, of themselves, could never generate spiritual states, nor in any way realise spiritual conditions, except in their union with a living being. We have been taught, by ex- perience, the nature of the physical properties rea- Hsed in these physical instruments, and he who should seriously tell us, that a watch could be made to measure truth, or a mill-wheel to orind benevo- lence, could only be regarded as more or less insane ; yet, this is really, and, in principle, the species of absurdity which the grosser form of materialism, however cautiously or loosely expressed, proposes for our acceptance. The fact is, that its authors either deceive themselves, or attempt to deceive others, by confusing it with a possible materialistic theory, which, as we have already seen, must be of a totally different character, but which could not at all serve their jiurpose, because it would not lead to any conclusion — moral, political, or religious — dif- ferent from those, which the ordinary supposition that mind and matter are different essences, would legitimately wan-ant. Hence the unspeakable im- portance of distinguishing that which the different forms of the theory imply. The gross form of it, which, directly or indirectly, identifies thought and feeling with solidity and figure, is so evidently ab- surd, and so thoroughly contradicted by our own personal knowledge and experience, that the mo- ment its real character is ascertained, it is neces- sarily rejected. Thus it follows, demonstratively, XATURK OF TIIK IITMAN MIM). 257 that if we are to suppose mind to be, in any way, identified with matter, it nnist be 'a species of matter altogether different from any with which we are acquainted, and endowed with wholly different l)roperties, as competent to generate thought, rea- soning, feeling, desire, benevolence, &c. ; a power so entirely discriminating it from ordinary matter — with its properties, generative of physical results only — and so thoroughly identifying it with a separ- ate species, at all events, of existence, that whether we assume mind to be a form of such matter pri- marily, though differmg thus in species from ordi- nary matter, or some other existence generically different from matter, seems very much a dispute about w^ords. We neither know the primordial essence of mind, nor of matter, nor, indeed, of any- tliing else — so that any hypothesis on the subject can only be a pure conjecture, and, consequently, in no shape entitled to deference from any one who considers philosophy as ha"sdng nothing to do with conjecture of any kind, and as only useful, in so far as it deals exclusively with indisputable facts. It will thus appear, that we have very little sym- pathy, either with those who choose to idealise matter on the one hand, or with those who confuse intellectual science with anatomy on the other. These latter philosophers, if we are to call them by such a name, so far as they precisely seek any- tliing, seem to seek the essence of mind in the use of the knife and the scalpel. They imagine, appa- 2j8 nature of the human mind. rently, that tliey can explain our processes of thought, by evolving the convolutions of the brain, and our processes of feeling, by expounding the re- lative positions of the nei'ves. This is something more than a misconception, it is substantively iden- tical in kind with the absurdity of those who, in former ages, hoped to discover the essence of matter by profound cogitation. Hence it is, that without pretending to dogmatise upon the subject, we can- not help concluding, that every one claiming the character of a mental philosopher, and determined in that character to receive nothing as true, except such facts as are known and realised as true by our consciousness or our reason, must regard the essences of mind and matter as generically distinct entities, simply because the phenomena which they exhibit, so far as we can discover, are generically diiferent — while of the absolute constitution or com- position of the essence of either we know nothing at all. In this way, casting aside all manner of con- jecture and theoiy, we square our assumptions by our knowledge ; we express no opinion whatever absolutely vipon the subject, but merely take the facts as we have them, and limit our inference by the extent of our information. It may, indeed, be difficult for us to conceive an existence absolutely immaterial, yet this does not afford the slightest ground for assuming that there can be no such existences ; while generic difference in phenomena actually known to us, lead us by the only philoso- NATURE OF THE IIUJfAN MIXD. 259 pliical process open to our investigation to con- clude, eitlier that mind and matter are generically different entities, or, at all events, that there is a species of matter, altogether incognisable by our senses, that generates spiritual phenomena, which, as we have seen, is substantively the same thing in so far as we are concerned, since it no way affects our investigation of the subject — our mode of study- ing the mind, and our conclusions in regard to its processes being, under either assumption, precisely the same. At the same time, though the theory of the mind, being essentially a species of intellec- tual matter, as contra-distinguished from physical matter — which, as we have seen, is the only material- istic theory that can be maintained without absur- dity and contradiction — would really in no way affect the science of mental philosophy, so long as kept in its proper place, inasmuch as it signifies nothing what name we give to an object to be ob- served or analysed, provided such object be defi- nitely designated, so that all may be enabled to observe and analyse the right and the same object ; yet, it is undoubtedly found as matter of experience, that no sooner do philosophers assume, in any form, the identity of matter and mind in generic essence, than they are naturally impelled towards the absoi]Dtion of that which is less prominently before them, in that to which their attention happens more especially to be directed, so as to identify them not only in generic but specific 260 NATURE OF THE HUMAN MIND. essence — not only in entity, but in property, in di- rect opposition to all that we know, and all that we feel in respect to them ; and hence, diffe- rent people are found engaged in the observa- tion of different objects, to which they have attached the same name ; and this, just in pro- portion to the extent to which the properties of the two are erroneously assimilated, though none of them who do recognise such assimilation, either have or can have their attention directed to the alone right object which they profess to analyse and explain, because the very principle from which they set forth necessarily generates, in its stead, an object more or less suppositious. This result is specially exemplified in the case of mateiialistic philosophers ; they, in defiance of all legitimate induction, and, as it appears to me, of every as- surance of consciousness, departing almost with- out exception from the only materialistic theory which is possible, insist on regarding the mind as a mere physical machine — and, consequently, we need hardly say, that, by a materialistic philosopher, no analysis has ever been proposed, at all events, so long as they adhere to their theoiy, which has either ultimately been received as satisfactoiy, or has been found, in any measure, practically of the slightest use in elucidating the nature, tendencies, or operations of the mind. Under such circumstances, we need hardly say, that we hold Realistic Dualism, as it is technically NATURE OF THE HUMAN MIND. 21)1 termed, or, in other words, the assumption of mind and matter as two real and separate entities or essences, to be the only form of theory respecting existence which is philosophically admissible ; and we call tliis assumption a theory, because though it cannot possibly lead us to any error — since, practi- cally, the conclusions which follow from it, are identically the same as those which would follow under the only other possible theoiy upon the sub- ject — yet w*e cannot say, as matter of certainty, that that theory is absolutely true, or that the essences of mind and matter may not be reducible to the same Q-enus. But, thouo-h as knowing: notliino- of primordial or constitutive and substantial existence, we cannot absolutely deny the generic identity of mind and matter in their essence, yet, so far as we are concerned — which is the only point of view in which the matter can be to us of the slightest importance — we are not only entitled, but bound to regard their generic difference as a philosophical fact, as being the alone assumption, which, under the generic difference of the phenomena exhibited by each, a sound philosophy will sanction. Although, however, we thus hold, that matter and mind must be philosophically regarded as generically distinct in their essences, just as we hold the v^^rious physi- cal objects around us to be specifically different in their essences — and for the same reason, that the phenomena in the one case are genericall}'^ as the phenomena in the other are specifically different — it 262 NATURE OF THE HUMAN MIND. is not, therefore, to be supposed, that we overlook the intimate union which subsists betwixt them in the nature of humanity, under which they are so combined and interwoven, as substantively to con- stitute one being. The old difficulty, in regard to the incompatability of a union betwixt different genera of existence, we consider as perfectly de- void of force, inasmuch as it rests on no conceivable ground either of reason or experience. No doubt we do not know the constitutive essences of those exist- ences, so as to discover how they do combine, and must combine, when suitably aiTanged a 2yrwri for the realisation of a complex whole ; but we know this, just as well as we know how different species of the same essence so combine, which is a phenomenon every moment submitted to our observation. So far as we are concerned, the difficulty, if there be a difficulty, is in both cases precisely the same, ex- cept in so far as we have continued opportunities of being cognisant of the one — whereas, from the veiy nature of the case, we have only one single instance in which we can become cognisant of the realisation of the other ; in that instance, however, the union of mind and matter is found realised up to a certain point, under a more entire intimacy than occurs in any individual case of the combination of species. No doubt, at that point, when the mind takes a strong tendency in a particular direction, it seems almost to shake off the body, so that not only are ordinary objects presented by the senses, unper- NATURE OF THE HUMAN MINI). 26J3 ceived by it, but, in extreme cases, considerable 1 )odily pain, or at least, processes which, under ordi- nary circumstances, would generate considerable bodily pain, are unfelt by it ; but this in no way affects the question of the natural and ordinary in- timacy of the union which subsists between them. It is a fact which there is no gainsaying, and which we must consequently submit pliilosophically to realise, however many theories and speculations may be subverted by it. We have dwelt upon this particular at some length, because, although we doubt if any one in the present day would venture to maintain the inconjunctibility, if we may use such a word, of different genera of existence, which is merely an arbitrary and unsupported dogma of the schools, yet, a sort of feeling derived from the habitual belief generated by that dogma, still continues, as in many other cases of a similar character, to qualify a hearty adoption of the only legitimate and philosophical conclusion as to the essence of existence, and, consequently, to impede our thorough apprehension of some of the most elementary truths of mental science, with which that conclusion is necessarily connected. The ex- posure of this, therefore, and similar dogmas, seems essential to the cultivation and progress of that science in an especial degree, as the science of all others in relation to which they are to be found most frequently exhibited. Indeed, it is almost impossible to take a step in mental philosophy 264 NATURE OF THE HUMAN MIND, ■without finding them in our way, so that we doubt whether, even yet, there is not more to be done for the science in the first place, at all events, by the indirect and incidental supersession of error, than by a direct prosecution of the discovery of truth. At the same time, we need hardly add, that we feel, in such a case, the necessity of caution, and that, as nothing is to be adoj^ted as true, so nothing is to be absolutely condemned as erroneous, except when the conclusion is so clear as necessarily to command the assent of every reasonable man. As to how mind and matter do thus unite to- gether, so as to constitute a complex whole, we can, as has been said, know nothing whatever. This would, indeed, imply a knowledge of their consti- tuent essences. Did we thus know essences in any instance, it is obvious that we should at once be enabled to determine, a p7iori, what would be the result were the existences, with the essences of which we were so acquainted, brought into such a position, that their mutual qualities could act upon each other, and thus their mutual relations be rea- lised ; but, as w^e have no such knowledge in any case, it is obvious that we can only discover the mode in which existences affect or operate on each other by experience. And, indeed, were it other- wise — did we either know a priori, or could we, through the instrumentahty of any sense, become acquainted with the constitutive nature of essences, it is evident that all j^hilosophy would at once be NATURE OF THE HUMAN MIND. 2G5 at an end, since every species of cause would thus, without either experiment or observation, in itself be known to us. Thcit mind and matter do unite with an intimacy so entire, as up to a certain point to become identified as a complex whole, is, there- fore, all that is necessary to be known to us as of practical importance ; and to know this is of the most material importance, as we shall afterwards endeavour to shew more particularly, as giving us the means of appreciating the immediate perception of existences external to ourselves. Such, in so far as we know, is all that has been determined, legitimately, with respect to the nature of the human mind, or perhaps, we should rather say, with respect to the nature of the human being, as human beings ordinarily exist ; but, at the same time, we are aware that there is a portion of the subject more or less aifecting our argument, which is left Avholly untouched. We mean, that which regards the singular phenomenon of idiots, whose bodily form and bodily parts, though it may be sometimes smaller or larger than in ordinary mortals, are yet in all respects, so far as we can discover, perfect and complete, but who are yet manifestly deficient in their mental organisation, Avith the cognate phenomena of the mind apparently wasting away under the operation of disease or old age. This subject, though generally overlooked by mental |)hilosophers, has yet a very considerable bearing on the nature of the elementary constitu- 26() NATURE OF THE HUMAN MIND, tion of the liuinan mind, and, in this respect, is not only important and interesting, but, in its ultimate relation to human destiny, is, it must be admitted, awful, dark, and mysterious. We shall, therefore, at a subsequent stage of our inquiry, endeavour to ascertain all that the limited amount of certain facts hitherto collected in regard to it, ^\dll enable us to determine. At present, it is manifest that we are utterly unprepared for such a detennination, as it must depend on a combination of particulars, of which, until the special faculties of the mind be realised, we can, philosopliically, know nothing whatever. It is mind and its processes, therefore, as mind ordinarily exists, that we now proceed to investigate, and it is the phenomena resulting from mental operations that we now proceed, for this purpose, to analyse. CHAPTER V. ON CONSCIOUSNESS. We become acquainted witli the human mind and its cognitions through consciousness — Different uses of the word — Consciousness is merely a mental capacitj' — Error of Dr. Reid's theory on the subject — Errors of Dr. Brown's theory — How the contradictions, into which philosophers have fallen on the subject, can tilone be explained and reconciled — • Feeling of some kind essential to consciousness — This subject illus- trated — Must beware of supposing such feeling and consciousness the same thing — Illustrated by Dr. Brown's errors — How far feeling, in each case, constitutes the subject of our consciousness, and singular fact elicited by this inquiry — Summary of conclusions. In studying the philosophy of the human mind, the first particular which naturally suggests itself for our consideration is the mode in which we become acquainted with the mind, its properties, and its cognitions, as on a knowledge of this it is evident that we must, to a considerable extent, depend for a suitable application of these principles, under which we formerly endeavoured to shew, that such a study is to be pursued. Now, it is univer- sally admitted, that we are made acquainted with all we know of our minds and their cognitions, ex- clusively, through consciousness. What this con- sciousness is, of course; we cannot define, because 268 CONSCIOUSNESS. it implies a simple idea — and definition being merely an enumeration of the parts of a compomid idea, therefore, a simple idea cannot be defined ; but we can describe and illustrate it, so as to make the object of which we speak perfectly intelligible. This, indeed, is a specially easy matter, ^\dth re- spect to capacities and feelings of mind, which we know so well from experience, as to their general nature, that it is hardly possible to misconceive the terms with which habit has tausfht us to associate them. Consciousness, then, in one sense, "is the appre- " hension by the mind of any cognition ;" but, let it be observed, that this is realised consciousness, for the word is used in a different sense, to mean " the capacity of the mind to realise such appre- '' hension." The two meanings are closely con- nected — they are veiy much connected, indeed, as cause and effect; but jQi it is obvious that they are entirely different, and, we shall afterwards find, that a confusion of them has led to the most serious error. Of course, it is only in the latter of these meanings that consciousness is undefinable, for, in the former, it implies an operation, and, therefore, a complex idea, and may be defined " an '' act of the mind absolutely cognising." The dis- tinction may be still farther illustrated by noting a similar ambiguity, with res^Dect to the words " sen- " sation and thought," which is also of material importance. In the case of memory, such an CONSCIOUSNESS. 269 ambiguity does not, or need not, occui", for the word " memory " expresses the mental capacity, while the word " recollection " serves to express a state realised ; but " sensation and thought " are the only terms for expressing both " the object" and *Hhe object reahsed," in thinking and sensing. A '^sensation" means both the object presented to the consciousness, and that object " realised by the consciousness," so of thought, we shall also find that a confusion of these particulars has, in like man- ner, originated serious and fundamental error. It being admitted, then, universally, that we are made acquainted with all we know of our minds, their operations and their cognitions, by the capacity of consciousness realised, so it must follow that consciousness, regarded as a mental property, is a capacity of the whole mind, or, in other words, of the mind, qua mind, realising the processes of its various faculties and feelings ; it is, therefore, through consciousness that the processes of these faculties and feelings are brought into combination, so as that they mutually act upon, combine with, and modify each other. Hence is manifest the error of Dr. Reid, who draws no distinction betwixt a capacity and a faculty or power, when he enu- merates consciousness among the '^ powers" of the mind, and elsewhere speaks of it as an '' operation " of the understanding ;" whereas, it does not imply an operation at all, strictly speaking, but a mere reception, nor is it a state of the "^ understand- 270 CONSCIOUSNESS. " ing," if, by the understanding, be meant anything different from the mind itself; nor is it a power, or faculty, but a capacity of the mind for receiving, as memory is a capacity of the mind for retaining, and its result is a state, or condition, or cognition, and nothing else. This is the more worthy of at- tention, because Keid seems to have regarded mental powers as somehow separate and distinct from mind itself, or the essence of mind, and this necessarily from a cause which will afterwards be explained; whereas, powers of mind, even properly so called, are merely the forms under which the mind itself, the essence of mind, actively exhibits itself, and of which the action, and the existence in the action, is realised through consciousness. But, consciousness is not even a power of mind — it is not the mind acting at all — it is simply a capacity of the mind, qua mind, to receive cognitions or impres- sions; and an appreciation of this is of very great importance, because, if consciousness be a distinct power, or faculty of mind, and not a capacity of the mind itself as a whole, by which all the powers, and feelings, and operations of the mind, are realised, then how are we to connect this con- sciousness with the other feelings and faculties that co-exist with it \ How does consciousness get at sensation '? or how are memory and reason combined with either ? If the mind, as mind, i.e., as a whole or an essence, be conscious of eveiy state which can become the subject of thought or CONSCIOUSNESS. 271 feeling, then, that all the faculties and feelings of the mind, cognate to each state, will immediately connect themselves therewith, in their due measure and proportion, is evident ; but, if consciousness be a separate and distinct power of the mind, then the mode in which the various faculties and feeHngs can combine, so as to constitute states of mind, depend- ing upon two or more of them, seems altogether inconceivable. This, however, will be made still more manifest by a consideration of Dr. Brown's theory on the subject, who, perceiving that there was something or other wrong in the theory of Reid, thus endeavours to coiTect it : — " To me, " however," he says, " I must confess, it appears, '^ that this attempt," of Reid's, " to double, as it ''were, our various feelings, by making them, not " to constitute our consciousness, but to be the " object of it, as of a distinct intellectual power, is "■ not a faithful statement of the phenomena of the *' mind, but is founded, partly on a confusion of " thougfht, and still more on a confusion of " language. Sensation is not the object of con- " sciousness, different from itself, but a particular " sensation is the consciousness of the moment.""* According to Brown, therefore, sensation, and the consciousness of the sensation, are one and the same thing. This mistake would be of less impor- tance, perhaps, did he not deny sensation, in any sense, to be the "object of consciousness," since, * Brown's Lectures — Lecture xi. 272 CONSCIOUSNESS. unless it be the ''object/' it cannot be the "cause" of consciousness, for, in such a case, object and cause must mean the same thing ; and, conse- quently, according to Dr. Brown, we are conscious of a sensation, without any cause of such conscious- ness.'' Farther, it necessarily follows, according to this theory, that each particular sensation must be a separate consciousness, because " each particular " sensation being the consciousness of the moment," each must exist absolutely, andjjer se — the con- sciousness disappearing with the successive sensa- tions, and re-appearing as a different thing with those that come into their places in consecutive order ; but, in this case, the objection to Reid's theory recurs, in an aggravated fonn, since, if every particular sensation be a separate "consciousness " of the moment," how is it possible that they could be combined or connected together, or how could our states, our faculties, and our feelings, co- operate in the production of any one given effect ? It is clear, that either the mind, as a whole, must be conscious — thereby linking all our thoughts, faculties, and feehngs together, so as to bring them to bear on each state of mind ; or else there must be another consciousness for effecting the same process — which would be an assumption, not only inconsistent with the law of parsimony, but which, being unknown and unfelt by us, is philosophically ' la the same way he must have held that consciousness and reasoning arc tlic same tliina:. CONSCIOUSNESS. 273 inadmissible. The eiTor of Dr. Brown, however, is still more strikingly exhibited in the following passage, where he says — " For the sake of greater " simplicity, let us suppose the sensation to be of a *^ kind as little complex as possible, such, for ex- *' ample, as that which the fragrance of a rose " excites. If, immediately after this first sensa- " tion, ^YQ imagine the sentient principle to be ex- " tinguished, what are we to call that feeling which " filled and constituted the brief moment of life ? '' It was a simple sensation, and nothing more ; **and if we say that the sensation has existed — " whether we say, or do not say, that the mind ^' was conscious of the sensation — we shall convey " precisely the same meaning, the consciousnes of " the sensation being, in that case, only a tau- " tological expression of the sensation itself."''^ It would be difficult to conceive more confusion and error, agglomerated into so small a space. It is he himself, that, by the very nature of his theory, " imagines the sentient principle to " be extinguished " immediately after the first sensation, since it is evident that if sensation and consciousness be the same thing, the con- sciousness must not merely cease from operat- ing, but must be " extinguished " with the sen- sation. To say, moreover, that ''the feeling," or, in other w^ords, that the " sensation " constitutes " life," though perfectly consistent with the theory, " Brown's Lectures — Lecture xi. 274 CONSCIOUSNESS. yet violates one of the most clear and unquestion- able convictions that we possess, since it necessarily follows, that whenever the sensation passes away we cease to live, and hence, whenever we are with- out consciousness of some absolute state or another, as when the mind is void of thought, from that depression which frequently follows over-excitement, or when we are sunk in deep sleep, then the being must be annihilated. And farther, when he speaks of " the feeling" constituting not merely " hfe," but " the brief moment of life," he seems clearly to indicate that life is not one continued course, but a series of broken and detached frag- ments, ever and anon coming into existence with the recurrence of acts of consciousness. Lastly, the expressions — " the sensation existed," and " the "mind was conscious of the sensation existinsf ," are the farthest possible from being tautological, unless he understand the words, " in the consciousness of "the mind," in connection ^4th the former, in which case tlie expressions would not only be tautological but identical ; for, if he does not under- stand this, then the expression, " the sensation " existed," must mean that it existed apart from MIND, so that thus the sensation would be subject, object, and feeling, all in one ; nay, that this is really Brown's meaning, so far as he has a meaning, is unquestionable, not only from the logical deduc- tion under which we have endeavoured to shew, that such is the only legitimate conclusion from CONSCIOUSNESS. 275 his premises, but from his own explicit declaration, when he says — " There will be, in this first momen- " tary state, no separation of self and the sensa- '' tion, no little proposition formed in the mind, / feel, or lam conscious of a feeling — but the feeling, " and the sentient I, will, for the moment, be the '*SAME."a Now, this is just the identification of existence and knowledge, a theory which may fairly be inferred from almost every existing sys- tem of philosopliy, and specially from idealistic systems ; but we know of no one in which it has been more plainly asserted than in tJiis passage of Brown's, however inconsistent it may be with other parts of his ^vritings, nor are we aware of any one, except Mr. Ferrier, who has formally proposed it as the grand denouement of the science. The origin of the error, in so far as Brown is concerned, manifestly originates in his assumption, that " sen- '^ sation" and 'Hhe consciousness of the sensation "are one and the same tiling" — an assumption ao-ain oriGfinatinof in the confusion of consciousness as a mental capacity, and consciousness as a realised operation of the mind on the one hand, and of sensation as an object of consciousness, consist- ing in a certain state of the organised being, and that object realised by consciousness, on the other. But, even when the consciousness and the sensa- tion are united, or, in other words, when the sen- sation is apprehended as a feeling, so as to constitute " Urown's Lectures — Lecture xi. 276 CONSCIOUSNESS. a mental state, " the feeling, and the sentient I," will not, ^'for the moment, be the same" — the feel- ing will merely be a something of which the " sentient I " is conscious — and our consciousness, by a process to be afterwards exj)lained, at once distinofuishes the one from the other. The feelins:, in other words, implies something conjoined with, or super-added to, the " sentient I," and this is the universal and intuitive conviction of the whole human race ; nor could any amount of argument, however subtle, or however demonstrative in ap- pearance convince us that sensation, and conscious- ness, and mind, are merely different names for the same thing. To reconcile all these absurdities and contradic- tions, therefore, and to make the whole subject plain and perspicuous, we must suppose — what, indeed, whenever it is stated, every one feels to be true — that consciousness is merely the mental ca- pacity of cognising ; but, in order to complete our application of the subject, Ave must farther keep in view what is proved by the analysis of eveiy act of consciousness, that the existence of some feeling, i.e., of some passion, desire, or affection, is essential to the mental apprehension of phenomena, and that the stronger and more interesting the feeling so connected or combined with any phenomenon, the more fully is it realised by our consciousness, and the more deeply is it imj^ressed on our minds. To be satisfied of this, we have only to examine the CONSCIOUSNESS. 127/ facts of our past ex])erienee, and the more carefully we do so, we will be the more entirely satisfied that no sensation, no thought, no operation can be con- sciously felt by the human mind apart from some feeling connected with it, and giving it, if we may so speak, an interest to the mind. Just in the same wav, indeed, as there can be no feelino' with- out a subject, so there can be no consciousness of a subject without a feeling, and an adequate one. The feeling which thus originates consciousness may be very slight — it may be merely a passing curiosity, or even merely a desire to get rid of the ennui of listlessness — but still there must be some feeling, and the consciousness will be more and more engrossing, just as the strength of the feeling increases. Hence it is, that while, when we are listless, the merest trifles aiTest our attention, and nothing that passes around can escape our observa- tion, it is, on the other hand, well known to every one, that even under ordinary circumstances, and the excitement of ordinaiy business, we are per- fectly unconscious of the mass of our sensations ; for there can be no doubt that our organic natures must be acted upon every moment by the multi- tude of objects which present themselves to us, although we never observe them ; and when, still more, we feel deeply, or meditate anxiousty, on any subject, it is equally certain, as matter of experience, that we are hardly conscious of external sensations at all. Thus the whole mind mav be absorbed in 278 CONSCIOUSNESS. the contemplation of* one subject, under the influence of some over-ruling feeling, so as to be utterly un- conscious of all that is passing in our immediate presence, and even before our eyes. Everything else is repudiated, and consciousness is found to be concentrated on this single particular exclusively. Nor are we to suppose that any one special class of feelings is so identified with specific states of mind, as to be essential for the realisation of consciousness. It is, indeed, true, that every faculty of an operative kind, i.e., every power and even eveiy capacity have, as we shall afterguards more particularly shew, connected with them cognate feelings, realising them to consciousness ; but, by habit or circum- stances, any feeling of any kind may become cognate to any idea or any state, and thus be the instrument of impressing it, tlii'ough con- sciousness, on the mind. Hence, we can under- stand how it is, that persons who think profcAindly, and feel strongly, are never cognisant of passing- events to the same extent, and with the same minuteness, as those who think superficially and feel feebly. Thus it is, in the same way, that when, from over-excitement, or any other cause, the passions cease to operate, we fall into a sort of mental sleep, conscious of nothing save the mere vague feeling of existence, while yet the body con- tinues for a time awake, although the mental sleep imdoubtedly tends to the generation of bodily sleeji also— so intimately are body and mind connected CONSCIOUSNESS. 279 together — and ultimately, it* no mental stimulant in- tervenes, will inevitably produce it. In the same way we have sometimes the mind partially aAvake, and in some measure conscious of what is passing around, when the body is asleep, especially in cases of somnambulism, though the mental action will unconsciously, in most cases, soon force the body to awake, by its instinctive operation on the nervous system. It is, however, true, that the half mental sleep of which Ave have spoken rarely occurs, because every sensation, and every thought, have their cog- nate feelings, and hence, if no stronger feeling be associated Avith any power, or sensation, or thought — or if there be no power operating, nor any sensation or thought realised — the natural aver- sion of the mind at absolute vacuity, or the tend- ency, in other words, which the mind has to act and to operate, will give any one of such feel- ings influence enough to keep the mind employed. Such a half mental sleep, therefore, can only occur when the mind is so depressed as to feel action, an effort, and a pain ; but, that under such cir- cumstances, it may and does occur occasionally, Ave all knoAV from experience. From these considera- tions it is clear, that in complex states of mind our consciousness of the different elementary states involved in it, Avill be precise and ascertained, just in proportion to the strength of feeling by Avliich each is accompanied. In this way, we may be conscious of one portion thoroughly and perma- nently, and of another, partially and vaguely, and 280 CONSCIOUSNESS. it will be found that our subsequent recollection of these various particulars becomes modified propor- tionally. But, though feeling be thus essential to consciousness, it must not be supposed that feeling and consciousness are the same thing, since, as we have seen, consciousness is nothing absolute. It is no jDower, no faculty ; it is simply the name by which we designate a mental capacity. Hence, when Brown says, that " a particular sensation is '' tlie consciousness of the moment," he evidently uses '^ consciousness" as equivalent to apprehen- sion, which, as we have seen, is a meaning from the imperfection of language occasionally attached to it. But, even under this sense of the word, he is mistaken, since the apprehension of the moment embraces more than the sensation, inasmuch as it implies also that the sensation, as felt — or, in other words, the feeling — is referable to an external cause. But this is only a small part of his error, since — having come to the conclusion that " a particular " sensation is the consciousness of the moment," and afterwards confusing that consciousness, which means apprehension, with the consciousness which is merely a capacity of mind, and that, again, with the essence of mind itself — he is led to the monstrous conclusion, that "the feeling, and the sentient I, "are, for the moment, the same." Thus the sensa- tion, the feeling, the mind, and the consciousness, become all one and the same thinof ! That, however, the feeling is the main subject of our consciousness — using the word consciousness in CONSCIOUSNESS. 281 the sense of apprehension, in certain of our sensa- tions — is perfectly true. The sweetness of sugar, for example, apart from the externality of its cause, is all that, by the sensation of taste, we know about the suofar, althouofh, at the same time, the tonsfue may feel the hardness of a lump of sugar, for ex- ample, causing the taste, which, however, has no- thing to do with the special sensation. But this does not seem to hold good of all our sensations, for, in sight, we may be conscious of pleasure, deriv- able from the beauty of the object seen, and also of the special qualities of the object seen in the same sensation, and yet it may be perfectly true, that, apart from the beauty of the object seen, we might never have observed it at all, or, in other words, never been conscious of its special qualities. The same thing may be said of sounds. We may be conscious in the same sensation of the beauty of sounds in melody, and of the special character of the sounds, qnci sounds, and yet, had it not been for the former, the latter might, very probably, never have attracted our attention. Hence, it would appear that, in such cases of sensation, at all events, the feeling, as generating the consciousness of the sensation, must antecede our consciousness of the sensation itself; and yet, that the sensation must actually be felt by our organic system, although we are unconscious of it. Still less are we to suppose that, in other cases, the feeling generating con- sciousness is the main subject of our consciousness, 282 CONSCIOUSNESS. since, in reasoning, for example — though no doubt there is a pleasure in the exercise of our intelligent natures, and this is the only feeling strictly cognate to reasoning — the feeling is hardly realised to con- sciousness at all, the main subject of consciousness being the process of reasoning itself, or, at all events, the conclusion to which it leads us. No doubt we are, moreover, led to reason, not merely from the pleasure which an intelligent being natu- rally feels in the exercise of his intelligent nature, but from the impulse of other feehngs, only in- cidentally cognate to reasoning. This, however, makes no difference, in so far as the particular is concerned whicJi we are now considering, since still the process of reasoning must be the main, or, at all events, one main subject of our consciousness, else, indeed, it is obvio\is that it could not be effi- ciently carried on. The depth of incidental feel- ing, however, will make us more deeply devoted to it, and force us more thoroughly in our con- sciousness to realise it. In this case, again, there- fore, it is obvious that the feehng or desire must, in consciousness, antecede the ratiocinative pro- cess, because it can be alone causative or gene- rative of it. It is the same in all cases. Feeling must antecede and generate every strictly intellec- tual process whatever, and a knowledge of this, it will be found, is of essential importance for appre- ciating the farther development of our mental states. CONSCIOL'SNESS. 283 These remarks will, we trust, enable every one, in so far, to understand the meaning of conscious- ness absolutely, and the mode in which it is realised, although we are by no means prepared to say that the subject is exhausted, or that much more, both of an interesting and important cha- racter, may not, by a still more careful analysis, be discovered with regard to it. We have, however, determined enough for enabling us to proceed with the consideration of the states of mind Avith which it makes us acquainted. The great primary par- ticular to be kept in ^dew is the mental capacity which it implies. That consciousness is sometimes used as a term to express absolute apprehension is true, but this is a state of mind, and must be care- fully distinguished from that form of consciousness which, in itself, is no power, no faculty, no state, but merely the name of a mental capacity to receive apprehensions, and which is realised by feehng of whatsoever kind, provided it be sufficient to give the apprehension or cognition interest, and to draw, in this way, our attention to it. CHAPTER VI. ON OUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE HUMAN MIND AS A SEPARATE EXISTENCE, AND THE PHENOMENA EXPLAINED THEREBY. We must know that the sulijcct of our coDsciousness exists — Eeid's theory — Refuted — An intuitive belief in our own existence, apart from con- sciousness, a contradiction — Knowledge of properties, apart fro'm any knowledge of the existence of the subject in which they inhere, im- possible — Real nature of consciousness — We are conscious of our minds at all times, while awake, even though not objectively conscious — Uni- versal belief upi n the subject — We do not know the substance of mental essence, but only are conscious of its existence — This doctrine explains the nature of the will — Explains also the grounds of our belief in our personal identity — Locke's Theory- — Reid's — Brown's — Their respective misconceptions pointed out, and the impossibility of accounting for our hclief 'in personal identity under these theories proved — Sir W. Hamilton's note illustrating Reid's theory — Cause of the confusi(m and difficulties of philosophers on this subject — Universal belief of our consciousness of our own minds — The foundation of the universal belief in personal identity — Any other theory must end in scepticism— Origin of the extravagant form of scepticism imj^lied in the Kantian philosophy- — Our consciousness of existence implies a knowledge of non-existence — This doctrine crushes both the extremes of Idealism and Materialism — Conclusion. We have now determined, in so far, the nature of consciousness, through which alone we can be made acquainted with anything, and this is true, let it be observed, whatever theory be adopted, even were we to admit the existence of a ^y^'iori cognitions, for even these, if they existed, could be known only HUMAN MIND AS A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 285 by consciousness, or, in other words, by our mental cognition of them. But, if this be the case, it would seem iiTesistibly to follow, that we must, in the very act, know something also of the existence or subject realising such consciousness; we must be conscious, at least, that such existence or subject ACTUALLY IS, or otherwise, it seems more than evi- dent, that we could not predicate its consciousness, nor, indeed, predicate anything about it at all, yet, plain and elementary as this conclusion seems to be, and consonant as it is, to the universal conviction of all ages, it is a conclusion positively ignored by every system of philosophy. This will be evident, in so far as Dr. Keid is concerned, from the very terms in which he has defined consciousness, when he says — " consciousness is the immediate knowledge " which we have of our present thoughts and pur- ^' poses, and, in general, of all the present operations " of our minds."'' In this definition, consciousness, the result, is confused with consciousness, the men- tal capacity ; but, receiving it as in so far an accurate definition of consciousness realised, it will be obvi- ous, that in limiting consciousness to the know- ledge of mental ^' states and operations " only, it necessarily excludes from its knowledge both the mind itself, and the matter which is perceived in sensation. Indeed, Reid never seems even to have imagined the possibility of our being conscious, either of the one or the other. It would, indeed, have * Intellectual powers — Essay 1, cli. 1. 286 HUMAN MIND AS been inconsistent with his whole system so far as mind is concerned, and would have substantively superseded it ; and, that he had as little idea of the possibility of being conscious of external existence, appears from the express terms of the clause succeeding that previously quoted, where he says — " It is likewise to be observed, that con- " sciousness is only of things in the mind, and "not of external things;" and he repeats the same assertion in various parts of his works, to which we shall afterwards have to direct our at- tention. Nor is Keid singular in this respect ; on the contrary, he merely gives expression to the common assumption of all philosophers, for, though many have sought for a universal essence, under some form of process, there never has been any one, so far as we are aware, that has suggested even the possibility of our being conscious of essence in any form, whether mental or material, and hence it is, that eveiy system of philosophy must, logically, involve a principle of scepticism. Even Sir W. Hamilton, who, as we have seen, took a step in advance of all that had preceded him, in the analysis of the philosophy of perception, never even indicates any idea of such a theory. Leaving entirely out of view, however, for the present, the consideration of external existence, it does seem ex- traordinary how it should have been conceived, that we could become acquainted with our own minds relatively or indirectly 1 How, in other A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 287 words, mind could Lave only a relative or indirect knowledge of itself 1 This is surely, to say the very least of it, a very round-about way of attaining such knowledge ; and the idea is the more extra- ordinary, inasmuch as it is in direct opposition to universal belief, since, assuredly, if there be any be- lief universal, it is the belief that we are conscious of our own existence ; and tliis universal belief is unquestionably in conformity with fact — for the more we consider and examine the subject, we will be the more convinced, that unless we know our own existence, through consciousness, it is impos- sible that we can ever be assured that we exist at all, since any indirect proof of our existence must necessaril}^, at som^ point, fall back on the assump- tion of that very consciousness of existence which, by supposition, is repudiated. Hence, to assume that we have an a 'priori or intuitive belief of our o"\^m. existence, while an absolute consciousness of such existence is denied, seems as clearly as pos- sible a contradiction in temis — since the assumption of such a belief existing in our minds implies neces- sarily, in itself, that we are conscious of having MINDS — or else, of course, it would be impossible either to know or to believe that anything existed in them at all. The belief, indeed, apart from such consciousness, of our minds existing as separate entities would evidently, in each case, be a mere isolated feeling which, like Hume's ideas and im- pressions could apply to nothing, and prove nothing. 288 HUMAN MIND AS We have here Mr. Ferrier's fundamental eiTor, in supposing that the minimum of our knowledge is " subject j^lus object " or "thought or thing mecum" — an error which he has adopted from that very objectionable psychology which generally he repu- diates ; for, if the minimum of knowledge, and, consequently, the totality of existence be " subject ''plus object," each act of knowledge, if knowledge it can be called, must be isolated and per se, as re- ducible to no existence in which it inheres. He has, indeed, attempted to escape the difficulty by regard- ing the " subject," in each case, as " j^ermanent ;" but this apparent " permanency," by the veiy na- ture of the theory, can only be suppositious — there being no " ego per se" at all ^ents, which we can know, even assuming its predicated existence not to be an absurdity — and consequently the successive " minima of knowledge " can only be isolated phe- nomenal cognitions, to a certain extent identical WITH EACH OTHER, but otherwise having no connec- tion whatever ; while any reference of them to a common entity or subject becomes, as Mr. Femer has, indeed, expressly and consistently maintained altogether absurd and impossible — there being no entity or subject in existence but themselvesin union. We need hardly add, that Kant is no exception to the rest of the philosophical w^orld ; on the contrary, his system is more opposed to the possibility of our being conscious of our minds absolutely than almost any other. His disciples have, consequently, logi- xV SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 289 cally carried forth the result in formally denying tlie existence of mind altogether. Nor does it seem less absurd, to suppose a knowledge of properties, apart from any know- ledge of the existences to which such properties appertain — a theory which, as veiling the results of an avowed denial of our consciousness of our minds, is the form which the hypothesis has usually assumed — since it comes to the very same thing in reality. Properties are not anything diiferent fi'om the existences to which they appertain, else WE COULD jNEVER GET AT THE KNOWLEDGE OF SUCH existences at all, but they are those existences themselves, operating in a particular way. The assumption of such, a difference is another philoso- phical error, directly opposed to universal belief, but which is entertained by almost all philosophers as having grown out of that verbal metaphysic which has so long reigned supreme over intellec- tual science. Hence the faculties, or attributes of mind, are not anything different from mind, but are the mind itself, either existing in different states, or developing itself under different relations. If a man perceive, for example, the perception by the mind is not the act of somethino- different from the mind, but is the mind, the essence of mind per- ceiving. If, again, a man reason, the process of reasoning is not the act of a faculty, or whatever it may be called, distinct from the mind, but is the mind itself engaged in the operation of reasoning, 290 HUMAN MIND AS and hence, consequently, we are not only conscious of reasoning, but in that veiy operation of reason- ing we are conscious of the mind which reasons, NOT ONLY IN SO FAR AS IT REASONS, but of the Opera- tion AS AN ACT OF THE MIND, as an act of the ego — to use the language of the German philosophers — since to be conscious of the reasoning, without being conscious, at the same time, of the mind which reasons, would not only imply an absurdity — since there could be nothing of which consciousness could be predicated — but would be so completely to sepa- rate the mode from its essence, that it is impossible to conceive any way in which they could subse- quently be identified. This is obvious and indis- putable, from the very words which we employ, for we say, "I reason." Now, what is the " I '"? It must be something different from reason. We do not merely mean reason reasons. The " I " is the mind, the self, engaged in the process or opera- tion of reasoning, and, consequently, the very use of the term ''I," implying to every one a clear idea of his consciousness of himself, designates not a reasoning faculty as sometliing distinct from the mind, but the mind itself of which that which is called the reasoning faculty, is merely a property or mode of exhibition, which is truly the reasoning subject, and of which, therefore, it follows, that in the act of reasoning, we are necessarily conscious. In the same way, if we feel pain, it cannot be the pain or the feeling which is conscious of itself, it is A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 291 the mind which feels, and in the feeUng we are not only in thus far conscious of mind, but we are con- cious of the feeling as existing in that w^hich we call ourselves, and which thinks, and reasons, and remembers, as well as feels; and we have here the veiy something which distinguishes betmxt a man in a sound unconscious sleep, from the same man awake, even when the mind is perfectly blank, in so far as ideas are concerned, which is sometimes the case, neither thinking nor feeling anything cognate to an idea, for, while awake, he is still con- scious of existence, i.e., not conscious, it may be, of any mental operation, or positive feeling, in respect of any idea or cognition, but conscious of his own mind absolutely existing, and of its competence to act or feel under suitable circum- stances. There is probably no human being that has not thus existed, and it will be admitted that there is a material distinction betwixt such a state, and a state in which we are unconscious of existence altogether. But, to illustrate the matter still farther — for, clear as the argument seems to be, the doctrine, from its veiy philosophical novelty, may appear startling — let us suppose, again, a man to reason, or to feel pain, we would ask how it could be possi- ble for him to connect such reasoninof or such feel- ing with his own mind,. unless he had an absolute consciousness of his mind in connection with his process of reasoning, or his feeling of pain 1 How 292 HUJ[AN MIND AS could he discover that it was not another man'^ mind, which was reasoning or feehng ? How could he know that it was a mind at all, which was rea- soning or feeling 1 How could he, in one word, have any knowledge of self, or of his own mind, as contra-distinguished from the act or feeling, sepa- rately and per se existing, like the ideas and impres- sions of Hume ■? In such a case, no doubt, there would be the process of reasoning, and the state of feeling, but to connect them with any particular existence would obviously be impossible, because, however many a ^;r/oW cognitions, or intuitive principles, we ma}'- imagine, we never can get at their connection with the mind, unless, at some POINT, we assume that they imply, in its conscious- ness of them, a consciousness also of itself as THEIR SUBJECT, In no other way can we ever, by possibility, be assured of the existence of our minds, or, of course, of the relation to them of anything whatever. We should, under any other assumption, have reason conscious of itself, but without any apprehension of its subject, or, indeed, of anything else, except in so far as any other feel- ing or faculty might co-exist with it, though even in that case — supposing it possible that they could be mixed together — there evidently could be no means of refening them to the same substra- tum, or, indeed, as has been said, of ascertaining that they had any substratum at all. Imagine them even to be conscious of one another, which is A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 293 certainly stretching imagination as far as it will go, it is still evident, that here all relation betwixt them must cease, under the very terms of the as- sumption — for any bond of union, in a consciousness of both appertaining to the same essence, would be entirely wanting, in respect of our being, by the assumption, supposed to be unconscious of the ex- istence of any such essence at all. Now, as we have already partially indicated, the supposition, that some intuition, or a priori cogni- tion supplies the place of consciousness in this case, seems not only a very awkward and round-about way of explaining the phenomenon, but is altogether absurd, inasmuch, as to be of any use, it must assume that very consciousness, the want of ivhich it is intended to compensate, since it is evidently im- possible to discover the mind by the assumed cog- nition or intuition, unless it be known in its con- ciousness of such cognition or intuition, by being, at the same time, and in the very act and process, also conscious of itself. Of themselves, and by them- selves such cognitions or intuitions might no doubt ascertain their oivn existence, supposing them to be LIVING BEINGS — but, assurcdly, could, under the as- sumption, ascertain the existence of notliing else, as being conscious of nothing else — so that whatever intuitions and a priori cognitions we may suppose, unless we assume the mind to be absolutely consci- ous of itself, i.e., conscious of itself per se, we are just as fjir from any knowledge of the existence of our own minds as we were before. 294 HUMAN MIND AS But, farther, tlio assumption of such a cognition or intuition, even if it were otherwise possible, is in direct opposition to that which the nature of our mental constitution compels us to believe ; for no man ever realised to himself any such cognition or intuition as that contended for, under which he was, a prio7'i or indirectly, made acquainted with his own existence, nor, as we have seen, is such a thing possible. On the contrary, every one practi- cally believes, just because he feels it, that he is not only conscious of the feelings and faculties of his own mind, but that he is conscious of his own mind itself, feeling and operating. To dispute this, as a practical fact, seems impossible. It is a uni- versally-recognised phenomenon, and to ignore it, even, is to ignore a universally-recognised pheno- menon of such importance, that, apart from it — as we have already partially seen, and as we shall subsequently shew at greater length, under another form — is substantively to open a way for an irresis- tible aggression of scepticism. Indeed, it is per- fectly obvious, that if we be only conscious of states of mind, and not of the mind itself in those states, there never can be a possibility of so connecting the two together, as to involve a logical conclusion, or, indeed, a legitimate conclusion of any kind, that the one inheres in the other, oi" that they are con- nected with each other, or that there is, indeed, any such existence as mind at all. In truth, if any one thing be clearer than ano- ther, it is that the mind is conscious, not merely A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 205 of its feelings and operations, but absolutely of itself IN those feelings and operations, as perceiv- ing, remembering, reasoning, feeling, knowing, and generally of its own essence, in any state in which it can possibly exist while awake, i.e., while the feehng of existence is in operation ; not, however, be it understood, that we suppose human beings to have thus, through consciousness, any knowledge of the constitutive nature of the essence of mind. To be conscious of the mind existing as an essence, and to know the substantive or constitutive nature of that essence, are perfectly different things, al- though a singular confusion between them appears to have originated the notion that we can only be conscious of the operations or states of mind, and not of the mmd itself, as operating or existing in these states. To know the substantive or constitu- tive essence of mind, would be to know of what it is composed, and would, therefore, evidently imply a creative knowledge, or, at all events, another mind endued with a higher nature, as competent to analyse and appreciate the veiy elementary sub- stance of that mind which we actually possess ; but, to be conscious of mind, merely implies that we know it to exist, be its elementaiy and constitu- tive nature what it may. It is not to know what mind is, but to know that mind is, and that we do know this, is a doctrine which, however new to philosophers as a doctrine of science, must inevit- ably follow from every analysis of e^'eiy state of 256 IIUMAM MIND AS our consciousness, and is a doctrine that Las been practically — though it may be unconsciously — re- ceived as unquestionably true by all men, in all • ages, as well, indeed, by philosophers, as by the rest of the human race. It seems absolutely necessary to understand this doctrine, in order that we may form anything hke an accurate conception of the nature and origin of the will — a subject which has so much puzzled, not merely philosophers, qua philosophers, but theolo- gians, moralists, and society generally ; but which, in thus far, really involves no difficulty whatever, when the true extent and character of our know- ledge of mind, as a separate existence, is appre- ciated. For the will is no single faculty, feeling, or desire, as philosophers have imagined, as — when Dr. E,eid calls it a " power," and Dr. Brown con- founds it with our ^' wishes" — assuming every desire to be a distinct will. But the will is a SEPARATE act of the whole mind, having a \dew of all its feelings, faculties, desires, states, and opera- tions together, in so far as they may bear upon the point to be detennined, and thus, in an absolute form, and under its absolute right and competency, deciding and determining, by a collation of all arguments" and impulses, conjoined and connected. Were the will only one faculty, feeling, property, or mode of mind operating, it would be difficult, or rather impossible, to conceive how it could be afiected by the other modes of mind, or, at all A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. ^97 events, how, witliout a consciousness of mind, we could know that it was the mind that was will- ing ; but, to the mind as a whole, all the proper- ties of the mind are subservient, and by it all its modes must be appreciated, and in it all properties and modes are combined and identified as parts, or forms of the whole — so that the will is its ulti- mate determination, under a view of all the cir- cumstances, the operation of all the faculties, and the action of all the feelings. We do not, of course, now inquire whether the mind, in the jjrocess of wilhng, be regulated by external mo- tives, ■ partially or entirely, or whether it can originate motives, and modify the reciprocating power of its o^vn feelings, so as to strengthen one, and weaken another. This does not appertain to our present subject, and, indeed, involves consider- ations which, at the present stage of our progress, could not be appreciated. It is enough here to in- dicate where the will is truly to be found, and how it comes to sit as governor, enthroned amid its faculties and feelings, so as to direct and regulate their eveiy determination. The subject, however, wdll be still farther illustrated, under the considera- tion of ulterior mental operations. The same doctrine affords us the only possible mode of exj)laining our belief in our personal iden- tity, and exhibits the ground of that belief, in a manner so simple and satisfactory, as in itself to assure us of its validity. In fact, any attempt at 298 HUMAN MIND AS accounting for our belief in personal identity, must evidently, apart from the assumption of our consci- ousness of mind absolutely and separately, be alto- gether futile, since every other assumption must necessarily ignore the very existence of which the identity is predicated. This is most strikingly ex- emplified in the theory of Locke, who, after many and most judicious observations of an incidental kind, concludes in these terms — " For, since con- " sciousness always accompanies thinking, and it is " that that makes every one to be what he calls self, "and thereby distinguishes himself from all other " thinking things ; in this alone consists personal " IDENTITY, i.e., THE SAMENESS OF A RATIONAL BEING, " and as far as this consciousness can be extended " backwards to any past action or thought, so far ''reaches the identity of that person — it is the "same self now that it was then."^ According to this theory, "consciousness and self" are the same thing, i.e., our consciousness is the same as the subject which is conscious. Next, "con- " sciousness and identity" are the same, i.e., con- sciousness is not only the same as the subject or existence which is conscious, but it is the same as the relation which this existence bears to itself at different times. Lastly, "as far as this "consciousness can be extended backwards," he tells us, " to any past action or thought, so far reaches the identity of that person," from which it * Human Understanding— B. 2, ch. 27, sect. 9. A SEPARATE EXISTENCE; 299 follows that we are neither the same persons as we were when mfants nor as we are when asleep ; in other words, when we cease to be conscious, our personal identity ceases ! He might, however, it will be evident, have gone even farther than this, and affirmed, according to tliis theory, that when we cease to be conscious our existence ceases, seeinof that he merafes the "self" in the "con- " sciousness." Now, the whole of this mass of contradiction and confusion originates evidently in his ignorance of the fundamental truth, that in our mental operations, and, indeed, w^henever we are awake we are conscious of the mind itself. This doctrine, however, in Locke's day, had never been suggested or imagined, and indisputable as it seems to be when enunciated, we can hardly wonder, therefore, that it escaped him. Yet, Locke was very near the tiTith ; he does not suppose consci- ousness to be a separate projDerty of mind, but per- ceived that it must comprehend the operation of all the mental properties, otherwise there could be no means of bringing the other faculties and feelings to bear upon any given state of consciousness in the very process. For this purpose another conscious- ness must have been required, which would only have been postponing, instead of removing, the difficulty. Hence his confusion betwixt self and consciousness, as if consciousness were not a mere capacity of mind, but actually the mind itself, existing as cause and effect at one and the same time. It seems 300 HUMAN MIND AS quite unnecessary, however, to dwell at greater length upon a theory, which, even at the first glance, is seen to be utterly untenable. Reid at once repudiated the theory of Locke, and exposes, with considerable success, some of the absurd consequences which it involves, though he shews greatly inferior philosophical acumen in classing consciousness among the powers of mind, while his theory of our belief in personal identity, which is substantively the same as Bishop Butler's, appears liable to little less serious objections. It is to the following effect — " The proper evidence of ''all this," i.e., of personal identity, says he, "is " remembrance. I remember that, twenty years " ago, I conversed with such a person. I remember " several things that passed in that conversation, &c." "If the identical person whom I call myself had " not a part in that conversation, my memoiy is " fallacious. It gives a distinct and positive testi- " mony of what is not true."'' But, unless we be conscious of the existence of " the person whom I call myself," how can we discover that the re- membrance appertained to that person"? There is, certainly, a recollection or act of memory, and a present consciousness, for these are assumed ; but how are these connected with one another, or \Adth the same mind, or with any mind? apart from our knowledge of both acts, as acts of one mind, itself felt and known in each act, not only as mind, but ' Intellectual powers— Essny 3d, ch. 4. A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 301 as tlie SAME mind, there is evidently no link by which they can be identified. They are separate acts, which imply and can imply nothing in them- selves as tp their origin ; for, to say that the con- clusion is drawn by inference, as resulting from the maxim that identical effects must have an identical cause, would not only assume the existence of such a maxim a priori, ■which itself could he referred to no cause, but would necessarily involve farther the assumption, that a state of memory and a state of consciousness are identical effects, since two acts of memoiy will not serve the purpose, as they could assure nothing with regard to a present state — consciousness of the present being a neces- sary element in the belief of the identity of our past mth our present existence, which evidently cannot be superseded ; nor, even were such, an inference possible, would it be of the slightest im- portance for the pui'jDose, since, even were the phenomena to be held identical, the inference could not give us the slightest information whatever, either as to the nature of the existence in which they originated, or as to whether they originated in the same existence, or in two existences of the same kind. But farther. Dr. Reid says, and says truly, that " My personal identity implies the con- " tinued existence of that indivisible thing which I " call myself ;"'' and again, "The operations of our " minds are all successive, and have no continued " Intellectual powers — Essay 3d, ch. 4. 302 HUMAN MIND AS " existence ; but the tliinking being has a con- "tijiued existence, and we have an invincible ''behef that it remains the same, when all its "thoughts and Generations change."^ Now, as- suming that the analysis previously given, under which our belief in personal identity is referred by him to memory in connection with conscious- ness, could explain the belief of Dr. Reid, that he was the same individual, and, of course, therefore, endued with the same individual mind, at the time that he was writing, as when he had held the conversation which he supposes, twenty years before — which, however, as has been said, is manifestly not the case, yet, assuming it to be the case, what comes of the intervening period 1 How has he his "invincible belief" in the continued identity of the soul with reference to periods, of which the incidents are entirely forgotten 1 How can we be assured of our personal identity during infancy, for example, and sleep ? How can memory assure us that we were then the same persons as we subsequently jBnd ourselves '? It is clear, that ac- cording to this theory, when memory ceases, so does identity, or, at all events, any ground for our belief in it ! We cannot think, therefore, that Dr. Reid had any material ground for triumph, in so far as this matter is concerned, over his predecessor. It was probably some half-conscious sense of the insuperable objections to his theory, as now stated, ' Intellectual powers — Essay 3d, cb. 4. A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 303 that induced him to attempt a faltering modi- fication of it in these terms — ''We probably at " first derive our notion of identity from that natu- "ral conviction which every man has, from the " dawn of reason, of liis own identity and continued "existence."* But, if "at first," why not subse- quently also ? Does the " conviction " diminish in force ? If so, we have still a more perplexing phe- nomenon, for how is a " conviction " to be depended on, which grows weaker as reason grows stronger ? or, if it does not diminish in force, then we have this " conviction " all our Hves, as an intuitive prin- ciple, in which case the primary theoiy is annihil- ated, since memoiy can have nothing to do with the matter. The two theories are evidently incom- parable. If we have a natural or intuitive " con- " viction," this settles the question one way. If the proof result from comparing a past recollection mth a present consciousness, that settles it another way. But it clearly cannot, as Dr. Reid has attempted, be settled both ways. The one is inconsistent with the other. It is farther evident, that, the assumption of a "natural conviction" does not, in any measure, solve the difficulty, even were such an assumption admissible, since it just presents itself under ano- ther form, inasmuch as we have to explain how the "conviction" itself can be connected mth the mind, UNLESS the mind be conscious of itself in the con- viction. Under any other supposition, the convic- * Intellectual powers — Essay Stl, ch. 4. 304 HUMAN MIND AS tion is an isolated act, by the very supposition exist- ing in no subject, so far, at all events, as we Lave any means of ascertaining; or, if it be maintained, that, at all events, we must conclude, that it must have some cause, it is obvious, that the very fact of our con- sciousness of ourselves is assumed in the use of the word " we," which otherwise could have no mean- ing, and that, moreover, even if it were conceded, that the conviction has some cause or another, it would be impossible for us to discover what that cause is. Finally, as we shall presently shew more particularly, the very idea of our being intui- tively acquainted with the past, except in so far as an act of memory implies an intuitive belief, is ab- surd and impossible. Dr. JReid, however, does not, in this case, seem to rest by any means with his usual confidence on this assumed intuition, but merely introduces it as a sort of alternative theoiy. Dr. Brown, singularly enough, reverses the al- ternatives. Protesting, generally, against Reid's tendency to ascribe mental phenomena to intuition, he yet, in this special case, refers our belief in our personal identity to intuition, as his main explana- tion of the phenomenon. ''If there be," he says, '' as it has been already shewn that there must be, " intuitive truths, and if we are not to reject, but " only to weigh cautiously the belief which seems '^ to us to be intuitive, it will be difficult to find '' any which has a better claim to this distinction, *' than the faith which we have in our identity, as A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 305 " one continued sentient and thinking being, or " rather, to sjDeak more accurately, as one per- " manent being, capable of many varieties of sen- '^ sation and thought." Yet, notwithstanding the claim which the '^ faith, that we have in our " identity," niay have to such a ^^distinction," as if partially sensible that this theory, after all, was in- sufficient satisfactorily to explain the phenomenon — reversing Reid's alternatives, as was said — he subse- quently adds, " our faith in our identity, then, as " being only another form of the faith which we '' put in memory, can be questioned only by those " who deny all memory, and, with memoiy, all "reasoning of every kind."'' Nor is it w^onderful that Brown should have thus felt sensible of the weakness of his " intuitive " theoiy, since even, ex facie, it appears absurd to speak of an " intui- " tive " belief of that which occuiTed twenty years ago. We may recollect it, and recollect that then we intuitively believed it, but how, in any other sense, we could be said to believe it intuitively, seems altogether incomprehensible. But, still more, an " intuitive " belief in our o^vIl identity, as contra- distinguished from an absolute consciousness of our mind, as existing at one time, and a recollection of a former absolute consciousness of its having existed at a previous time, evidently involves a contradic- tion in terms, since the very use of the word *^our," implies that it is a belief in something ' Brown's Lectures — Lecture xiii. X 306 HUMAN MIND AS which we know as ourselves. If, however, we are not conscious of our own minds, it is clear that we do not know ourselves as a separate existence, but as something else, or rather, " we " do not know, and cannot, by possibility, know anything at all, since, by the supposition, there is no " we " that either can know, or be known. Apart, therefore, from the conscious knowledge of the essence of mind by itself, as a separate existing something, it is manifest, that an "intuitive" belief in '^our" iden- tity, if it had any meaning at all, would mean an in- tuitive belief, by nothing in something unknown. Hence the absolute necessity under which both Reid and Brown felt themselves compelled to call in the supplementary assistance of memory, so as to make the belief of our personal identity consist in an identification of the facts which we remember to have been conscious of formerly, with those of which we actually are conscious at some subsequent period. But, besides, that this, as was previously mentioned, would hmit our belief in our identity to those precise dates, of which we might hapjDen to have a definite recollection, it is farther evident, that a mere act of memoiy, referring us to a past STATE, as compared with a present state, could imply no information as to "our" personal identity at all, but only as to the identity of a state of some- thing called memory at one time, with a state of something called consciousness at another. To determine to what such states belonged, as their A sepakatl: existence. 3o7 subject — or, in other words, to connect tlieni with a muid, and, still more, with " our " mind, as condi- tions thereof — would clearly be impossible, except on the supposition of our knowing now, and having known then, the subject or mind of which they constitute conditions, as actually and absolutely realised in our consciousness. In the act of re- membering per se, there is siniply a phenomenon remembered, or rather a phenomenon existing under a particular form, since we cannot strictly say that it is remembered, if there be no conscious- ness of the mind remembering, and hence the re- membrance could only be an isolated phenomenon, from which we could know nothing whatever of the subject in which we can only presume, under such an assumption that it inheres — a presumption, by the way, v/hich could never have been re?dised at all, did we not actually feel it realised in our con- sciousness. It is indeed, true, that both Keid and Brown occasionally use terms which seem to imply that the act of memory involves a consciousness of its subject, because it is impossible to speak of the phenomena at all, without occasionally being forced to use the lano-uao-e which our consciousness natu- o o rally and necessarily suggests ; but that neither of them had any real knowledge of the explanation of our irresistible belief in personal identity is indisputable, not only fi'om the whole character of their systems, but specially from the fact of their introducing an intuitive principle as necessary for 308 HUMAN MIND AS ascertaining such belief, apart from our co^iscious-' ness of the essence of inirid, under which it is alone possible to know anything of that thinking and feeling principle to which the notion of identity can be supposed to appertain. No doubt, the con- sciousness w^hich we have of the existence of a mental essence, is in itself, in one sense, and indeed, the only true sense, an intuition, because it is the direct result of a mental capacity in a process which every one feels and understands. But, when we speak of another intuition, which Dr. Reid calls " a '' natural con\dction which every man has from the ^' dawn of reason," and Dr. BroT^ii designates as a something ''to be cautiously weighed" before we adopt "the belief" of it, ''which seems to us to be "intuitive," it is e\ddent, that, setting aside every other objection, w^e introduce a teHium quid, pro- duced by no mental process, altogether inexplicable in its origin, and which, consequently, must be merely imaginary, and which, even were it real, as it could in no way be connected with the mind, could in no way afford us the slightest assurance of our own existence, and still less of our personal identity — a belief in which must, of course, depend on our pre- vious conviction of such existence. It would itself be a mere isolated phenomenon, and could, therefore, assure us of nothing, not even of its OA^al existence, since there could be no "we" to be assured. The distinction which w^e have thus drawn be- twixt our consciousness of the results of mental A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 300 operations, and our consciousness of the mind itself in tliese operations — the neglect of which has so much confused the philosoi^hical speculations of Butler, Reid, and Brown — was equally unknown to Sir W. Hamilton, although he evidently felt that the ordinary theory as to our belief in personal identity was, somehow or other, unsatisfactoiy. In a note on the following passage of Reid — '^Identity, "in general, I take to be a relation between a " thing which is known to exist at one time, and a ^' thinof which is known to have existed at another "time" — Hamilton says, "Identity is a relation " between our cognitions of a thing, and not be- "tween things themselves. It would, therefore, " have been better, in this sentence, to have said, " a relation between a thing, as known to exist at " one time, and a thing as known to exist at " another time."'' Now, what he precisely means by " Identity being a relation between our cogni- " tions " only, and not " between things them- " selves," it is difficult to understand, unless he intended to fall back on Locke's theory, to the effect that " Consciousness " and " Identity " are the same thing. Be this as it may, however, it is, at all events, indisputably proved by this passage, that he had no conception of our being conscious of mind itself, but of " cognitions " oidy — whether he meant by cognitions mere results of mental opera- tions, or the mental faculties engaged in such ojoe- • Sir W. Hamilton's edition of Eeid — Essay 3d, ch, 4. — Note. 810 HUMAN MIND AS rations, as contra-distinguished from the subject in which such mental faculties inhere. He, no doubt, however, in so far, brings out Reid's meaning, and he gives his sanction to it. To demonstrate that such is the case, and in order to avoid any possibility of doubt or miscon- ception as to the theory — the subject being of such fundamental importance in the philosophy of mind — we may refer to another passage in Reid's philoso- l)hy, wherein l\e explicitly tells us, that he holds it for "a first princi]3le, that the thoughts of which he " is conscious are the thoughts of a being which he '' calls himself, his mind, his person,"* clearly indi- cating that the first principle, and " the conscious- " ness of his thoughts, as apxiertaming to himself" are different things, since otherwise he would, of course, have said, that "he held it as a first prin- " ciple that he was conscious of himself, or of his " own thouQfhts, as exhibitions or manifestations of '' himself." Indeed, he never seems to have thought even of resting our belief in personal identity on consciousness of personal existence, but distinctly points to some intuitive conviction of it, as an a priori state of mind, of which the origin is entirely inexplicable and inconceivable. "Shall 1 think," he says, " that thought can stand by itself without " a thinking being ? or that ideas can feel pleasure " or pain '{ My nature dictates to me that it is im- " possible."'' Words could hardly be found which " Intellectual powers— Essay 6th, ch. 5. ^ To. do. A SEPARATE EXISTENX'E. 311 could uiore distinctly avow his perfect ignorance of any definite exj^lanation of the phenomenon ; nor, as we have seen, do the writings of Dr. Brown less distinctly assure us of his equal ignorance upon the subject ; indeed, the greater part of his lecture on consciousness is occupied in proving that any pre- cise determination of the ground of our belief in personal identity is impossible, and that we must just be content to refer it to a cause that is un- knowable. '• Now, all this perplexity and confusion, with re- spect to the process under which we ascertain our personal identity, originates obviously in the as- sumption, not only groundless, but opposed to our continual consciousness, and even to logical possi- bility, that we are not conscious of our mental existence absolutely and separately, but only of our cognitions, or, at all events, of the faculties and feelings through which our cognitions are acquired, as if these were, in some way, known as properties altogether apart from mind itself, and not merely as forms or exhibitions of the essence of mind, and consequently implying, in our consciousness of them, a consciousness of that essence of which they are the developments or modes only. Hence, by ex- cluding the essence of mind from our consciousness, we are necessarily precluded, as has been said, from the possibiUty of ever attaining a knowledge of our personal identity or even personal existence at all. * Brown's Lectures — Lecture xi. 312 HUMAN MIND AS But, SO far is this tlieoiy from being tnie, that not only are we conscious of the mind as a separate ex- istence — an operating subject, in every mental pro- cess — but, even when we are conscious of no objec- tive process, we are yet conscious of the mind absolutely in a continued succession, at all events during our waking hours, by the feeling of its ex- istence, and thus are assured of our mental exis- tence and personal identity, to whatever past period of our lives memory may direct us — not, indeed, de- finitely, in all cases, in the form of a precise recollec- tion, but indefinitely and generally, in so far as we know — that at all times this consciousness of our mental existence and personal identity have been felt and recognised by us. In other words, even with respect to those periods of our history, as to which the particular facts that occuiTed during their con- tinuance have escaped us, we still remember, gene- rally, that we were conscious of our own existence, by being conscious of the existence of our minds, and thus is that " continued assurance of identity " ascertained to us, which Reid has justly assumed as of the essence of the belief; for, in this general and inde- finite way, our memory embraces our whole lives, and one conclusion, consequently, applies to every part of them. There is, under this view, consequently, no longer the slightest difficulty in understanding and explaining the process under which we become assured of our personal identity. We admit at once, that the belief in our own existence is an " intuitive A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 313 *' conviction," or '* first principle ;" but we say that the word intuitive, in this case, as in all cases where it can properly be used, is equivalent to the word conscious, and that it implies no a lyriori state, feel- ing, or operation whatever, nor any inexplicable pro- cess or result, but that it is simply a name for the remembrance of a continuous consciousness — the mind lia\dng all along been conscious of itself, of its own essence, as existing, feeUng, remembering, reasoning, &c., and thus identifying such conscious- ness as appertaining to the same subject, at all stages of its histoiy. This is the only sense in which there can be such a thino- as intuition — and, thouofh the subject wt.11 be afterwards discussed at greater length, yet we desu'e here to mark the thing more particularly, because sometimes, though rarely, it is a sense of the word which might be attached to the language of some of the Scottish school of philoso- phers in treating of this very subject, but which is yet a sense, not only inconsistent with all their theories in regard to it, but which, in by far the greater number of cases, the term, as employed by them, cannot, by any possibility, be made to bear. Now, that the doctrine which we have been pro- pounding in this chapter is true, and that we are conscious, not merely of our mental cognitions, but of our minds themselves, is proved, not only by the demonstrative conclusion already attained, that we could otherwise have no possible knowledge either of our personal existence, or personal identity 314 HUMAN MIND AS at all, but also, by the notorious fact, that all hu- man beings do practically believe that they are conscious of their own absolute existence, i.e., not merely of certain faculties and feelings operat- ing, but also of a distinct subject to which these faculties and feelings appertain, or rather, of which these faculties and feehngs are the modes of exhi- bition, and from which, consequently, they cannot be separated, nor even imagined as separate, and which constitutes the mind, the person, the con- tinuous beino^ that we call ourselves. In fact, we know our faculties and feelings, not as something distinct from mind, nor as anything conceivable apart from mind, but as mind itself, the very essence of mind acting in different ways, and thus mani- festing itself under different aspects. That we can- not know mind absolutely, because we must always know it in connection with something else known, and that, therefore, the union of both is the mini- mum of knowledge, is not only a pure assumption, which admits of no proof, either demonstrative or logical, but it is an assumption manifestly untrue and impossible. It is untrue, indeed, in its veiy foundation, for we are frequently conscious of mere existence, when there is nothing else known, and when the mind is not operating at all, nor conscious of any feeling, except that it is. It is impossible, because the assumption implies knowledge, while it leaves no subject to know, since we cannot know that the mind knows, unless we know that there A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 315 is a mind, nor can fliere be anytliing to know, whether human or divine, if the minimum of know- ledge and a fortiori of existence be " that which '' knows and that which is known." The very pro- position is absurd and contradictory, in speaking of that which knows, while it assumes that there is nothing which can know. Farther, even supposing that the mind were only kno^^^l itself, in the act of operating, and thereby of knowing something else, and setting aside every other objection to the as- sumption, it seems impossible to conceive on what ground it is maintained that the mind could not be conscious of itself as somethinof distinct from that w^hich affects it, or, in other words, which it knows. It is conscious of itself as the subject knowing, it appreciates that which affects it, as the object known, by an ordinary operation of reason. They are not known in one another, as a complex idea, the one is know by the other, as a something affect- ing it. The stamp on sealing wax is not the wax, but a figure stamped upon it, and the one is entirely a distinct and separate thing from the other. The hardness of the stone which affects my finger is not the finger, nor is it the perception felt by the finger, but is a totally different thing, and is known as a TOTALLY DIFFERENT THING. Such examples, 110 doubt, do not constitute perfect analogies, but they are quite sufficient to indicate the unfounded nature of the theory which does not seem even to have an ex facie plausibility, its veiy tenns being so directly 316 HUMAN MIND AS opposed to our most irresistfble convictions^ that if possible^ the very form of it only presses upon us still more definitely the assurance that we are con- scious of our minds themselves whenever we are awake^ and that all objects known are knoAvn, not as complex ideas in the mind, but as external objects BY the mind. We are thus continually conscious of mind, more or less definitely, and identify it, consequently, at all times as the same subject, the same existence, which must, while it lasts, be one and the same, and which, consequently, BEING ONCE DESTROYED, NEVER COULD POSSIBLY RE- EXIST AGAIN. This last observation suggests the answer to the only difficulty which, so far as I know, can be imagined to the doctrine which we have now en- deavoured to establish ; for it may be said, that, although by such a process as has been described, the grand problem of the grounds of our belief in our personal identity is, no doubt, completely solved, and a clear and precise idea of the mode of such belief is ascertained, yet, that in the case of sound sleep, when we are unconscious even of the existence of our minds, the very same objection may be urged against our conclusion, on the as- sumption that we are conscious of the mind abso- lutely as on that which supposes us only conscious of special faculties or properties — since, in either case, if consciousness alone give us a knowledge of the phenomenon, we cannot realise such knowledge A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 3 1 7 during a period wlicn it is admitted that we are "wholly unconscious of everything. The cases, how- ever, are perfectly different, since a consciousness of the operation of a specific faculty, or the action of a specific feeling, were such consciousness pos- sible, apart from a consciousness of the subject in which such faculty or feeling inheres, could only, at all events, ascertain the existence of such faculty or feeling, and could, in no shape or degi'ee, ascer- tain the existence of the mind as the subject of tliem. There could be no evidence, therefore, in such a case, of an existence at all, but only of a faculty or feeling; and, in the same way, if cognitions be all that is known, of such cognitions — exactly identical with Hume's ideas and impressions, or Ferrier's object mecum — existing as phenomena, without any subject in which they inhere. Hence, when the immediate phenomenon disappeared in such cases, there could be no assurance of the con- tinued existence, or, in other words, of the identity of such phenomenon as continuously existing. In- hering in nothing, so far as we know, its next appearance must to us, demonstratively, be a new phenomenon. But if we be conscious not merely of feelings and faculties, or cognitions, but also of the existence or essence which is the subject of them, we know in this veiy consciousness, as re- membered at one time and felt at another time, that the assumption of its destruction, during the intermediate space, is impossible, whether we may 318 HUMAN MIND AS liPtve been conscious of its existence during every instant of such space or not, inasmuch as, had it ceased at any time to exist, there must have been a new creation — and, therefore, though the new creature might be perfectly alike, it could not be, AS WE FEEL OURSELVES TO BE, identically the same being as it was before. It is in vain to say, in reply to this, that God or nature, having created new beings, may also infuse into them the recollec- tions of the former beings, so as to deceive them into a belief of their identity therewith, because, if we are to assume that God or nature intentionally deceives us there is an end of all philosophy, and, indeed, of all belief of every kind. In fact, if such a mode of arguing were admissible, it might, with the very same validity, be argued that we do not exist at all — that we do not see, hear, smell, taste, nor touch — that we are a delusion altogether — that life is mockery, and reason a lie. This a priori and arbitraiy scepticism admits of no answer; nor does it, indeed, require any, for it is pure absurdity, because we are so constituted that we tnust believe the nature which we have, and all that we can do, is to endeavour to discover the precise particulars which it teaches us. Accord- ingly, the surest proof of the argument now enun- ciated, is its accordance with the universal and irresistible convictions of all mankind. Multitudes, indeed, may not be able to put it in words, but it no less convinces them, though it may be by an A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 'Mi) unconscious process. All feel it to be true, and con- sequently all liunuui beings will maintain tlieir perfect assurance of their personal identity, not merely wliile awake and actually conscious of their own existence, but even while asleep, when, at certain times, at all events, every trace of conscious- ness would seem to have disappeared. Now, from all this, it seems perfectly obvious, that a most logical scepticism is necessarily gene- rated, if we either deny or ignore our consciousness of our existence absolutely, or, in other words, of the essence of our minds — and here, indeed, we have the origin of all scepticism ; for it seems the most indisputable of all axioms, that unless we be con- scious of our own existence, we can be conscious of nothing else, since there can to us be no ''we," of which such consciousness is predicable. In what, indeed, could it possibly inhere ? There is nothing known as its subject. It would, therefore, be a consciousness which, in so far as we can discover, could inhere in nothing, since, supposing it even to inhere in something, it must be a something of which the very existence is to us, at all events, en- tirely unknown. To speak of '' ourselves," there- fore, would be to speak of an unknown existence. To say that ''we" are conscious would be to say, so far as we could know anything about the matter, that "nothing" was conscious. All expressions, in fact, implying a "self," an " intelligence," a " mind," under every aspect, and, according to every :i20 ^ HUMAN MIND AS form, would involve necessarily a contradiction in terms. There may, indeed, appear to be a sort of plausibility in the hypothesis, that we are conscious merely of the faculties and feelings, and cognitions of mind, and not of mind itself, because the theory that we can know nothing of essence, originating in a confusion betwixt its composition and its existence, has been held so long and so universally by philosophers, and has thus been so completely transfused into current literature, as to have be- come almost an intuition of habit, if we may so speak, which, as will subsequently be shewn, exer- cises so powerful an influence on the human mind ; but yet such plausibility cannot, even for a mo- ment, sustain the theory, if it be considered, that in supposing a consciousness of feelings or faculties, or states apart from any consciousness of mind absolutely, it logically and manifestly contradicts itself— since, if we are not conscious of such feelings, faculties, and states, as feelings, faculties, and states of MIND, we cannot be conscious of them at all, in- asmuch as there is no mind to be conscioiis of them, and that, consequently, under such a theory, they must be regarded as isolated phenomena, and our belief in personal identity as a delusion. Nor does there seem any possibility of doubt upon the sub- ject, since there are not two ways in which the result can. be attained. We must either be con- scious of our mental states and operations, as states and operations of mind, which necessarily and de- A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 321 monstratively implies a consciousness of mind as their subject, or else these states and operations never can be connected with a subject at all, and our belief in our existence, as well as in our per- sonal identity, must be admitted to rest on no solid foundation ; for, to suppose a consciousness of our faculties, and feelings, and cognitions j^er se, or, in other words, to suppose each faculty, and feeling, and cognition, conscious of itself, is not only absurd, but would evidently imply that they neither were connected with mhid, nor with one another, as phenomena of the same mind. The only possible philosophy, under such circumstances, would be the ideas and impressions of Hume, which could be referred to no subject, or the relations of his legiti- mate successor, Hegel, which could be referred to no absolute; nay, we go farther, and, without hesi- tation, maintain that Hume and Hegel, and their disciples, under various modifications and modes of stating the argument, are the only philosophers who have reached a legitimate conclusion under the assumption — common, we believe, to all philoso- phers — that we are not conscious of the existence of the essence of our minds. Any man who holds such a dogma, whether affirmatively or negatively, can evidently be forced, by the simplest possible logical process, to the same result. In truth, the supposi- tion of a subject being conscious of its feelings, and faculties, and cognitions, or, in other words, of its phenomenal existence, without being conscious of Y 322 HUMAN MIJvD AS its absolute existence, implies that that wliicli is unconscious of itself is conscious of the exhibitions or manifestations of itself — or, in other words, that that wliicli is unfelt and unknown, yet feels and knows the properties of itself ; and, from this, it still farther and indisputably follows, that the ex- hibitions, manifestations, and properties of a thing, are not the thing itself, but something away from it, which, assuredly, to our conceptions, is a contra- diction and an absurdity. Whereas, in truth, the very fact of our assurance of the existence of our minds, and of those minds as the subjects in which our faculties and feelings inhere, puts it beyond a doubt that we know the mind, both separately in the feeling of its existence, apart from any process, and by the only other possible means under which it can be known, viz. — by being conscious of it in the very consciousness which makes known to us our faculties and feelings themselves as modes or manifestations of it. It was just at this point where intellectual science, strictly speaking, may be said to begin, that the Kantian philosophy took a form so absolutely and fundamentally sceptical, that perhaps nothing ever equalled it in the history of scepticism, so as to render it utterly impossible to follow it forth logically without plunging into the extravagancies — though generally under the assumption, the per- fectly logical extravagancies — of Fichte, Schelling, and specially Hegel; for, as Kant holds that ex- • A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 323 perlence is to be absolutely excluded from philo- sophy, in so far as implying empiricism — or, in other words, as he holds that philosophy, in the Baconian sense of the word, is unscientific, and that theories and conjectures, therefore, are the proper instru- ments of philosophising — so it became necessary to shew, imder this assumption, how we can be- come acquainted with our feelings and faculties, or our existence, or our consciousness, or even our a 2^^'iori states and cognitions themselves, apart altogether from experience — the introduc- tion of which would, of course, scientifically vitiate the whole process. Now, this was just a necessity laid upon the sage, to shew how we could be conscious without being conscious, or know our a iwiori cognitions, without knowing them — a some- what hopeless attempt, one would imagine, though it seems to have in no way shaken the confi- dence of the Konigsberg philosopher. What, however, may be his process of reasoning for the determination of this subtle question, we do not pretend to say, seeing that even the German language, flexible as it is, cannot supply words which will convey any notion of contradictory and impossible ideas. Unintelligible, indeed, as are generally the details of Kant's philosophy, we must admit that, as to this particular, he almost outdoes himself. The only conclusion, as it would seem, that he could have legitimately drawn, was the impossibility, under such an assumption, of knowing 324 HUMAN MIND AS anything ; and though he has really, in practice, proceeded in tliis direction to a very considerable length, yet, his successors or disciples have, most logically, on his own principles, found that he might have theoretically proceeded much farther, and thus have arrived legitimately, according to the theory, at the negation of the possible knowledge of exist- ence, since a knowledge of the play of relations merely — without any knowledge or possible know- ledge of the subjects or existences in which they inhere, or from which they originate, the alone knowledge which Hegel, who has brought the system to perfection, admits — evidently involves, not merely the negation of all absolute knowledge, but the negation of eveiything which knows and admits nothing to exist except some vague form of transcendental dreams that float, nobody knows where, and nobody knows how. Assuming, therefore, along with all mankind, the practical conviction — and, consequently, of course, according to our views, the philosophical fact — which we have found to explain so many phenomena hitherto deemed inexplicable, that we are consciotis of our own existence, or, in other words, of our own minds absolutely, and, in that consciousness, know our own existence, and what it can do, it follows, that by a process which will subsequently be ex- plained, we, in this knowledge of our existence, also know non-existence, and what it cannot do. We indicate this at present, because it is a fact which A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 325 Avill be found of the utmost importance in our subse- quent arguments, but which, apart from the assurance of our consciousness of mind itself, as an absolute existence, evidently could never be reahsed. But, unspeakably important as are the direct effects of this doctrine, of our absolute consciousness of mind in detennining principles and explaining phenomena, which lie at the very foundation both of faith and practice, it A\dll be found that its indi- rect results are of no less consequence ; for, this doctrine being conceded, and we trust its truth mil no longer admit even of dispute, the more objec- tionable form of idealism, under any possible aspect, falls, without the possibility of ever being raised again, since the existence, at all events, of mind, as an actual existing subject, is determined as a fact of experimental knowledge. In so far, all dispute and possible difference is at an end, and thus the greater proportion, both of ancient and modern philosophy, ceases, at all events, to be available for any mischievous purpose, and remains merely as a curious relic of what practical absurdities men may be induced to maintain, either from a perverted love of notoriety, or an over-weening confidence in their o^\ti personal acuteness, as contrasted with the practical convictions of the rest of the human race. Nor does this same doctrine strike with less power at the grosser form of materialism; for we are told by physiologists, as an indisputable fact, that the body, in all its parts, is completely renewed every 326 HUMAN MIND AS few years, by a continual succession. In the case of persons advanced in life, consequently, every material particle of the body, or at all events of the matter known to us, and cognisible by our senses — must have been repeatedly changed — not an atom of it remains the same as in infancy, childhood, or youth. Such, being the case, it follows, that if our minds be the same throughout all our history, i.e., if the conviction of our personal identity be true, the mind must be an existence, both distinct from the matter of the body and from any effect worked out by bodily machinery ; for it is to be observed, that both the body and its machinery have been completely changed, and are different existences. Hence, even supposing that either could be con- ceived as conscious of itself, we have here not the same Ijody, nor the same machinery, so that we must sup- pose one body, or one machinery, conscious of a dif- ferent body or a different machinery — a proj^osition not only ex facie manifestly impossible, but admit- tedly inconsistent with that absolute consciousness of mind — be mind what it may — under which alone we could know mind to exist, and which assures us that the mind which we have now is the very mind which we have always had, as having been identically the same persons throughout our whole history. Materialism, under this argument, there- fore, must assume that our consciousness is not to be depended on, that human beings are not person- ally identical at different stages of their histoiy. A SEPARATE EXISTENCE. 327 and that we are, in so far different heinrjs at eveiy successive moment of our lives, and entirely differ- ent beings every successive few years, or, in other words, that elderly persons have been ten or twelve different beings since their birth. With all this, it has to account for the transmission of the conscious- ness of one being to another, and of the irresistible conviction of personal identity — which is a lie — from machine to machine, for eight, ten, or twelve suc- cessions, the conviction remaining as strong when the machine is ultimately about worn done, as when it existed in its primary form, and in some measure, therefore, actually and truly realised a material identity. The person who adopts materialism, under such a form, can hardly have much respect for the philosophy of Bacon. That the mind may sometimes decay, and always die with the body, is a conceivable hj'pothesis ; but that they are different entities is evidently certain, if v>^e be entitled to put faith in the assurances of consciousness, and the experiments of physiology. But it is the doctrine, that we are absolutely conscious of our own minds, let it be observed, which gives to this argument its irresistible force. Apart from this doctrine, the materialistic theory may, in connec- tion ^vatli the periodical renovation of the human frame, assuredly seem absurd to common sense, but w^e could not demonstrate that it is logically and experimentally impossible. Did the doctrine re- quire farther proof, it would seem to be afforded in 328 HUMAN MIND AS A SEPARATE EXISTENCE, the fact of its crusliing the opposite extremes of ideal- ism and materiaUsui, and that by no questionable arguments, but by processes of demonstration as rigid as the most strict mathematician could desire. According [to this view, and under these proofs, then, the mind is an existence of which we are cog- nisant in our consciousness of it, and which exhibits itself either absolutely, or under certain manifesta- tions which we call faculties and feehngs, as called into operation by external affections — these facul- ties and feelings, however, being nothing in any way different from the mind, but being the mind itself exliibited under different modes, and thus re- alising beliefs of various kinds, which behefs, when direct and immediate, and not ijiferential, are the only true intuitions. There are, therefore, no innate, or a priori cognitions, nor any form of cognition, which is essentially inexplicable or mystical. Every intuition, consequently, being the result of a single and immediate act of the mind, must be at once known, in its origin, as referable to a special faculty or feeling, or, in other words, to a specific mode of mind, as in sensation or memory. Whenever the origin of any cognition, therefore, is uncertain or unknown, it is in itself a proof that it is a complex idea or state, resulting in part, at all events, from reason, and thus knowm, in so far, inferentially ; to discover its origin, therefore, it must be analysed, nor need we fail in any one case, if our analysis be properly conducted. CHAPTER VII. ON SENSATION. Connection of boJy ar.cl mi ml most intimate — Amount of bodily action known by the mind — Nature of human physical instincts — Distinction betwixt them, and what are called instincts in animals — Senations originating in causes external to our organic being — Mode in which \vc become acquainted with tlicra — Delusion of Eeid and his disciples upon this subject — Singular results of their delusion — Modification of their theory by Sir W. Hamilton — Confusion betwixt relative knowledge and knowledge of existences I'elated to the mind or organic being— Error as to the nature of qualities — Distinction betwixt primary and secondary qualities considered — Knowledge of substance explained — How much, as to external existence, we know from consciousness, and how much from experience — Nature of general ideas of sensation explained — Errors of Reid and his disciples — Knowledge of space and time acquired in sensation — Error of Kant — Importance of these views — Relation of dreaming, delirium, and insanity, to sensation. It Las now been proved^ by an apparently irresis- tible train of evidence^ that we are conscious of mind absolutely, and every step that we take, in the farther prosecution of the science, will be found to ratify and confirm that conclusion. Accordingly, it is in this way that we become acquainted with our organic constitution, as creatures of a compound nature, in which matter is intimately combined and interwoven with our minds. We are not cog- nisant, however, of this organic constitution subjec- tively, as we are conscious of our minds, but are 330 SENSATION. only objectively conscious of it^ by the action of our bodies upon our niinds^ under the character which they realise in and through this intimacy of union. The process by which we thus become acquainted with body as thus united to mind is called sensation, or consciousness of organic states, and in this process is involved all our direct knowledge of external things of whatsoever kind ; and we say our direct know- ledge, because, indirectly, we become acquainted with external things, that is to say, things external to our own minds by otlier processes. By sensation alone, however, are we made directly cognisant of anything external to our own minds, and conse- quently it is a process evidently essential to the origi- nation of any mental operation whatsoever, since no existence can operate where there is nothing to ope- rate upon, and excluding a priori cognitions, w^hich, we trust, have been already proved impossible on general principles, and with respect to which we hope in our progress to be farther able to shew, that all the phenomena, usually referred to such a source, can be readily explained under the operation of our ordinary faculties — excluding these, we say, there is evidently nothing for the mind, in the first instance, to operate upon, apart from the knowledge which sensation primarily communicates. Hence it is that Philosophers have generally had their attention directed to this process, before deteinnining any- thing as to the nature of the intelligent instrument wliich is engaged in the process, and thus usually SENSATION, 831 get into j^erplexity as to the mode under which ex- ternal existence can come into contact with that instrument, so as to be apjDrehended by it — a per- plexity from which, in consequence of its resulting from confusion as to the elementary character of mental action, they find it extremely difficult to disentangle themselves. This process is carried on through the body act- ing on the mind interwoven with it, and which, from the nature of the combination, is exjDerimen- tally found to have the capability of being affected by such action. And we say, the capabihty of being affected, because, in the first instance, at all events, there is evidently no action of the mind itself, which merely receives impressions from an external cause, or, in other words, is made conscious of the action or existence of such cause. At the same time, it is not to be supposed that the mind is cognisant of all bodily action ; on the contrary, as there are many mental operations which do not appear to affect the body, so the body acts in many cases, and is even acted upon, without the cog- nisance of the mind. In the action of the spleen, for example — the bile and the kidneys — the mind is perfectly unconscious. No degree of attention or observation even, will give us the least conscious- ness of these processes. In winking, again, and inspiration, and respiration, and in the action of the heart, we are conscious of nothing directly. In- directly, indeed, and by observation, we can cognise 332 SENSATION. these processes, but only very generally, and with- out any accurate discrimination of the parts of the- processes. We know them, in fact, solely by obser- vation, and not by any act of direct and immediate consciousness. In such processes, again, as that of an infant, v/here emptiness, producing a certain state of the stomach, acts through the nervous system on the muscles of the throat and mouth, so as to produce an involuntary drawing in of the breath and compression of the lips, we have an instinctive operation of which the infant is probably only partially conscious. When, how- ever, it has discovered that by such a process its wants are made known, and its uneasiness alle- viated — in other words, when it has had experi- ence of the means of remedying the painful sensation involved in the emptiness of its stomach, it is most curious to trace the progress of the mental process, under which, the involuntary and instinctive gradually changes into a voluntary and intelligent operation, frequently exhibited in a veiy marked way, when there can be very little cause for it in any real uneasiness felt. The process, in fact, is converted into a mode, not of alleviating pain, but of realising a pleasure, until gradually, through habit, the instinctive operation ceases. It is, as it were, absorbed in the experimental and intelligent apprehension, and soon is even resisted as the infant advances in life, as a useless and disagreeable action, for which other means of attaining the object, SENSATION. 333 %vliicli it has now begun to discover, constitute suitable substitutes. The means now used for the purpose are intentional instead of instinctive — they imply the action of an intelligent being, and not merely of a living machine. In an infinite number of cases, farther, the body not only acts, but is acted upon, and it may even be by a considerable force, and yet the mind is not conscious of it. We all know, that in standing, sitting, lying, &c., we are, for the most part, perfectly unconscious of the pres- sure of the substances on which, in such cases, the various parts of our bodies rest, and some- times even considerable mental attention will not realise to us such consciousness. In the same way, sounds, smells, objects of vision, are and must be perpetually exliibited to our senses, of which we are perfectly unconscious. No doubt some of them re-appear, under the operation of memory, by a process to be afterwards explained ; but, of others, there is a positive certainty that we never could have been conscious at all. From all this, it seems very clear, that the body, jyer se, is a mere material machine which might act, and, for aught we can tell, might in a certain sense live, even supposing it unconnected with any mental intelligence. The two thus, again, are found to be perfectly separate existences, endued with qualities of a totally different and almost opposite charecter. As, however, the manifestation of consciousness in the human being implies necessarily that intelli- 334 SENSATION. gence is present as part of its constitution, so it would appear that this inteUigence must be the grand guiding principle of the material machine, and that it had been combined with it for this purpose ; and accordingly we find, that they are so intimately connected and interwoven, that, by a greater or less effort of attention, all those bodily states and actions, over which the mind can use- fully preside, may be known to, and regulated by it. These bodily processes, which operate apart from intuition, which have no mental relation or results, and which depend on purely mechanical causes, such as the action of the heart, the lungs, and the like, seem to indicate the existence of a species of animal life altogether apart from intelligence. This, however, is a subject which, although most inte- resting, is yet away from intellectual philosophy, stiictly s^jeaking, and on the consideration of which, consequently, we do not conceive ourselves entitled to enter. It is enough to say, therefore, in re- gard to these, that they have no general name, unless we were to call them involuntary functions of body, and that they indirectly affect our mental states, in their greater or less disorganisation, under which our mental feelings may, to a certain extent, be modified. There are other material processes, however, that take place in the human body, which operate also without intuition, but of which we are perfectly conscious, and which have both men- SENSATION. 235 tal relations and mental results. These are tenned instincts, and are only occasional in their action, as orio-inatinof in certain forms of uneasiness, which can be removed, as in the process previously men- tioned, which impels an infant to suck, and which indicate, more or less directly, the remedy which nature, in each case, has provided. In this way, the very character of the instinct, directs intelli- gence to the discovery of the means of gratifying the uneasiness. These physical instincts, as thus hmited, may be comprehended under hunger, thirst, and the vene- real sensation, of which the two fonner manifest themselves from bhth, the latter only at an ulterior stage in the progTess of our lives. These do not arise in causes external to the body, but in the con- stitution of the body itself as a hving machine, and we are made conscious of them in the action of the li\dng machine on its nervous system as united with our minds. But this consciousness of these bodily processes is of an entirely different character from our consciousness of mind absolutely. We are conscious of bodily processes, not as something existing i^er se, but as actions on the mind. We know that they are not the mind, and this so in- disputably, that there never was a human being who ever confused them with mental existence. All men, learned and unlearned, would practically ridicule the idea of hunger being regarded as the mind itself, or even as a something which we could 336 SENSATION. have any difficulty in discriminating from the mind. So utterly untenable^ indeed, is the idea that the thinking and feeling being cannot be distinguished from the objects of his thoughts and feelings, that it is, on the contrary, absolutely impossible, as MATTER OF FACT, TO CONFUSE THEM. Plonce We UOt only are conscious of these processes as discrimi- nated from mind, but we are conscious of them as organic operations existing in distinct and definite localities of the body. "Were this not the case, it would evidently be impossible that experience could ever teach us the determination of such locahties — a point which will be made to appear under a still more general form afterwards. There is thus an obvious difference betwixt our consciousness of purely mental feelings — wheresoever originating — and our consciousness of organic feelings; the former, as in the cases of anger, sorrow, benevolence, &c., we are conscious of — not indeed as mind itself, from which our consciousness discriminates them, but as modes of its existence, or, in other words, as affections of its absolute nature, which, therefore, have no locality out of the mind itself ; the latter, on the contrary, we are conscious of as organic states, and not states of the pure mental being, affecting the mind, therefore, indirectly, and deter- mined to special localities, when brought into con- . tact with mind under the special properties of human organisation. In these instinctive sensa- tions we have, consequently, the primary exhibition SENSATIOX. 337 of the mode, under whicli we become conscious of external existence, and which it is most singular, that intellectual philosophers have so much over- looked, as they tend to throw light on a large number of most important phenomena. Reid has, indeed, incidentally alluded to hunger, as illustra- tive of his suj^posed distinction betwixt sensation and perception ; but these instincts demand a more particular attention than can be realised in any mere incidental allusion, because, as has been said, their action implies results having an important bearing on other and ulterior phenomena, since, altliough strictly physical in their action in the first instance, there can be no doubt that all of them, and specially, that sexual impulse is connected with our mental feelino^s, and that it is modified even in its mere physical character by the influence of purely mental considerations. Of the primary phy- sical causes of these sensations we know nothing whatever, except that they imply an action by con- traction or pressure on the nerves, involving a phe- nomenon in so far analogous to, or rather identical with, the sensation of touch — the difference of the effect from that produced by ordinary touch being, no doubt, a result of the character and constitution of the special nerves affected. Hence, although Dr. E-eid has attempted — as we have already men- tioned — to illustrate his distinction betwixt sensa- tion and perception by a reference to hunger, he has not only failed, but failed by the singular mis- z 338 SENSATION. conception of confusing a supposed instinctive pro- cess with what in reahty is a* result of intelhgence. " The appetite of hunger," he says, " includes an " uneasy sensation and a desire for food,"'' evidently imagining that " the appetite of hunger " is a simple state, whereas it is indisputably compound, consti- tuted by the painful feeling arising from emptiness of the stomach, which is purely organic, with a desire to be relieved from that painful feeling, which can be the result of intelligence only; nay, the appetite of hunger even as thus constituted, it will, according to the indisputable analysis now given, be obvious, does not include "a desire for food." That is an ulterior state, generated by experience, which teaches us that food is the suitable means for removing the uneasy feeling. If, indeed, it indi- cated a desire for food, it must obviously be of some particular kind of food — as of milk, for exam- ple, vegetables, meat, &c. ; since a general notion of food, apart from the notion of any particular kind of food, is absurd, inasmuch as a general notion, however loosely the term may be employed, must embrace some kind of particular, else it would mean nothing at all. To know food, generally, therefore, without knowing any particular kind of food, is evidently a contradiction in terms. Yet, to suppose that we do know particular kinds of food — that we know milk, for example, vege- tables, meat, &c., without having been made ac- * Intellectual powers — Essay 2i.l, ch. 16. SENSATION. 339 quainted with them by experience, is not only equally absurd and contradictory, but so notoriously false, as matter of fact, that we presume no one would pretend in precise terms to affirm it. The truth is, that our only desire in hunger, as in all similar cases, is to be relieved from the uneasy feel- ing, and, as has been said, this is not a phj^sical state, but the beginning of a mental opei'ation — the mind, as an intelligent existence, necessarily believ- ing that, as suffering is not its natural state, there- fore, there must be some means of relieving it. To suppose otherwise, indeed, would be to contradict our natures. Hence, knowing that the uneasiness is removeable, whether it can find the means to re- move it or not, the intelligent desire of its removtil must of necessity be involved in the sense of the uneasiness. But while intelligence thus necessarily implies a desire to be relieved from the uneasy feel- ing involved in hunger, by suita,ble means, it can obviouslv, in the first instance, oive us no informa- tion as to what those means are. A knowledo-e of this can only be derived from experience, but the knowledge thus derived from experience is no part of the original state of hunger. That is a complex state, of which the one part is a physical feeling of pain, appertaining to the vivified machine, the other an intelligent impulse appertaining to the mental agent. Hence, the possibility which Reid supposes, in the clause immediately succeeding that previously quoted, when he says, that " the uneasi- 340 SENSATION. ^' ness and the desire may, perbajDs, be sometimes "^^ separated in reality" — i.e., that sometimes we may feel hungry without a desire of the uneasiness im- plied in such hunger being relieved — is so evidently impossible in the case of an intelligent being as to shew how carefully we must examine and re-exa- mine mental analyses, even in cases of a compara- tively simple character, ere we can be assured of their thorough accuracy. Indeed, we should never be satisfied till the conclusion be so clear as at once to carry conviction to every ordinary reader, as indisputably confirmed by his own experience. No doubt, a logical, or rather a verbal, distinction may be taken betwixt '' the uneasy sensation," and '^ our '' desire to be relieved from it," not because we can conceive them separate in an intelligent being, but because the former being the physical, and the latter the intellectual part of the one state, we can thus regard it under different aspects, directing our attention, as we may choose, more particularly to the bodily state in the one case, and to its neces- sary mental adjunct in the other. But his idea, that the mere appetite still farther '' implies a desire for '^ food," it will now be obvious, is not only incon- sistent with his previous doctrine, but involves an entire misconception of the process ; for, though '' a desire for relief " from the uneasy feeling be involved in the sensation of hunger, yet even this is a result of the necessary action of intelli- f^ence, while the " desire for food " cannot possibly SENSATION. 341 pven be an hmned'tate result of the relation of intelligence with the physical feeling, but is a sub- sequent result, altogether consequent upon ex- perience. Having once had the uneasy feeling removed by the instnimentality of food, we then '* desire food," i.e., either the veiy food of which we have participated, or something else analogous to it, and, as intelhgent beings, must do so ; but it is by the lesson of experience that we have been taught even the existence of food in any particular form. The very same observations apply to the other instinctive processes, of which it is only, under this view, necessary farther to remark, that our de- sires, in the first instance, are only for relief from uneasiness, not the realisation of enjoyment. That such relief may involve enjoyment cannot be, and we all know, as matter of fact, is not, discoverable a priori, but is known by experience only. Hence, it is very clear, that in respect of such in- stinctive or organic sensations, which are all uneasy feelings, in the first instance, we are not only con- scious of an organic cause, but we are intelligently assured of the existence of some external remedy or other for such uneasy feelings, the precise na- ture of which, again, is subsequently to be as- certained hj experience. This is a phenomenon of the most unspeakable importance, for we have in it the first traces of a species of relative know- ledge, which we shall subsequently find goes to explain many of what have been supposed the most 342 SENSATION, unaccountable phenomena of the mind, and, as un- accountable, have consequently been referred to a jyrioi^i cognitions, as if their origin were wholly un- discoverable by any references to the character and tendencies of the human mind. But it is not so, since that state which we call desire, as we have seen, is simply, in the first instance, an intelligent sense of something wanting to remedy an uneasi- ness, in so far artificial, as generated by an ex- traneous cause — and we call it desire, because there is involved in it an irresistible tendency to seek for that which nature has constituted the suitable means for relieving the pain, or craving, which distresses or annoys us. The very same process takes place in the case of super-induced pain, or bodily suffering, Avhich is an analogous species of sensation. That which we call uneasiness or pain, therefore, in the sensation, is the feeling absolutely regarded. That which we call desire is the intelligent convic- tion — that, by external means, such uneasiness may be removed, and the intelligent tendency there- from resulting — which impels us to seek the means of its removal, necessarily implies a farther be- lief that such means are attainable, else would our intelligence be a false guide, as indicating the possibility of that which, in tpie nature of things, is impossible. In fact, the tendency to seek that which we do not believe attainable, woidd imj)ly a self-contradiction in the constitution of our natures. SENSATION. 343 1 11 the very fact of intelligence urging us to seek a remedy, we have involved the belief of its possi- bility, and the hope of its realisation. The desire being a consequence of intelligence, involves the belief as the necessaiy result of such desire, the one being merely the co-relative of the other. Thus, there is here, in addition to the dh-ect knowledge acquired, an assurance, indirectly, of an ulterior something, capable of removing our uneasiness. We do not, indeed, in the first instance, know pre- cisely what the something is — for this would imply an a priori cognition to realise it ; we only feel assured that there is such a thing, if we could only attain it. This originates, evident!}^, in the appre- hension of the desire by our intelligent natures, though the determination of the mental process, under which such apprehension is ascertained, be- longs to an ulterior portion of our inquiry. In these co-relations to our primary desires, therefore — and, indeed, to all our desires — we have the in- dications of, and direction to, a now species of knowledge, which may be called a relative, or rather co-relative knowledge, to be determined precisely in its particular form, by an appeal to experience. This knowledge consists in our intelU- gent assurance of co-relations to our desires, apart from which, indeed, it is evident that we could have no precise idea of the nature of our desires them- selves, which would only be a sort of half-states, from which we should know that something was .'344 SENSATION. wanting, but have no knowledge that the some- thing wanting could be supplied. But this know- ledge, though vague and general, yet leaves us in no such imperfect state ; it clearly indicates the existence of co-relations in the reality of things, or else it would imply an absurdity to suppose, that we should ever make an effort to realise them ; and so entirely does experience sanction this con- clusion, that when the precise co-relations are dis- covered, the mere thinking on them, especially in the case of voluptuous desire, actually will origi- nate, or stimulate, the organic uneasiness, by a sort of reflex action. The knowledge, therefore, thus implied, is clearly connected with our mental states, and thus introduces us to another class of feelings, and another species of cognitions, entirely over- looked in systems of philosophy, but which will be found to involve considerations of the highest pos- sible importance — the full development of which, however, appertains to another branch of our sub- ject; and we have only introduced these remarks here, because the fact of our desires, implying co- relations, is a phenomenon essentially necessary to be observed, in order thoroughly to understand . the precise import of the organic sensations, and, farther, because we are thus enabled to trace, from the veiy beginning, the close and intimate union which subsists among our various faculties and feelings, and to ascertain their mutual bearings and relations. Hence, the very same principles ^WU be SENSATION. ;U5 found equally to apply in the explanation of those desires which are strictly spiritual, as when we are uneasy, from a sense of inferiority, dependence, injury, and the Hke. But it may farther be ob- served, in passing, that there are also secondary desires resulting from circumstances, or generated by habit — as in the case of bodily disease, when we desire to get rid of the pain and inconveniences involved in it, and of avarice, wliich originates in the deficiencies that money enables us to supply. The origin of the desire, in the former case, and the mental process in its generation, is obvious ; but the growth of the love of money, as developed in avarice, imphes more compHcated considerations, since the desire, in this case, has no direct relation to the uneasiness, and, singularly enough, ends in having no ultimate object at all — the desire being both the uneasiness itself, and the tendency urging to its gratification ! The explanation of the pheno- menon, however — which is exceedingly simple, as, in- deed, may almost already be perceived — belongs also to an ulterior branch of the subject, of which, how- ever, the analysis that has been now given consti- tutes the ground-work, and implies the principle. It must, however, be carefully observed, that these organic sensations which w^e have called in- stincts, as tending by an involuntaiy process to a definite end, differ altogether from what is usually called instinct in the lower animals. No doubt, they too feel what Ave have thus called the human 346 SENSATION. instincts of hunger, thirst, and the sexual impulse, as well as bodily pleasure and pain ; but in them, that which is usually called instinct, differs not only from those organic sensations, but also from those sudden acts of an imperfect intelligence — such as closing the eyes from a flash of light, springing backwards from an anticipated injury, and the hke — which are also frequently termed in- stincts in man. These latter, as we have said, are genuine acts of an imperfect intelligence, but the former are mere bodily affections, originating wholly in physical action. Their causes are, there- fore, mechanical and direct, and also perfectly in- telligible, if we admit — as, of course, common reason compels us to do — that body and mind are so united, that action in the physical system of the organic being is felt as pleasurable or painful, respectively, by the mind. But the effects of what is usually called instinct in the inferior animals, are not only not, in many instances, referable to any direct and immediate physical action, but involve an arrange- ment and a purpose, e\ddently the result of a per- fect and prospective reason. It has, indeed, been attempted to ex23lain them by physical impulse, but the attempt has utterly failed. To illustrate the phenomenon, let us take the best known and simplest examples: — Each species of bird, then, builds its nest from the same materials, apparently the most suitable for its purpose in each case — in the same shape, apparently the most suitable for SENSATION. 347 their various forms — and the kinds of their eggs, and in similar phices, apparently the most suitable for their respective habits, and ultimate ends. Suppose, then, that a physical feeling in the genera- tion of the egg caused an uneasy sensation, the only co-relative, as in the instincts of man, would be a desire to get quit of such feeling. But how could this teach birds to build nests, and suitable nests, and of the most suitable materials, and in the places most suitable for quiet and safety? How could such a feeling be possibly co-relative to building nests at all ? Why should they not lay their eggs anywhere, and without any reference to an ultimate end 'i Why should they guard them with the most unremitting care 1 sit on them 1 turn them at the ]3roper times ? feed and watch over their offspring 1 train up their young ones carefully to the proper age, and then leave them altogether — their whole tenderness apparently vanishing with the need of it ? To attempt ex- plaining all tliis by physical impulse is absurd. To explain it by assuming birds to possess prospec- tive reason seems impossible, seeing that the very creatures having this instinct most strong, seem in all other cases to exhibit the least approach to any power of combination, arrangement, or foresight, and never manifest the least tendency to improve- ment — the youngest birds which have had no ex- perience, and which, consequently, are without the means of exercising reason, going through with 348 SENSATION. facility and excellence the whole process, just ay well as those who have been habituated to it for years. Again, bees leave their hives, collect wax for their cells, which they build thereof with mathema- tical precision, go forth again and gather honey to be stored in those cells, which are adjusted so as to be most perfectly prepared to receive it. Over all this work, a leader, selected by themselves, has pre- sided, while — at the season when the means of pro- viding honey has passed away, and the necessity is apparent of preserving all the store w^ith the utmost economy for the winter — the drones, comparatively few in number, are killed by the more numerous stinged masses, under an evident mutual under- standing and combination. Now, suppose some uneasy sensation to drive them from their cells, and the smell of the flowers to attract them to the receptacles of wax and honey, what bodily uneasiness could induce them to load their bodies therewith 1 and to carry the w^ax and honey back to their hives? Suppose the shajDO of their bodies led to the philosophically accurate formation of their cells, what bodih' impulse could lead them to form cells at all ? why not lay aside their wax and honey anywhere, especially when wearied with the burden of bearing it 1 What bodily impulse could lead them to select a queen 1 or, with such per- tinacious and combined bitterness, to assail their unarmed companions, just at the time that ex- perience would have taught them that the means of SENSATION. 349 sustenance might prove insufficient 1 That bodily or physical impulse will not explain these things, is evident. That the reason of the insect will not explain them is equally so, seeing that reason is a universal faculty applying not in one case, but in all cases of a similar kind, while in no other par- ticular do these insects seem to possess it, at least with reference to prospective results. Experience, in fact, in no measure improves them. Although, therefore, the arrangement and purpose manifested in their processes seem necessarily referable to reason, it evidently cannot be their own reason. How the reason of another should operate on them, and through them, we cannot thoroughly explain, although the source of that reason, and the power by which it is applied, may be made perfectly manifest. This, however, constitutes no part of our present subject, and we have merely introduced these remarks as to the nature of animal instinct here, in order to make it understood, that it is quite a different thing from that which we have called human instinct, and \vith which it is some- times most erroneously confused. Human instincts are either merely imperfect manifestations of rea- son, or else are purely physical operations originat- ing a sense of uneasiness or pleasure in the organic being, and thus generating intelligent desires for their removal or continuance respectively — the pre- cise means through which this may be done being deteiminable by experience. 350 SENSATION. These observations, as to what may be called the interior senses, will open a way for the considera- tion of our external sensations, through which we acquire a knowledge of the world without, as a subject which has been supposed to involve insuper- able difficulties, and with respect to which the various forms of attempted analysis have assuredly been most unsatisfactory during the whole history of intellectual philosophy. The chief of these diffi- culties — which regards the mode in which we become assured of external existence, though previously known and felt — was first brought out in its fulness by Berkeley, in his theory of vision, and other works, wherein he proves, that, under the assumption then more or less definitely admitted, there was no good ground for believing in an external world at all. That assumption implied that ideas were something that came to the mind, distinct from the states of mind themselves, and that consequently our ideas of external existence were some tertium quid through which external existence is coo-nisable bv the mind, and through which alone, therefore, external exist- ence could become known to it. Under such an assumption it is clear that the mind never could get beyond the ideas of which it is alone supposed to be conscious, so as to connect them with an external world, and could never, therefore, logically get at an external world at all. This is an obvious demonstra- tion, which, under the assumption there is no possibi- lity of either denying or evading. Of course, Hume SENSATION. 351 consequently adopted it, and extended the applica- tion of the arofument to internal as well as external existence ; for, if we have only ideas of internal ex- istence — if, in other words, mind is only known to us by the intervention of something else, whatever that something may be — it is clear that we cannot know mind itself, and, consequently, nothing abso- lute, even as to its existence, can be predicated of it. This came to be ideas knowingr- themselves — there was nothing else for it. The system was, in tnith, the most perfect scepticism, and, as such, was con- tested by two eminent waiters about the same time, in very different quarters of the world. Kant, in Germany, in endeavouring to subvert its conclusion, unwarily adopted its principles in even a still more objectionable form, and thus rendered his own con- verse conclusion a positive contradiction in terms — for Hume's argument, as we have seen, admitting his principles, is manifestly incontrovertible. Ac- cordingly, the chief disciples of the German philo- sopher have logically followed forth the principles of their master, only repudiating his conclusion, and thus necessarily brought us back to the very scepti- cism from which he desired to relieve us. Reid, in Scotland, on the other hand, desired to repudiate the principles of Berkeley and Hume, and, in at- tempting to shew how this was to be done, he divided the process under which w^e become ac- quainted with external existence into two parts, which he called, respectively, sensation and percep- 352 SENSATION. tion. "Sensation," he says, "is a name given by " philosophers to an act of mind, which may be dis- " tingiiished from all others by this, that it hath no " object distinct from the act itself ;"'' and, to illus- strate this, he goes on to say — " Pain of every kind " is an uneasy sensation : when I am pained, I can- "not say that the pain I feel is one thing, and "that my feeling it is another thing."'' Now, whether this be true or not, the assumption might, at all events, have led Dr. Reid to the important conclusion that he was conscious of the mind feel- ing, as well as the pain felt — a conclusion which would have at once relieved him from many em- barrassments. But his illustration is utterly use- less for the object which he has in view ; for, al- though the pain and the feeling of pain were not distinguishable, the pain and the desire to be re- lieved from it, which is its real object, not only can readily be distinguished, but, in so far, must be logically distinguished, if we are at all to under- stand the phenomenon. In truth, the very idea of pleasure or pain being felt without involving an object, seems ex facie absurd, since pleasure, which did not, in an intelligent being, imply a de- sire for its continuance, and pain, a desire for its removal, as their objects would, in the case of such a being, neither be the one nor the other, in the sense in which we understand the terms. Yet, though the illustration given by Dr. Reid be thus * Intellectual powers — Essay Gtli, cL. I — Sec. 12. •• Do. do. SENSATION. 353 unfounded and inapplicable, there is no doubt tliat ordinary sensations — neither involving pleasure nor pain, if there be any such — could have no objects ; but this is, under the same circumstances, equally true of many other states of mind. A recollection, for example, neither impl^dng pleasure nor pain, if this were possible, could have no object. A conclusion in an argument, in the same way, con- sidered absolutely, could have no object. The same thing holds true in any number of cases ; but, though it be thus manifest that Dr. Reid's test for the discrimination of sensation from other acts of mind be eiToneous, yet we can easily enough understand that his purpose is to represent sensation as a mental state, which originates, in- deed, in the action of some external quality on our senses, but is ^newed as apart from its origin, and regarded merely as a mental feeling. According to him, therefore, that portion of the process which realises the mental state, and which he calls sen- sation, neither recognises nor imphes any external cause, which he supposes to be done by another mental act which he calls perception. " In a word," he says, "perception is most properly ap- " plied to the evidence which we have of external " objects of our senses.'"' And again, after repeat- ing what he means by sensation, he proceeds — ■ " Perception has always an external object, and "the object of my perception in the case supposed, * Intellectual powers — Essay 1st, cli. 1, sec. 6. AA 354 SENSATION. " is that quality in the rose which I discover by " the sense of smell. Observing that the agreeable "sensation is raised when the rose is near, and *' ceases when it is removed, I am led by my nature " to conclude some quahty to be in the rose which " is the cause of this sensation. This quality in " the rose is the object perceived ; and that act of " my mind, by which I have the conviction and be- " lief of this quality, is what, in this case, I call "perception."^ This distinction betwixt sensation and perception is regarded by Dr. Reid himself, and most of his followers, as one of his most im- portant discoveries. " It was chiefly in consequence " of the sceptical conclusions which BishojD Berke- " ley and Mr. Hume had deduced from the ancient "theories of perception," says Mr. D. Stewart, " that Dr. Reid was led to call them in question ; " and he appears to me to have she^^Ti, in the most " satisfactory manner, not only that they are per- " fectly hypothetical, but that the suppositions they " involve are absurd and impossible. His reason- " ings, on this part of our constitution, undoubtedly "form the most important accession which the " philosophy of the human mind has received since " the time of Mr. Locke."'' Yet, in point of fact, so far are these reasonings from effecting their in- tended pui-pose, that, supposing them to be all conceded, they do not really meet the sceptical * Intellectual powers — Essay 2d, cli. IG. •> Elements of the Philosopliy of the Human Miml, ch. 1st, sec. 3. SENSATION. 355 argument at aU, since it is quite a mistake to sup- pose that that argument is necessarily dependent on the peculiar theory of ideas which Berkeley and Hume assumed as universally recognised in their own age, it being equally valid under any theory which recognises mediate or representative know- ledge of external existence, one form of which theory was indisputably held by Reid himself, as is mani- fest from the tenor of his whole writings, and is, in- deed, formally avowed in the following passage, where he says — " It is likewise a law of our np.ture " that we perceive not external objects, unless cer- "tain impressions be made by the object upon the '' organ, and by means of the organ upon the nerves " and brain ; but of the nature of these impressions "we are perfectly ignorant, and, though they are " conjoined with perception by the will of our " Maker, yet it does not appear that they have " ANY NECESSARY CONNECTION WITH IT IN THEIR OWN "nature, far less that THEY CAN BE THE PROPER "efficient cause of it. We perceive, because " God has given us the power of perceiving, and "not because we have impressions from objects. "We perceive nothing without these impressions, " because our Maker has limited and circumscribed " our powers of perception by such laws of nature "as to his wisdom seemed meet, and such as suited "our rank in his creation."" Sensation and per- ception, and perception and the impressions made ' Intellectual powers — Essay 2d, ch. 4. 356 SENSATION. by objects upon the organs, being thus separated so as to have no necessaiy connection with one an- other, but being conjoined merely by intuitive, innate, or a 'priori cognitions implanted in us by "the will of our Creator," it follows as a matter of demonstration, that these cognitions, and not ex- ternal existence, is all that can be really known to us. The knowledge is a representative and mediate knowledge, so that the sceptical argument applies to it in full force, and the theoiy would, therefore, have suited Berkeley and Hume just as well as that which they adopted, involving as it does the only point on which the validity of their reasoning depends ; for, if instead of knowing external ob- jects themselves — as every one believes that he does, and as even Reid admits elsewhere that we do — it be conceded that this belief is not true, how are we to have any dependence on any other belief, how- ever universal or irresistible it may be % Berkeley and Hume never maintained that men practically had no reason to believe in an external world, whether that belief is to be referred to intuition or any other cause ; on the contrary, they assumed the fact as true, under the universal convictions of man- kind, and admitted it in thus far to be true — they only denied to such belief any logical validity — they maintained it to be an error, however universal and irresistable — and thence Hume, at all events, argued, and logically argued, that the very incon- sistency betwixt the irresistible belief, and the SENSATION. 357 rational conclusion was the surest proof in favour of scepticism, seeing that it necessarily called into question the veracity of God. And so far is Reid from answering this — nay, so far is he even from understanding it — that he actually attributes to the direct will of God a belief which that same God, according to his owai admission, deceives us into the iiTesistible conviction of being our own and im- mediate ; thus, in so far as we can see, actually sanc- tioning, in the strongest terms, Hume's conclusion, ^\^thout actually drawing it, — nay, in truth, Reid's theor}^ is more absurd and untenable than Hume's, since, if the ^'impressions made by external objects" have nothing to do mth our "perceptions," then, from whence do these "perceptions" come ? And, if again these "perceptions" have nothing neces- sarily to"do with our "sensations," then, once again, from whence do these "sensations" come'? The sensations, it is clear, must be merely intuitive feel- ings too — not acts of consciousness, be it observed, but strictly cognitions a j^'^^iori, purely mental and arbitraiy states of mind, which start up when cer- tain ^external objects, of which we know nothing, are placed 'in certain circumstances, of which we know nothing, but having no " necessary connec- "tion," nor, indeed, any connection at all with such objects, the concurrence of the two together being merely a manifestation of " the will of our Maker." If it were not for this arbitrary appointment of God, who "has thus hmited and circumscribed our 358 SENSATION. ^' powers of perception," there seems no reason, ac- cording to Dr. Reid, in the nature of the case, why we might not perceive without any sensation, or have sensPctions when there was nothing to perceive. Hence the absurdities which we find in a passage previously quoted, where he says — " Observing that " the agreeable sensation is raised when the rose is ''near, and ceases when it is removed, I am led " by my nature to conclude some quality to be in " the rose w^hich is the cause of this sensation. This '' quality in the rose is the object perceived."'' Now, if he had said — ''the quality out of the rose" is "the object perceived," it would have been a pro- position sufficiently erroneous, under the sense which he attaches to the word quality ; but yet it would have been in so far an approximation to the truth, since it is assuredly nothing " in the rose" that we sense by smell, but something that comes "out" of it, and acts directly on the olfactoiy nei^es. But farther, it is evident that in this passage he indi- cates the same thing, both as cause and object, or, in other words, as cause and consequence. He evidently regards the quality as the cause of the sensation and the object of the perception ; but, if it be the cause of the sensation, surely it must have acted on the mind, or else we have a cause which does not operate upon the subject in connection with which it produces the effect, and, if it has acted on the mind, then it must have been felt, or, * Intelleeluiil powers — Essay 2d, ch. 16. SENSATION. ;^5f) in Other words, we must have been conscious of it. This, however, having been the case, it must neces- sarily have been perceived, for the process neces- sarily makes feeling and perception the same thing, or, at all events, involved in one another. Hence, therefore, it must have been the cause, and not the object of perception, unless, indeed, we suppose per- ception to have no cause, but to be an a priori or rather a miraculous coo-nition indicatina: a certain particular object, having itself no connection with mind w^hatever — under w^liich supposition every thing falls into utter confusion, and all human his- tory is reduced to a series of supernatural phenomena in the realisation of a system which ends in sub- stantive pantheism. We shall subsequently find that something like this theory, extraordinary as it may appear, is actually proposed by Dr. E-eid, in explanation of another and very important mental process. But, farther, when Dr. Reid says — " Ob- ^' servinof that the asfreeable sensation is raised ^' wdien the rose is near, and ceases when it is re- ^' moved, I am led, &c.," he forgets, that, if there be no ''necessary connection " betwixt '' the percep- " tion" and the " external impression on the " organs," it is impossible that he can, in any case, discover whether the rose be near or far off? He does not perceive the rose in reality, be it observed ; for, between the " impression on the organs" and the "perception," there is no ''necessaiy connec- '' tion." It is a purely arbitraiy connection, resulting 360 SENSATION. from tlie direct act of the Creator ; in other words^ the connection of the two is not a "necessary," but an '* arbitrary" beHef He only knows, therefore, that some external thing causes the sensation, so that it seems impossible to connect the sensation with any special object, there being, indeed, to us, no special object, nor objects of any kind — as we shall presently shew more particularly — under which we can be en- abled either to distinguish a rose from anything else, or its nearness from its distance. Our determination of distance we know to be a result of exj^erience; but, under this theory, experience is impossible, un- less we hold that a direct act of God's power inter- venes miraculously in each case, to connect sensa- tions with their sj^ecial objects. But, besides that this would imply, in its ultimate results, the worst of all scepticism, as matter of fact, the reference which we make of our sensations to external objects is frequently wrong. We refer them to the wrong objects, so that — assuming the possibility of an in- tuition, or direct supernatural cognition, which would teach us the precise object to which each sensation applied — it is clear, that it would be an intuition which could not be confided in, and a super-human cognition which frequently deceives us. But, to sum up the almost unlimited extent of absurdity and inconsistency to which this theory necessarily leads, it is obvious that it would imply our reference of our sensations to external objects, not one of which, by the veiy nature of the theory SENSATION. 3f)l itself, could we see, hear, touch, taste, or smell — since, if we could thus identify any one of them, we would, in the very act, identify sensation and perception also. If we saw, or heard, or touched the thing itself, and were conscious of the opera- tion, then there could be no use, and no possibility of a representative intuition or supernatural cogni- tion, or any tertium quid whatever, in order to recognise it. The sensation and perception would become one in the act of consciousness, and the act would, consequently, be direct and immediate. Any species of intuition or cognition, apart from consciousness, might, indeed, give us a perfect conception of an object a priori, but could not, possibly, make known to us the object itself in itself. It follows, consequently, under this theory, that we cannot become acquainted with any ex- ternal object, or with the actual existence of an ex- ternal world at all. The behef of our actually perceiving external objects must, therefore, be a perfect delusion. Unless we be conscious of them as existence, we cannot, it is evident, by possibility perceive them. All other intuitions or cognitions are, for this purpose, indisputably unavailing. The theoiy, consequently, resolves itself into this, that perception identifies existences, which we do not perceive, with sensations which have no " necessary " connection " with them, and discrimin9,tes exis- tences from one another, of none of which we are conscious, and with which, in themselves, we are 362 SENSATION. altogether unacquainted. Sucli being the demon- strative result of his fundamental theory of percep- tion, we need hardly wonder that Reid's philoso- phy has failed to explain the processes of the human mind, and has nailed down the science to all liis followers, as a series of dogmatic assumptions for which there is no proof, and a series of dogmatic in- tuitions which preclude all attempts at farther analy- sis of the phenomena. It is, indeed, quite true — and this must be carefully observed, or Dr. Keid's theory can never be understood at all — that he sometimes speaks of our belief in external existence as imme- diate ; but, in such cases, he does not mean that we are conscious of external existence — which, as we have already seen, is in direct opposition to his theory, and is, indeed, an assumption which he never seems even to have contemplated — but that we have an intuitive belief in it, and not a belief in any way depending on reason, — nay, he may sometimes even appear to indicate that, in the in- tuition, by some unaccountable process, we actually perceive the object; but this is merely an incon- sistency into which the very error of his theory irresistibly, though unconsciously, forces him. It implies, indeed, a proposition positively contra- dictory and impossible ; for, though it is perfectly possible that an intuition or cognition might give us an accur8|»te conception of an external object, yet it is impossible that such conception could be a per- ception of the actual existing object in itself, except SENSATION. 3()3 WE WERE CONSCIOL'8 OF IT IN THE SENSATION, sinCG, by the very supposition, it is knoT\Ti only, and not felt. But he falls into the inconsistency — as has been said, from being forced, in opposition to his theory, into an indirect recognition of the practical truth — that we know external existence directly by consciousness, and not through any intuitive or representative medium ; and consequently it w^ould follow, were this recognition realised in its legiti- mate conclusion, that sensation and perception are not two processes, but that in the sensation we feel the external object itself, and are conscious of it, apart from the intervention of any medium whatever. Dr. Brown — professedly, at all events — repudi- ated Beid's theory of a double process, in attaining our knowledge of external existence. He, in the first instance, refers our belief in external existence to w^hat he terms '^ the suggesting or associating " principle,"" by which, in so far as in tliis case it has any meaning, w^e must suppose that he means reason. In so far, therefore, no doubt he has got quit of Beid's eiTor, but it is by falling into en^ors, equally untenable, of his own. In truth, this reference of the origin of our belief in an external world to " suggestion" seems perfectly absurd, as evading altogether the very point of difficulty, and thus giving us no explanation of the matter at all. He says — " when the fragrance of a rose, therefore, • Biowu's Lectures — Lecture xxv. 364 SENSATION. *' has been frequently accompanied with the sensa- " tions of vision that arise when the rose is before " us, or with the muscular and tactual sensations *' that arise on handling it, the mere fragrance of " itself will afterwards suggest those sensations, and " this suggestion is all which, in the case of smell " instanced by Dr. Reid, is termed the perception " as distinguished from the sensation." '^ But this, it is manifest, takes the whole question for granted. We instantly ask, from whence we got the know- ledge of that " fragrance of the rose " which " has been frequently accompanied wdth the sensations of vision r' According to this theory, in order to realise external existence, we must know cer- tain perceptions coming from without, by a re- ference to other perceptions coming from the same thing, and previously known; but supposing the theory possible in other respects, w^hich it is not, it gives us not the least notion of the real point W'hich we desire to know, viz. : — how we got at the perceptions "previously know^n." From whence had we the sensations of vision, or the muscular and tactual sensations that he speaks of? Unless some one of these, at all events, can be refeiTed to a different principle, so as to constitute a foundation for discovering the rest, it is clear that his explanation is a complete circle, and con- sequently, that as he explains our reference of the odour of a rose to a rose, by appealing to our 'Brown's Lectures — Leeluic xxv. SENSATION. 3G5 previous knowledge of the rose by vision, so he must explain our reference of the colour of a rose to a rose, by appealing to our previous knowledge of the rose, from smell. Yet, so far is he from laying such a foundation that, on the contrary, he foiTiially maintains our reference of all sensations to external objects, as exphcable on the same prin- ciple. " It is only in a single class of sensations, " therefore," he says — "that which Reid ascribes to "touch — that perception which he regards as a " peculiar faculty, extending to all our sensations, "can be said to have Siwj lyrimary operation, even " though we should agree with him in supposing " that our belief of extended resistance is not re- " ducible, by analysis, to any more general princi- "ples. If, however, my analysis of the complex " notion of matter be just, perception, in its relation " to our original sensations of touch, as much as in its " relation to the immediate feelings irhich ice derive "from smell, taMe, ligJit, and hearing, is only one of " the many operations of the suggesting or associating "principle."^ Whether, however, Dr. Brown more or less consciously felt, that this circulating proof was somewhat of a weak ground on which to rest our behef of an external world, or from whatever cause, certain it is, that without, in the first instance at all events, admitting a double process, he subse- quently falls back, after all, for an explanation of the phenomenon, as a single process, on Reid's * Brown's Lectures — Lecture xxv. 3GG SENSATION. ground of an a priori cognition, which he had previously altogether repudiated, or, in other words, he exjolains it by refemng it to the arbitrary wall of God. '' That the connection of the feeling of " extension," he says, " with a corporeal substance *' really existing without, depends on the arbitrary "■ arrangement made by the Diety ; and that all of " tvhich ive are conscious Tiiiylit, therefore, have ex- " istecl, as at iwesent, though no external cause had '' been — Dr. Reid, who ascribes to an intuitive '' principle our belief of an external universe, virtu- " ally allows ; and this very admission surely im- " plies that the notion does not directly and " NECESSARILY INVOLVE THE EXISTENCE OF ANY PARTI- '^ CULAR CAUSE, whatever it may be in itself, by which " the Deity has thought proper to produce the " corresponding feeling of our mind."'' From which it follows, that Dr. Brown holds our belief in ex- ternal existence to be merely an intuitive conviction or super-human cognition, having no real and ab- solute connection with the external v^^orld, but by some unaccountable process,- deluding us into an assurance that we really perceive external objects and are conscious of them — though how a mental intuition, or even super-human cognition, could direct us to a special external object — and Dr. Brown must assume this, since he is no sceptic m the usual sense of the word — or how it could assure us of that which we suppose we perceive, when, in " Brown's Lectures — Lecture xxvi. SENSATION. 3G7 reality, we do not perceive it — or how this should happen in the first process of perception and not in all subsequent processes, for it seems to be limited by him in this way, under his theory of suggestion — or how such a series of delusions and deceptions can be reconciled with an assumption of the veracity of our irresistible beliefs and the truth of God — he not only does not inform us, but it is evident that no such information could be given. Between Brown's theory, thus supplemented, and Beid's, there is, therefore, no substantive difference ; but, in so far. Dr. Brown does more than his prede- cessor, in venturing to tell the reason under which this strange theory has been adopted, for he says — '^ In the series of states in which the mind has ' existed from the first moment of our life to the ' present hour, the feelings of extension, resistance, 'joy, sorrow, fragrance, colour, hope, fear, heat, ' cold, admiration, resentment, have often had ' place ; and some of these feelings it has been ' impossible for us not to ascribe to a direct ex- ' ternal cause ; but there have not been in the ' mental series—ivhich is all of ivhich ive can he con- ' scious — both that feeling of the mind, which we ' term the perception of extension, and also body ' itself, as the cause of this feeling ; for body, ' as an actual substance, cannot he a i:)a7i, of the ' consciousness of the mind ivhich is a different suh- ' stance. It is sufficient for us to believe that there ' are external causes of this feeling of the mind, 3G8 SENSATION. *' permanent and independent of it, which produce, ^' in regular series, all those phenomena that are '^ found by us in the physical events of the universe, " and with the continuance of which, therefore, our " perceptions also will continue. We cannot truly " suppose more U'ithout conceiving our very notion " of extension, a mental state, to he itself a body ex- " tended, ivhich we have as little reason to suppose " as that our sensation of fragrance, another mental "state, is itself a fragrant body."'' His notion, therefore, is, that to suppose us conscious of ex- ternal existence, would be to suppose " body as an " actual substance, a part of the consciousness of " the mind," and " our notion of extension, a men- ^'tal state, to be itself a body extended." That such a theory had long existed in the philosophical world, and that Brown had, therefore, the sanction of all ages to this assumption, is perfectly true, though how it took its rise, or upon what ground it is maintained, it seems perfectly impossible to discover. Assuredly, it has no appearance even of foundation in fact. Consciousness, meaning re- alised consciousness, is simply a species of feeling or knowledge, so that if the proj)Osition have any sense at all, it must be that that which we feel or know becomes itself absolutely a jDortion of the mental feeling or faculty which feels or knows it. Now, setting aside for a moment, the utter groundlessness of such a notion, we should like to " Brown's Lectures — Lecture xxvi. SENSATIOX. HGJ) ask those who repudiate scepticism, and yet main- tain such a theory, what distinction, in respect to this matter, they draw betwixt consciousness and intuition ? If conscious knowledge imply that the external existence of which we are conscious is a part of consciousness, why should not intuitive knowledge imply that the external existence whicli we intuite is a part of the intuition 1 In truth, the assumption is not only groundless, but absurd. Consciousness does not take the objects of which we are conscious into itself, so as to make such objects part of itself, or, in their essence, parts of a mental state, but realises them only as objects of knowledge WITHOUT ITSELF. The mind does not know the sub- stantive composition of the external object ev^en, but only the power of that composition, whatever it may be in its action upon itself. Consciousness is not, therefore, a receptacle — as Kant has supposed, and as is, in some sense, adopted in this theory — which receives external things of any kind into itself, but a capacity or competency to know the power of that which is external in relation to itself. Hence, when Dr. BroTVTa says, that "sensation ''may exist without reference to an external cause, " in the same manner as we may look at a picture " without thinking of the painter,"'' — a conclusion which evidently follows from his premises — it is manifest that he not only confuses sensation with THE RECOLLECTION OF A SENSATION, but he SCeUlS SO * Brown's Lectures — Lecture xxv. B B 370 SENSATION. close on Reid's distinction betwixt sensation and perception, that there is hardly a difference in their views discoverable. He, indeed, in words, avoids the double intuition of Reid, but it is by giving to his own intuition a sort of double operation. He supposes that it gives us a sensation on the one hand, and, on the other, directs us, when we attend to it, to the external existence which is, according to him, the occasion, but not the cause, of the existence of such sensation. We need hardly say that this theory, under whatever aspect it be re- garded, leads as directly and as indisputably to scepticism as Reid's, in so far as it thus introduces an intuition distinct from consciousness, and that of a very complicated character, betwixt the object and the sensation — since, if there really be such an intuition, then it is manifest and indisputable that we cannot know those external objects which our natures irresistibly compel us to believe that we do know, but only the intuition which is the medium that is assumed as existing between them, or rather as giving to the mind an indirect assurance that some external object corresponding to the sensa- tion exists. Sir W. Hamilton was the first who hinted the doctrine of attributing our belief in external exis- tence to consciousness. The process by which he arrived at this conclusion was somewhat singular. Brown had maintained that Dr. Reid " assumed *'the existence of an external world beyond the SENSATION. 371 '' sphere of consciousness, exclusively on the ground *^ of our irresistible belief in its unknown reality." In this he was undoubtedly right — for Reid has distinctly told us that our perceptions inform us of external existence, not ''from any necessary con- ''nection subsisting between them, i.e., between " the external bodies and the perception, but merely " from the arrangement which the Deity in his " wisdom has chosen to make of their mutual phe- " nomena."'' And, indeed, his theory of the double process of sensation and perception precludes even the possibility under that theory of our being conscious of external existence. Hamilton, how- ever, overlooking this in the vehemence of his argument, and mistaking, as we have already seen, the sense in which Reid uses the word " imnie- " diate," affirms, in opposition to Dr. Brown, that Reid, in some way or other — which he does not, and, indeed, could not have explained under the sensation and perception process — had held the doc- trine of immediate or actual consciousness of ex- ternal existence. It is no great wonder, therefore, that under such circumstances he had no very clear idea either of Reid's meaning, or of the mode under which his own explanation of it could be realised ; accordino'ly he manifests this in tlie most strikino* manner, in supposing that we are only conscious of the QUALITIES of external existence, as of something, whatever it be, distinct from external existence it- " Brown's Lectures — Lecture xxv. 372 SENSATION. self. That we must be conscious of external ex- istence somehow or other, and that there can be no representation or medium betwixt us and it, or else that it never can be known at all, Hamilton has made perfectly clear, so as thoroughly to satisfy every one who thinks on the subject, which, indeed, only requires to be definitely stated in order to carry full conviction to every one possessed of or- dinary intelligence, since we feel that the explana- tion harmonises with our irresistible feelings, and consequently we cannot, even if we were willing, withhold our practical assent from it. But, in say- ing that qualities as contixi-distinguished from ex- ternal existence itself, are the objects of our con- sciousness, he not only falls into error, but into the very same error from which he appeared to have escaped, and into the very same absurdity which he had exposed. Distracted by a variety of verbal distinctions — such as " absolute and total, relative " and partial, vicarious and representative, presen- " tative and intuitive," he has confused betwixt the possibility of our knowing the composition, or, if we may so speak, the entity of essence, and the possibility of our knowing essence itself as a some- thing existing in relation to our minds. To under- stand clearly how this should have been the case, we must remember, that the ancient philosophers, as was formerly mentioned, were mainly desirous of discovering the absolute nature, composition, or entity of essences. They wanted to understand SENSATION. .373 how things come to be what they are. The same notion, as was also observed, continued during the middle ages, and it was only when physical science began to assume something like form and shape, that the absurdity of such attempts became recog- nised. In developing this conclusion, however, as usual on such occasions, when the actual process was very imperfectly understood, language of an extremely inaccurate and vague character was em- ployed in regard to it. It came to be said, that we could onty know qualities and not essences, and this seems even to have been thought by many to be a proposition implying a veiy great and funda- mental truth, and, indeed, such is the general im- pression up to the present day ; but yet, so far is it from being true, that, on the contrary, it is a proposition absolutely impossible and contradictory, and, as assumed, has seriously retarded the progress of pliilosophical science. For, however startling it may, at first sight, appear, we maintain as indisput- able, that essence and its qualities arc the same thing, \dewed under diiferent aspects, and in relation to different circumstances ; in other words, we speak of essences, when we speak of existences absolute- ly; we call those same essences — or at least what we know of them — qualities when we speak of the forms under which we know them, and these quali- ties, again, we call powers, when we speak of them in relation to their action on other things. Wlien, for example, we speak of matter absolutely, we call 374 SENSATION. it an essence; but, when we speak of that same MATTER as known to us, we say tliat it has the quahty of hardness ; and, when we farther speak of it in its capacity of acting on our organism, we say that it has the power of affecting us with the sen- sation of hardness. This quahty or power of hard- ness, however, is evidently nothing distinct from matter, but merely a name expressive of certain re- lations which matter has to us as sentient beings. It is matter itself, in fact, in relation to one of our senses, or to some other existence. Wliile, therefore, we do not and cannot, by touch, know the absolute nature, or composition, or entity of matter, we do assuredly know by it the essence of matter, in so far as matter stands in a certain relation to our sen- tient being. But, it must be carefully observed — for here the imperfection of language renders us specially liable to error — that the knowdedge which we thus have of essence, though undoubtedly the knowledofe of a relation betwixt matter and our minds, is not, therefore, a relative knowledge. These tw^o propositions, though perpetually con- fused together by philosophers, and the source of much of their misconception on the subject, are utterly different, and imply totally diiferent things. To have a knowleda^e of the relation of one thins: to another, is to have an absolute knowledge of it, so far as it goes. It is to know, absolutely, how the two stand connected with each other, and how they operate on each other. To have a relative SENSATION. 375 knowledge of a thing, again, if the expression have any meaning, is to know it by a representative or symbol ; in other words, it is not to know the thing absolutely and directly, but, somehow or other, in- directly. In this way, though our knowledge of hardness be the knowledgre of matter in relation to our minds, it is not a relative knowledge attained by the intervention of something called a quality — such a supposition w^ould just be to fall back again on the old tertiuiii quid, for, in such a case, assum- ing that we could be assured of the quality, this is evidently all that we could know. There could be no possible means of connecting the quality with the ESSENCE. In fact, this just converts qualities into the images which were assumed by Hume and his predecessors, coming from bodies to the human mind, as the medium of communication between them — so that, under such a theory, again, we must end in scepticism. But it may be said, that, although this identifica- tion of essence with quality may, indeed, be obvious enough in the case of hardness, yet it does not follow that the same thing can be proved ^dth re- spect to the other senses. Here, indeed, undoubt- edly, was the origin of the confusion, and yet we cannot help thinking, that under the views that we have now been developing, the matter is exceed- ingly clear. In every instance it will be found that it is of essence in quality, and not of some quality coming betwixt us and essence, that we are con- 37 C) SENSATION. scions. When, for example, we taste, it is surely the food which we taste itself. It will not be main- tained that it is something which we call a quality that we taste, distinct and different from tlie food. Taste, a flavour, is, indeed, merely the action of certain particles of the food itself on our palates, and is eftected by touch ; and, although the essence thus affecting the palate, acts upon different nerves, and, therefore, thus far, with a different result, yet it could act, no doubt, on the ordinary organ of touch, in the ordinary way, supposing it brought to bear thereon with sufacient force. In the same way, when we hear, for example, the sound of a bell, it is not, strictly speaking, the object itself, i.e., the boll, which we hear, but the strokes of the air set in motion by it, and acting by touch on the drum of the ear, so as to affect certain other nerves suitable for producing the sensation which we call sound. In this case, the action of the external matter on our ordinary organ of touch is perfectly apparent, and it would, no doubt, be felt and appreciated as touch, were the force a little greater, or, at all events, did it affect a portion of our bodies more sensible to touch. In smell, again, it is not a quality as distinguished from essential matter that we smell, but certain particles of matter itself coming from an oderiferous substance, and affecting by touch our olfactory nerves. It is not, in other words, the distant body that we smell, but the particles thrown off by it which actually come into contact with the olfactoiy SENSATION. 377 nerves, and in them aftect the mind. Lastly, in sight, in like manner, it is not the distant object that we really see, but the rays of light which it gives forth, or which are reflected from it. This is the essential matter which directly acts upon the optic nerve and produces vision. There is no quality as a tertium quid betwixt the material essence of light and the optic nerve. It is the matter itself that acts — it is the essence which affects us, and which we know in its touchinsr and affectino- the nerve suitable for the j^roduction of the result. In all these instances, in fact, it is a species of touch which gives us our sensations, though the efl:ect of such touch be modified by the character of the various nerves on which it operates ; and, though the various kinds of matter may, for aught we can tell,- in so far, be different kinds of physical essence, and thence, iu either case, necessarily originating different consequences. The introduction of qua- lities, as different from the essences of which they are qualities, involves, therefore, it is obvious, just as certainly a sceptical conclusion as the introduc- tion of images, or any other tertium quid, betwixt the external object and the mind, or rather is that very identical theory in different words and under a different form. Hence it is clearly, in each case, the essence of matter that we know, and not some- thin o- comino- between it and our minds, and which, directly acting upon our nei"vous system by touch, makes us conscious of itself absolutely in its rela- 378 SENSATION. tion to our organic being as a compound of body and niind ; for it is evident, that somehow or other the mind is present in the whole nervous system, feehng and operating through it. Now, all this, which seems so ol^vious as to be beyond dispute, Sir W. Hamilton completely misconceives. He — • as well, indeed, as all philosophers, so far as we know, that preceded him — imagines qualities to be some- thing quite distinct from the essences of which they are qualities, instead of regarding them as mere modes in which such essences act on our different nerves, and thus introduces a medium or tertium quid into the process of sensation, which practically leaves the difficulties that had previously been found to encompass the subject very much in the state in which they were before. This is manifest from his writings generally, in so far as they bear upon the question; but nowhere, perhaps, is his theoiy more explicitly enunciated than in a note which he appends to Reid's chapter on '' matter and space," in his edition of the works of that philosopher. Keid had said — " From this it is evident that our " notion of body or matter, as distinguished from " ITS QUALITIES, is a relative notion, and, I am " afraid, it must always be obscure, until men have "other faculties." To this passage. Sir W. at- taches the following note — "That is, our notion " of absolute body is relative. This is incori'ectly " expressed. Our knowledge of qualities or pheno- ^' mena is necessaiily relative, for these exist only as SENSATION. 379 " they exist in relation to our faculties. The know- " ledge, or even the conception of a substance in it- " self, and apart from any qualities in relation to, and " therefore cognisable or conceivable by, our minds "involves a contradiction — of such we can form only "a negative notion, i.e., we can merely conceive it " as inconceivable. But to call this negative notion "a relative notion, is wrong; 1st, because all our " (positive) notions are relative, and 2nd, be- " cause this is itself a negative notion, i.e., no notion " at all, simply because there is no relation."" We have here, not merely a misconception of qualities, which are sjDoken of as phenomena, and as some- thing distinct from the substance of which they are qualities — of which we are told that we can have only "a negative notion, i.e., no notion at all"- — but we have a most striking manifestation of the usual confusion betwixt "relative knowledofe" and "knowledge in relation to our minds," as well as of the absurd results which such a confusion neces- sarily generates ; for, while he tells us that the proposition — " our notion of absolute body is re- "lative" — is an incorrect expression, he concludes the paragraph by telling us that " all our (positive) "notions are relative," which is identically the same thing, with the synonymous word " positive," sub- stituted for "absolute" — and, in telling us that all we can know of substance is its "qualities," and that all our knowledge of qualities is "relative," • Dr. Reid ou the intellectual powers, Essay 2d, ch. 19 — Hamilton's Edition. 380 SKNSATION. }ie just tells us that we cannot know substance at all, even to the extent of kno^\dng its existence, and that we can have no absolute knowledge of any kind whatever — the only objects of our know- ledge being ''^necessarily relative." This theory of Sir W. Hamilton's, it is, therefore, manifest, is substantively Hegel's, for, " if we can know, if we " can conceive only, what is relative," then, assured- ly to us, there can be nothing but relations either known or conceived, without the possibility of either knowing or conceiving anything real or absolute of which they are relations. The error evidently ori- ginates primarily in the assumption that, somehow or other, we know quahties as a tertium quid, as a medium of communication betwixt external exis- tence and our minds ; for, as these qualities can be symbols only, as not being the things themselves which our senses cognise ; and farther, as these qualities are known by a mind of which also our knowledge is only relative, it follows manifestly enough, that a knowledge of external existence can only be attained by a species of double relation, though what it is and what does attain it, seeing that the very mind itself is only relatively known, or what it is which thus relatively knows, is ob- viously inexplicable and inconceivable. It is pre- cisely the same character of error as that previously mentioned, under which philosophers have been induced to regard the attributes, faculties, and feel- ings of mind as something different from the SENSATION. 381 mind itself — an error which we here find that Sir W. Hamilton fully adopts. In both cases, how- ever, the assumption is not only untrue, but destmctive of all tmth, and it only requires the proposition to be enunciated, in order to carry con- viction to the instinctive reason of all mankind. As the capacities, faculties, and feelings of mind, therefore, are not something different from mind, but mind itself exhibited under different aspects, so the capacities, j)owers, properties, or qualities, of matter are not something different from matter, but matter itself developed under different aspects, and exhibited in action on different classes of ob- jects. The supposition of qualities, indeed, in any sense, however subtle, being something different from substance or matter, is just as we have indi- cated, the old doctrine of imagoes cominq; from the external body to the mind, and representing it there, put into other words, so that we seem to have at length arrived at the very source of that theoiy, which, as perfected by Hegel, has ended in the supersession of everything real and absolute, and the substitution of mere relations, without, so far as we can discover, anything to be related, and this, it must be admitted, by a most logical process of reasoning. The assumption of this metaphysic of substance called qualities, however, evidently itself originates in the confusion betwixt '' relative knowledge," and " the knowledge of external existence in relation to 382 SENSATION, "a conscious subject" — things which, as we have seen, are totally different from each other. " Know- '• ledge of existence in relation to, or by, a con- ^^scious subject is absolute or positive knowledge." '' Relative," on the other hand, as offered to '^ abso- " lute " knowledge, can only mean indirect know- ledge of some kind or other — knowledge through a medium — knowledge by representation. Now it is obvious, that unless we have some means of know- ing the representation to be a representation, and of knowing what it is that it represents, such know- ledge is a delusion, and, except in so far as regards the mere representation, is no knowledge at all. If, for example, we see a word which, by other means, we know to represent a certain object, and if we knew that object before, the representative word immediately gives the idea which it repre- sents ; but, if we see the same word in an unknown language, we know the representative word, indeed, as an object of vision, but it gives us no knowledge whatever of any idea, and it is the same, if we see a word even in a known language, but the word is new to us, so that we have no means of connecting it with the idea which it represents. In the very- same way, if we were conscious of a quality as a representative, without the means of connecting it with the object which it represents, or, still more, if that object be unknown to us, as confessedly must be the case, if qualities be representative merely, we should, indeed, be conscious of the quality as SENSATION. 383 felt, supposing it possible that there could be a " we," unless we be conscious of our minds abso- lutely, but of the external object Avhich it might represent, or whether it did represent any external object, we could know nothing, nor could any medium, whether of image, intuition, or quality, ever make it known to us. But, as has been said, " the knowledge of an existence in relation to, or " by the human mind, as a conscious subject," is quite a different thing. In this case, our know- ledge is not indirect, mediate, representative, or relative, but direct, immediate, presentative, and absolute. It is quite true, that existence or essence, considered per se, is only known in relation to our minds, i.e., in so far as it causes consciousness in our minds; but, in so far as it does this— /.e., in so far as it acts or operates on our minds — it is known absolutely, and in itself We are, in other words, conscious of it, as a something acting or operating on the mind, in and through our organic nature. In thus far, the very existence or essence itself is KNOWN to us, AS A PART OF OUR PERCEPTIVE CONSCI- OUSNESS, just in the same way as any organic affec- tion, such as hunger, is known to us as a part of our perceptive consciousness. When we press our hands upon the table, the action of the substance of the table on our nervous system, manifestly, itself, becomes an essential portion of our organic state, just as much as bodily pain of any kind, originating with the body itself, is a part of the 384 SKXSATIOX. organic state, and we are as certainly conscious of the one as of the other, and that, be it observed, not as of a quality in any way distinguishable from the table as an essence, but with the veiy essence itself, of the nature of the table, as in a peculiar way affecting our organic being. Of course it will be understood, that when we speak of the essential nature of an existence becoming a part of our con- sciousness, we do not mean of the capacity of con- sciousness, as if the existence itself became a part of the mind, but of objective consciousness, as the something known by the mind. In other words, we are conscious of the essential nature of the ex- istence itself, AS PORTION OF A MENTAL STATE, Or, rather, as portion of a state of our organic nature. In operating on the body, it, in the very same act, operates on the mind existing in the body — a doc- trine, which, of course, assumes that the conscious- ness of the mind extends throughout the whole nervous system in some form or another, and that, consequently, every sensation is felt, with greater or less precision, according to the degree of the realisation of the union in the particular nerve or nerves, affected by it. This, indeed, we beheve, is now the universal opinion, and is ob^dously and ex- perimentally true. Were the oj^eration of mind strictly limited to the brain, it would, of course, be impossible to tell whether pain or any other sensa- tion were in the foot or the hand, or any where else. As matter of fact, we feel each sensation more or SENSATION. 385 less precisely in the nerve or nerves acted upon, and in these nerves consequently we must hold mind to exist in some form, and through them to operate and feel. Now, all this seems so plain and so conformable to the irresistible conclusions of our instinctive natures, that it is difficult to imagine how it could be disputed. Such a conclu- sion in physical science would be deemed satis- factory, nor, indeed, has physical science any other or different grounds on which its legitimate conclu- sions can be rested. And it is just to the same species of assurance, which is admitted as legiti- mate and alone legitimate in physical science, that we desire to bring our conclusions in respect of intellectual science ; and it is certainly satisfactory to find that they not only thoroughly explain the phenomena, but at once supersede every form of scepticism, since, if we be actually and absolutely conscious of external essence, the existence to us at all events, of an external world, will admit of no farther dispute nor difference ; while, on the con- trary, if we are not conscious of external essence actually and absolutely, it is manifest now in the very form of the proposition, that we can have no means of knowing its existence at all, and that thus both the beliefs of man and the veracity of God must to us not only be impaired, but nmst logically be held unworthy of the slightest confidence. Of course, however, we do not object merely to the use of terms. We do not object to the expression, c c 386 SENSATION. " conscious of qualities," provided it merely mean that we are conscious of external essence in those forms under which it operates upon the human organism ; but it must carefully be kept in view, that it is in such a case the essence as possessing certain qualities inhering, or rather the essence as standing in a certain relation to the human organ- ism, and not any quality as in any way distinct from essence, that is understood by us. This view of the nature of sensation is still farther illustrated by the distinction which has been taken betwixt the primary and secondary qualities of matter — a distinction Avhich has been also miscon- ceived by philosophers, in so far as they have con- fused the modes of the existence of matter with the qualities of matter, as well as misapprehended the real nature of the difference which they have as- sumed, in so far as regards the causes on which it depends. This will readily be understood by attend- ing to their speculations on the subject. Locke seems to have taken the existing theory, with respect to this distinction, very much as he found it. The primary qualities of matter he de- termines to be " solidity, extension, figure, motion '' or rest, and number."'' They are somewhat dif- ferently stated by Reid, as ^' extension, divisibility, '^figure, motion, sohdity, hardness, softness, and fluidity."'' But it is at once obAaous, that '' exten- " Human understanding — Eook 2d, ch. 8, Sec. 9. *• Intellectual powers — Essay 2d, cli. 17. SENSATION. 3S7 "sion and figure" mean precisely the same thing, figure being merely a form of extension — and, in liJve manner, that ^'solidity, hardness, softness, and fluidity " are the same thing, inasmuch as " hard- *'ness, softness, and fluidity" are merely difl'crent forms or degrees of ^'sohdity." But these lists demonstrate specially the confusion which must have perplexed both of these eminent men with re- gard to the true nature of qualities, since it is farther obvious that '' extension and divisibility, "and number and motion, or rest" are not qualities of bodies at all, but relations of body to space or time, or of the parts of bodies among one another, for they are not of the essence of body, though some of them may be essential to the existence of body — another distinction usually overlooked, though perfectly manifest when enunciated. The table before me, for instance, is not "extension," nor "divisibility," nor "motion," nor "rest," though, no doubt, it must exist in those states, but they are none of them, nor all of them in any measure or degree the substance or essence of the table, and therefore cannot be qualities of it. The notion, therefore, that "extension, divisibility, motion, or "rest," are quahties of body, evidently originates in ignorance of the only legitimate meaning of the word quahty, and thence the more or less uncon- scious assumption, that qualities are, or may be, something distinct from the essences of which they are qualities. Nothing, however, can be more 388 SENSATION. manifest than that ''extension or figure," and "mo- *'tion or rest/' are not quahties of bodies, but modes under which bodies exist in space. No doubt, of these modes we are conscious alono^ with our consci- ousness of body. We know, because we feel, that the rays from a square pane of glass, for example, aifect a square portion of the optic nerve, and that the oblono^ fio^ure of a snuff-box affects an oblono; portion of the nei'ves which press on it, but this precisely proves the proposition which we have enunciated, inasmuch as our very consciousness by which alone we know such modes, testifies to their modal character. In the same way, ''divisibility "and number," which are phenomena in so far identical with each other, are not qualities of bodies, but relations of the parts of bodies amongst one another — numbers always giving a species of iden- tity to the objects to which they are applied — as being in so far as the numbers apply to them, parts of one whole. No doubt, our reason gives us a know- ledge of these relations along with our conscious- ness of body. It teaches us, from our knowledge of the nature of space and our experience of the constitution of matter, that bodies are divisible — it teaches, from our knowledge of 32">ace and time, and our comparison of different localities and mo- ments, that numbers exist and may be multiplied beyond any limits that we can conceive ; but this again precisely proves the proposition which we have enunciated, inasmuch as our veiy reason, by SENSATION. 389 wli it'll alone we can thoroughly know such rela- tions, testifies to their relational character. The proposition, therefore, that " extension, divisibility, " number, motion, and rest," are not qualities of bodies, but either modes of their existence in space and time, or relations of their parts among or to one another, when fairly stated, seems neither to admit of doubt nor difference. Every one who understands the terms in which it is expressed must assent to it. Solidity, therefore, or the power of impelling and resisting impulse, is the only quality of those called primary that remains, and it is very evident, even on the shghtest consideration, that this is no quality in any way distinct from the essence of matter itself, being only termed a quality, when, as an essence, it is spoken of as affecting our sense of touch, or in any other way operating as a solid substance in producing results con- formable to its essential character. The solidity which thus operates, therefore, is the very body, the veiy essence itself. Hence, Reid is perfectly right when he says, 'Hhat our senses give us a direct " and a distinct notion of this primary quality, and "inform us what it is in itself." His instinctive feelmg seems, for the moment, to have got the better of his theory, and, accordingly, we need not wonder at Sir W, Hamilton's note on the passage, when he says — " by the expression, what they are *' in themselves, in reference to primary qualities, *' Keid cannot mean that thev are known to us 390 SENSATION. " absolutely in themselves, that is, out of relation *' to our cognitive faculties, for he elsewhere ad- ^'niits that all our knowledge is relative."^ Ac- cording to Sir W. Hamilton's theory, the proposi- tion was, indeed, absurd, but yet it is most certainly true, that " all our knowledge is not relative," else the conclusion is irresistible, that there neither can be a "we," nor any " knowledge at all." No doubt, our knowledge of the nature, composition, or en- tity of the external object affecting us is relative, and, therefore, as Sir W. Hamilton has elsewhere not merely said, but proved, is, strictly speak- ing, " no knowledge at all ;" but our knowledge of that external object, in so far as it, as an essence, acts or operates by its inherent power on our com- bined mental and physical organisation, is not relative, but direct and absolute, and consequently, in thus far, we have a "direct and distinct notion" of it, and our sensation, therefore, "informs us "what it is in itself," in respect of its capacity to produce in us a certain sensation. When, there- fore. Sir W. Hamilton says, in continuation of his note — " Farther, if our senses give us a direct and " distinct notion of the primary qualities, and in- "form us what they are in themselves, these " qualities, as known, must resemble, or be identi- " cal with these qualities as existing," he enunciates an indisputable and important truth in the very- act of ignoring it. For, Sir W. being entirely • Reid on the intellectual powers — Essay 2d, eh. 17 — Hamilton's Edition. SENSATION. 391 ignorant of the difference betwixt '^ relative " know- ledo-e, and "knowledo-e of existence in its relation *'to, or bearing on, our minds/' and imagining quality to be something different from essence, naturally enough concluded, that ^'ii our senses '' give us a direct and distinct notion of the primary ^' qualities, and inform us what they are in them- " selves," then the very entity of those " qualities *' as known, must resemble, or be identical with, *' those quahties as existing ;" but, as quality in the case supposed is, in fact, merely the power of an essence to operate upon tlie mind as part of our organic consciousness, and as, consequently, we do know that power in itself, in the direct conscious- ness of the mind, so, of coiirse, such power, which is all that the word quality means, is necessarily, *^as known," identical with itself '^as existing." It is the veiy power of the essence, or the very- quality of the essence which we know. It is not, therefore, as Sir W. Hamilton supposes, an ex- ternal entity called a quality which is in the mind, but the power of an external essence acting on our minds as part of an organic phenomenon that is kno^vn to the mind in its so acting. We know it as "it exists," because we are directly and abso- lutely conscious of it, not in its entity, but in its operating power. But, whilst it is thus indisputable, under what- ever aspect the subject be regarded, that we are conscious of external essence in touch, there seems 392 SENSATION. no good gi'ound for believing, as Reid supposes, that we know it intuitively, or even through our consciousness, to be external to our orgmiic being, and this probably explains much of the confusion which has perplexed the subject. We have no diffi- culty in distinguishing betwixt mind and the organic functions. No one ever believed that physical pain was a part of the mind, or even a purely mental state. We feel it in consciousness to be caused by some- thing originating out of mind, and merely known to, and felt by mind, as an object operating upon it. We can thus at once disting;-uish betwixt mental pain, as in sorrow ; and bodily pain, as in toothache, or from a wound. In the same way, no one ever mistook the cause of a sensation of any kind for a part of the mind or itself for a purely mental state. We feel it in consciousness, as in the former case, to be something originating out of mind, and its cause to be something known to, and felt by mind, as an object operating upon it. But it is an entirely different thing as regards our organic consciousness. If we feel pain in the finger, for example, it would be impossible to say a j^'iori, i.e., from consciousness, whether such pain pro- ceeded from some physical disorganisation of the nerves of the finger, or from the prick of a pin, or some other external cause of a similar kind. Con- sciousness, indeed, could never prove to us the exist- ence of a world external to our organic being even in a measure, and the reason is perfectly obvious. SENSATION. :VX) We are conscious of external existence solely in its action by powers on our organic being, and consequently, as involved in, and a part of, an organic change. No doubt, the mind in the nerve, in each case, is actually conscious of the external power operating, but it is impossible that the mind can be conscious of it, as external to the organic being, because consciousness does not ex- tend beyond the organic being, and cannot, there- fore, embrace a knowledge of anything out of it. But it is obvious, that if consciousness were not only conscious of power external to the organic being — as a portion of organic affection originating in the action of such external 2^ower on the nervous system in ivhich organic being exists, but were also conscious of existence external to such orofanic being, as external — then it would necessarily em- brace the knowledge of objects out of the individual altogether — an assumption, which it is hardly neces- sary to say, that we know to be untrue, and im- possible. It is, therefore, experience only that can assure us of an existence external to our organic being, and the process is easily understod. If I lay my hand upon the table, 1 have a certain sen- sation, and such sensation may either originate from without the organic being, or from a modifi- cation of itself, in so far as consciousness teaches. But if I remove my hand, the sensation ceases. If, again, I re-place my hand, the sensation is re- newed. Thus, by experience, we necessarily come 394 SENSATION. to discover the externality of the cause, wliich always is renewed and always ceases under the same circumstances, and under an exhibition of the same phenomena. The motion of the hand, and the sensation of a special colour, figure, &c., are always essential to the realization of the result. In this process we ascertain, consequently, by reason, that sensation is not from within, and that it is from with- out. Just in the same way, and by the same pro- cess, we are made acquainted with the internality of the cause in respect of our organic being, in the case of pain generated by bodily disease, where the pain continues notwithstanding our changes of locality or position. Reason thus assures us, that it originates from within, and not from without, although, in either case, the experience comes to act so rapidly by habit, as almost to assume the form of an in- stinctive or conscious operation. There are instan- ces, however, in which, from want of definite experi- ence, it is difficult, or even impossible, to discover whether the orioin of a sensation orioinates in the action of the physical machinery of the body, or in some external cause. There is probably no one who has not felt this illustrated, in attempting to discover whether a slight pain and inflammation of the eye, was owing to the state of the blood, or to the action of some minute particle of extrinsic matter, that had insinuated itself betwixt the eye and the eye-lid. While, therefore, we are conscious of external existence, it is thus evidently certain SENSATION. 395 that we are conscious of it only in its action on our organic beinsf, and as part of our organic states. Its externality to the organic nature being dis- coverable solely through reason or experience. These observations readily explain, on the other hand, the distinctive character of what, in contra- distinction to solidity, have been called secondary qualities, w^hich Reid comprehends under " sound, " colour, taste, smell, and heat, or cold,"'' and which, farther, he calls " occult qualities,'"' evidently sup- posing them to be some mysterious species of ex- istences, altogether separate from the essences to which they belong, and to afford a kind of know- ledge altogether different from that constituted by touch. The result of these notions is exhibited in a theory, probably the most unsatisfactory and contradictory to be found in any part of Keid's waitings ; for, after telling us that "si relative notion " of a thing is, strictly speaking, 7io notion of the "thing at all, but only of some relr^tion which it " bears to something else,"" in which he is evidently perfectly right, he goes on to say, that " of the " secondary qualities our notion is only a relative " notion, which must, because it is only relative, be " obscure ;" and no wonder that it should be ob- scure, considering that he had just told us that "a " relative notion of a thing is, strictly speaking, no " notion of the tliinof at all ! " On this extraordi- nary passage Sir W. Hamilton has an extraordi- ■ Intellectual powers — ^Essay 2cl, ch. 17. •" Do. "^ Do. no 6 SENSATION. nary note, and a very long one, but wliat it means we honestly confess ourselves altogether unable to explain. The fact seems to be, that his misconcep- tion as to the true nature of qualities having neces- sarily peqDlexed his attempt at discriminating the grounds of the distinction of primaiy and secondaiy qualities, he allowed himself to be humed away into those verbal subtleties with which pliildsophers have so frequently deluded themselves, so as to imagine that he was writing something profound, when, in truth, he was only wi'iting something that was unintelligible. Hence, were the exf)lana- tions of our mental states necessarily of so meta- physical a character as that which distinguishes Sir W. Hamilton's dissertation on the "distinction " of the primary and secondary qualities of body," there are few who would be hkely to trouble them- selves on the subject ; for, indeed, it would be pretty clear that any hope of explaining them, so as to serve any practical purpose, would be vain. Those who desire to examine his opinions minutely for themselves may turn to the note in question. To a large number of inquirers, probably, the fol- lowing extracts may be sufficient : — " On this " ground, as apprehensions or immediate cogni- " tions through sense, the primary are distinguished "as objective, not subjective, as percepts proper, " not sensations proper ;' the secw7ZC?o-primaiy as " objective and subjective, as percepts proper, and " sensations proper ; the secondaiy as svibjective SENSATION. 397 *not objective cognitions, as sensations proper, 'not percepts proper." Again, "For solidity, ' even with the ephithet physical, and Impenetra- ' bility, and Extreity are vague and equivocal. 'We might call it, as we have said, ultimate or 'absolute incompressibility. It would be better, ' however, to have a positive expression to denote ' a positive notion, and we might accordingly adopt, ' as a technical term, Autantity[3y. This is pre- 'ferable to Antityi:>y, a word in Greek applied ' not only to this absolute and essential resistance 'of matter qua matter, but also to the relative ' and accidental resistances from cohesion, inertia, 'and gravity."'^ Yet, notwithstanding this singular confusion into which men of such distinguished ability have fallen, we repeat, that the moment qualities are regarded not as something separate from essence, but as essence itself, considered as capable of exhibiting itself under various forms, and to various objects, the nature of the distinction becomes perfectly mani- fest. In this view, solidity may properly enough be called a primary quality, not because we have a more direct and absolute knowledge of it than of other qualities or capabilities of essence, but be- cause it seems to be the basis of the others as be- longing to all matter, and which must, therefore, accompany all other qualities which exist not in all " Reid's Works. Hamilton's Edition — Supplementary dissertations — Note D., Sec. 2d. 398 SENSATION. matter, but only in some matter in addition to solidity ; for, as has been already said, it is by im- pulse, which can only be predicated of solidity, so far as we can discover, that all our senses are affected. Other qualities and powers, therefore, are mere manifestations of different species of es- sences ; but solidity is of the generic essenc^, so far as our experience teaches us, and consequently common to them all. But, although solidity be thus, as we are in- structed by all our senses, the generic basis, if we may so speak, of matter, yet it by no means follows that we only know the other qualities of matter, or rather the essence of matter exhibited under other forms, and to other parts of our nervous system ^^ relatively," which, as Reid most truly says, would be '*^not to know them at all," or less directly in any measure, than we know solidity ; for we are just as conscious of a cause of vision as of a cause of tactual feeling, and it is not impro- bable that we have even a sense of tactuality, if we may so speak, in the secondary sensations. Secondary qualities, therefore, are merely certain forms of essence capable, under certain circum- Btances, of afiecting special portions of our nei'\^ous system, but all inhering in solidity as a basis, or rather being mere forms of solidity, which, conse- quently, to this extent, and in this sense, may be called a primary quality and in no otlier sense. We, however, equally know them all as forms of SENSATION. 399 essence, or, in other words, as absolute existences, acting on different portions of our nei^vous system. This, of course, implies that in each case it is still a species of solidity that actually operates upon us, though in different ways; and this is farther assured to us by the consideration, that as we know of no existence external to ourselves, but solidity of some kind or other, so to assume that we are acted u2:)on by any supposed existence of another kind, would be, so far as we are concerned, to suppose that we are not acted upon at all. The assumption, moreover, that the phenomena, in all cases of secondaiy sensation, are produced by the impulse of solid existence, is the only possible means of explaining them, and does thoroughly ex- plain them — a truth which, as matter of physical and experimental fact, is becoming every day more perfectly ascertained and more universally ad- mitted. Under the very same principles do we readily and obviously explain that idea of substance with which philosophers have been so long perplexed. Nothing could more clearly exhibit both the diffi- culty and the origin of it than the following pas- sages of Dr. Reid's philosophy : — "The objects of " sense," he says, " we have hitherto considered, "are qualities; but qualities must have a subject. " We give the names of matter, material substance, "and body, to the subject of sensible qualities," and he subsequently proceeds — " as to the nature 400 SENSATION. " of this something, I am afraid we can give little '^account of it, but that it has the qualities which " our senses discover. But how do we know that "they are qualities, and cannot exist without a "subject"? I confess I cannot explain how we "know that they cannot exist without a subject " any more than I can explain how we know that " they exist. We have the information of nature " for their existence, and I think we have the in- " formation of nature that they are qualities."'' Sir W. Hamilton makes no remark on this passage, thereby, of course, tacitly adopting it as expressive of his own opinion, which, indeed, substantively it does express, though it is somewhat astonishing that, thus broadly stated, it did not excite farther inquiry on the part of one who felt so strongly, that any form of the representative hypothesis must neces- sarily open a door for the entrance of scepticism. We cannot, at all events, be astonished at Dr. Reid's difficulty in connecting qualities with their substance or essence, if qualities are to be assumed, IN ANY SENSE, as Something different from sub- stance or essence itself, as a medium, in fact, of whatsoever kind betwixt such substance or essence and the mind — for, under such an assumption, the difficulty is insuperable. We could, in such case, know the qualities indeed, supposing us conscious of our minds; but to connect them with anything else as a subject, w^ould evidently be impossible. " Intellectual powers — Essay 2cl, ch. 19. 8KNSAT10N. 401 We could know nothing but qualities. The idea of any basis or substratum, or, in other words, of an external world, would be a mere imagination, which logic could never recognise. Bishop Berke- ley and Mr. Hume, therefore, most logically, under the theory, maintained ''^body to be nothing but a " collection of what we call sensible qualities," and consequently it is not to be wondered at, that under such a theory Dr. Reid could give no reasons for his conviction, and the cause why he could give no reasons for his conviction was simply that he had adopted an erroneous theory. He could have given a reason for it easily enough, had it only occurred to him that qualities and their subject are the same thing — qualities being no name of any- thing absolutely, but of essences as capable of ACTING ox OTHER ESSENCES, and, in the particular case, of essences or an essence as capable of acting on our sentient being. They cannot, consequently, ''exist without a subject," just because they pa^e merely the forms which subjects realise in operating on other things. In every sensation we are con- scious of some existence operating on our organic natures, and this existence is just what we mean by substance. It is, indeed, true that some philo- sophers appear to confuse substance with extefided substance, but this evidently originates in a confu- sion of ideas. That any substance which acts must have some extension, is, no doubt, true ; but its extension has nothing to do with its substantiality. D D 402 SENSATION. At the same time it is certain that we acquire a knowledoce of extension and fio-m^e throuo-h sensation. If I lay my hand on the table, I have assuredly a different sensation from that which I feel in touching it with my finger, and the difference consists in a different consciousness of extension and figure, for the sensation, qua sensa- tion, is evidently the same."* No doubt, Dr. Brown may be, and probably is, perfectly right in sup- posing, that in certain cases our knowledge of figure can only be realised by muscular action, since the rolling of a ball, for instance, on the open palm, could not give us the notion of a circle. To attain this notion thoroughly, we must gi'asp it, and this can only be done through muscular action ; but, in so far as mental philosophy is concerned, this does not seem to be a matter of any importance. It is still by touch that we acquire the knowledge of figure, whether realised in muscular action or by iiny other means ; indeed, our knowiedge of mus- cular action itself seems to be acquired by touch, i.e., by the action of one part of our physical organs upon other pai'ts. There seems no difficulty in the matter whatever ; every particular is consistent, and harmonises Avith the rest. Motion, again, is appreciated by sensation, memoiy, and reason " 111 our sensations of cxtcmleil substance, all that is embraced under one act, wlietber of vision or touch, constitutes only one sensation. In sight, indeed, only one nerve is affected ; but, though various nerves be affected iu touch, so entirely arc they united in the organic system that the mind is conscious, not of many points, but of one whole. SENSATION. 403 combined, under a process so evident that it would be a waste of time to explain it formally. Divisi- bility we become acquainted with, partly from experience, partly from our knowledge of the na- ture of space, which, as we shall presently shew, itself in a great measure originates in the process of sensation. From these views and analyses, it will now, we trust, be obvious, that though in all our sensations, strictly so called, we are conscious of external exis- tence, yet, our knowledge of the fact, that certain portions of our sensations originate in causes ex- ternal to our organic being is a result of experience. If, as has been said, I lay my hand on the table, I am conscious of a certain sensation ; but whether the cause of it be internal or external to the body, or, in other words, to the nervous system, the mere sensation itself could never assure me. This I dis- cover by experience — I remove my hand, and the sensation disappears ; I lay my hand in the same place, and it re -appears. By a more or less con- tinuous repetition of this process, I necessarily connect the sensation with a cause external to my hand, and generally to my organic being ; and its cause, under an exactly similar process, I subse- quently connect with a brownish colour, an ob- long form, and so on — all of these being made known to me by other sensations, and, thereafter, by experience connected with the same locality. To this combination of the forms of essence in the 404 SENSATIOX. same locality again, I subsequentlyam informed that the name of a niahoga.ny table is given. Now, this same combination of the forms of essence in the same external locality, is usually in a looser and more extended sense called substance; but, for our knowledge of substance strictly, no such combina- tion is necessary. As we have seen, every one of our sensations gives us a notion of substance in our consciousness of it, though consciousness does not tell us that it is external substance of which we are conscious — the consciousness merely applying to an organic state, and the cause of that organic state being afterwards discovered by experience. Hence, of course, we entirely repudiate the assumption that we have or can have any a priori knowledge of substance. AVere it so, indeed, it must be either of some particular substance, or of the entity of substance. That we do not know the entity of substance, or, in other words, that which constitutes substance, all will admit ; that we cannot know any particular kind of it, before having experience thereof — that we cannot know mahogany, for example, or the colour of an orange, or the smell of a rose, or the taste of an omelette, or the sound of a drum, before having had exj)erience of each of them respectively, is equally certain ; yet, unless we do know these things, it needs hardly be said that we cannot know substance at all, because these are the only possible modes of cognising it. From all this, again, it is evident that our sen- SENSATION. 405 sations, simply qua sensations, give us in so far general, and not merely particular, ideas — a conclu- sion which, in a great measure, settles another of the most disputed points connected with mental philosophy ; for, although we be conscious of ex- ternal existence in each sensation, it is, as we have already shewn, only by experience that we discover so much of the sensation to have been external to our organic being. The relationship, therefore, of the external body to our organic beings is really a portion of our organic states. We know it as a part of our consciousness, just as much as if the external object had been merely an idea of memory. Hence, sensation, qiici sensation, is a simple state, having, pe7^ se, no reference to time, place, or circumstance, but being a mere condition of the mind, and con- sequently including every possible manifestation of the object causing it, as known in that state, wha,t- ever fonn it may assume, or under whatever cir- cumstances it may be exhibited. While, therefore, every sensation is particular as regards the tem- poraiy feehng, it is evidently general, or rather universal, as regards our knov/ledge of the object causing it. That sensation per se would not give us any knowledge of the universality of its applica- tion is quite true, because each sensation per se is felt in connection with a certain duration of time, and is limited thereby so as to give it in that veiy limitation its character of particularity ; but the knowledge which intelligence realises of each sen- 406 SENSATION. sation is no less general upon that account, because intelligence at once discriminates betwixt the sen- sation and the time in which it was felt; which was all that was particular about it. Take the idea of time away from it, therefore, and the sensation be- comes simply a mental state, and the knowledge of it simply the knowledge of an organic state operating on the mind as productive of such mental feehng. It becomes perfectly general, therefore,, as constituting the knowledge of eveiy identical organic state, and of every cause involved therein. Thus, in the sensation which we call redness, we have the knowledge of a certain state of our or- ganisation which applies to the action of eveiy red object whatever, as causative thereof. In other words, the cause of such organic state must always be the same, else different causes would produce identical effects. It is true that we also call the power of the existence which causes this sensiition redness, because, from the poverty and inaccuracy of language, we have only one word to express both the cause and tlie effect. The ray which causes in us the sensation of redness is not, there- fore, to be held as resembling or identical with the effect which it produces, any more than the wind wliich shakes the trees is to be held identical with the motion of the trees which it causes ; in other words, the ray does not resemble, still less can it be considered as identical with, the sensation — the sensation being merely the effect wliich the action SENSATION. 407 of the ray on the optic nen'e produces on our or- ganisation. It is the form of our consciousness of the action of such ray on our organic being. We do not, consequently, know thereby anything of the entity or primary constitution of such ray. We merely know it in its action on ourselves. We know that it is an existence, and what that exis- tence is, IN so FAR AS IT AFFECTS US, but no farther. It is not, therefore, merely a relative, but an abso- lute knowledge of the ray that we acquire, only the extent of such absolute knowledo-e is limited by the extent of its action on our organic being. In thus far we are absolutely and directly conscious of it. In the same way, our sensation of hardness, or solidity, though giving us a direct and absolute consciousness of the particular solidity causing it, gives us a knowledge of that solidity, not merely with reference to the special case, but in all cases as being qua sensation, particular, merely from its combination with present time, since our reference of it to an object external to our organism is not an act either of sensation or consciousness, but of experience, so that the sensation, quel sensation, is simply a state of mind realising an organic state, and consequently must constitute a general idea, in so far as it is felt by intelligence to be ap- phcable to every solid object causative of the sensation, or, in other words, to matter univer- sally, in so far as it can be felt. This word hard- ness, therefore, expresses an organic sensation, or, at all events, we have no other word to express 408 SENSATION. it, although it be usually applied also, from the im- perfection of language, to designate the power of the essence, which, under a particular form of its action, causes such sensation. We are no more, however, than, in the former case, to suppose, on this account, that the cause and the effect are iden- tical; for the sensation is merely a feeling of the change which the action of solidity produces on our tactual organisation. Though, therefore, we thus know solidity directly and absolutely in our consci- ousness, yet, it is not the entity of solidity that we know in its primary and constitutive nature, but that entity, in so far as it operates upon our organic being, and, in such operation, is felt by and known in our consciousness. Hence, the errors, and irre- mediable confusion, which have flowed from sup- posing some process of abstraction or classification in forminof o-eneral ideas of sensation. To imao-ine, indeed, that we have first an idea of substance, as constituted somehow of various qualities, and then that we abstract the particular qualities, in order to attain a knowledge of each — as Reid supposes — is, as will now be obvious, precisely to reverse the whole process : he says that the first operation of the understanding, by which we are enabled to form general conceptions, is *' the resolving or analysing " a subject into its known attributes, and giving a *' name to each attribute, Mdiich name shall signify " that attribute, and nothing more.''^ Now, this supposes necessarily, that we have some faculty or * Intellectual powers — Essay 5th, ch. 3. SENSATION. 409 intuition by which we first know substance, and then resolve the substance thus known, into its attributes ; whereas we first acquire by our sensa- tions a knowledge of each quality, or attribute sepa- rately, as a distinct form of essence, and then, by an of)eration of reason, discovering the attributes to exist in one locahty, we constitute our idea of what, in this more extended sense, is called sub- stance. We do not, consequently, for example, first know snow as a substance — for it has already been proved that this is impossible — and then, by this pretended faculty of abstraction, become ac- quainted with whiteness, softness, coldness, &c., but we become acquainted with each of these qualities separately and per se, either by diflferent senses, or different tendencies of the same sense, and then by experience, referring them to one locality, we have the mixed sensational, and rational or experimental, idea of snow, and so in all cases. How Reid could possibly have reconciled this theory with his doc- trine, that we cannot ^'know substance at all," is to me inconceivable, as well as how he could have overlooked the contradiction betwixt them. The character of this en^or, however, will be still more thoroughly appreciated, by attending to what Reid calls the second operation of the understanding in the formation of general conceptions, and which, he Sciys, is " the observing one or more such attributes ''to be common to many subjects,"'' and, as he has * Intellectual powers — Essay 5th, ch. 3. 410 SENSATION. called the former process "abstraction," so he calls this second process " generalising." According to this process, then, we first form particular ideas by abstraction, and then we observe '^ one or more of "them to be common to many subjects," wliich con- stitutes them general ideas. But, so far is this from being the case, that, on the contraiy, the first time we are distinctly conscious of any quality — say of white- ness for example, or hardness, or smell, or any other • — we have a notion of such quality as general, and as universally applicable, as after having been consci- ous of it any number of times, and, as existing in any number of substances, Reid's error here again originated in his inaccurate notion of the meaning of the word quality, as is evident from his saying, that " the generality is in the subject conceived, " and not in the act of the mind by which it is con- " ceived ;"'^ whereas the generality is not in the ob- ject perceived, but first in the act of the mind, and next, of course, also, in the power or relation of the object or essence perceived, to our organic nature. The immediate object perceived is evidently par- ticular, because it is limited by time to the specific case. But the power or relation Avhicli it bears to our minds, apart from its connection with time, is as evidently general, because the power, nature, or relation of an essence is nothing particular to one of a class, but appertains necessarily to the whole of the class. Thus, if I be conscious of red- ■ Intellcclxial powers — Essay 5th, ch. 5. SJiiSSA^^ON^^. 411 ness, I call the red ray the ccmse of the sensation, or the '^subject conceived," when sensation is limited to a definite time — but I call its power of aifecting my organic nature redness, which implies a general idea, and the mental affection consequent thereon I must also call redness, because there is no other word for expressing the idea, and both ideas are general, i.e., they are universally applic- able at all times, and under all circumstances. As to the distinction which some have attempted to draw betmxt abstract ideas and general ideas, I say nothing, because I really do not understand it, except in so far as abstract ideas may be intended to express simple general ideas, while the term general may be applied to those complex ideas, which have reference to extended substance. The latter, in other words, may express general ideas formed more or less by reason — the former, those of sensation only.^ Every sensation, therefore, apart from its combination with time — and, indeed, every feehng or idea of whatever kind, apart from its combination with time, or some equivalent par- ticularising relation — is a general idea, as being applicable to whole classes — nor can any amount of farther experience make it more general. Hence, all we have to do, in order subsequently to particu- larise a sensation, or an idea derived from sensa- * Abstract words may mean words exi)rfssive of classes, though this is an improper name for them, and general words, several ideas, or many ideas, expri'ssed by one word, or one phrase. 412 SENSATION. tion — or, indeed, as we shall subsequently more particularly shew, any other idea — is just to combine it with a special time, or a special relation, in which case it instantly becomes particular in the only sense in w4hch it is possible for an idea to be par- ticular. The particularity, therefore, of ideas, is in the notion of time, or some other special rela- tionship connected or interwoven with them, so as to limit them to special cases, and not in any thing in ideas themselves, as expressive either of organic or mental states. Now, it wall be readily obvious how this analysis simplifies the subject, and how entirely and clearly it enables us to under- stand both — what is the meaning of general ideas — so far, at all events, as sensation is concerned — and w^hat it is consequently that general words actually and precisely express. The confusion that pervades philosophical works upon this subject we can now, therefore, at once perceive to be attributable to their authors, supposing that the " generality is in "the subject conceived." From this assumption- — as it is impossible that one " subject conceived " could give a general idea — they were necessarily forced to assume also that the '^ generality" was discoverable by a comparison of two or more such subjects, the generality becoming more extended in proportion to the number of subjects compared. That to have a general notion of whiteness, for ex- ample, we require to have experience of, and com- pare a number of white substances, and that by clas- SKNSATrON. 413 sification we thus acquire a knowledge of the some- thing common to them all, to which something, when thus acquired, we give the name of whiteness. Whereas, we never could thus know whiteness as a universal, for whiteness being in this sense merely the name of a relation of essence to our organic being, or, in other words, being the name of the character of an essence not absolutely, but as felt in its action on our organic being, and as modified thereby, must be applicable to every white sub- stance, WHETHER WE HAVE HAD EXPERIENCE OF IT OR NOT ; for no one will dispute that we know what whiteness means, as well as every other general term, even if used in reference to a special existence which we never saw ; but this could not be the case if we only knew the meaning of the general term, IN so FAR AS WE HAD CLASSIFIED SUBJECTS UNDER IT. It is, indeed, obvious, and on the grounds al- ready stated, that the first time we have been con- scious of whiteness, we have as general a notion of it as it ever is possible to acquire, and that con- sequently the "generality" cannot be in the "sub- " ject conceived," but in the relation of that sub- ject to the organic nature of the mind conceiving it. Hence, all the various forms of realism, nomi- nalism, and conceptualism, at once and entirely vanish. They originate in the false theory— that, in order to have general ideas, we must compare the external subjects under the action of which such ideas are constituted ; whereas, there is no 414 SENSATION. such comparison. One instance gives us the gene- ral idea^ and this we affirm, not as a theory, not as a probability, but as a certainty, to which every one will assent capable of understanding ordinary language. And now, farther, we can readily un- derstand the cause of those singular contradictions into which philosophers have fallen upon this sul)- ject, as, for example, when Dr. Reid says — ^'The " conception of whiteness implies no existence ; it '^ would remain the same, though everything in " the universe that is white were annihilated."^ And yet he tells us, almost in the same breath, that ^'the generality is in the subject conceived"'' — so that this "generality," it seems, would remain, though all that is general were annihilated! Yet, the assertion is true, just because the "generality is " NOT in the subject conceived." Hence, if the mind have once cognised the sensation, then the concep- tion, as a state of mind or a relation of the organic being, would undoubtedly remain, because it is in such state or relation, i.e., in the mental discrimina- tion of the speciality, that the generality exists. The whole subject, under this view, seems so mani- fest and precise, as to render it unnecessary to dwell upon it at greater length, or notice those multifarious difficulties with respect to it which have perplexed and baffled philosophers, simply because they have misconceived it. No difficulties, " Intellectual powers — Essay otli, cli. 3. '' Intellectual powers — Essay 5th, ch 5. SENSATION. 415 indeed, so far as I know, can be suggested, which M^ill, in any measure, puzzle even the most ordinary thinker. We would only remark that care must be taken not to confuse knowledge acquired by sensation with knowledsfe derived from other sources, and of which the nature can only be ex- plained by ulterior considerations, inasmuch as it is only knowledge derived from sensation that we can image to the mind. We are now in a position still farther to analyse and determine the nature of another species of knowledge originating in perception, which has also given rise to much discussion, and which certainly depends on principles more recondite and compli- cated than any of the particulars to which we have previously adverted. These are so plain, that where they are proposed in precise terms, it is hardly possible to doubt the process under which we cognise them ; but it is otherwise with our ideas of space and time, which evidently, though discover- able by sensation, cannot be referred to any direct act of sensation. Kant has maintained, in con- formity with his general principle, that because our ideas of space and time are necessaiy, therefore they must be a iwiori and subjective, i.e., not reali- ties external to ourselves, but assumptions merely that are internal, and of the essence of our concep- tions. But were it so, there could evidently be not only no assurance, but no possibility of external, nor, indeed — in so far as we are concerned — of any 416 SENSATION. existence at all, since that which we do not know as existing in time and space, in reality to us, does not exist. The theory, however, although many of his disciples seem to regard it as his most glorious discovery, was really proposed long anterior to the age of Kant ; and, indeed, almost all philosophers took it for granted, that our belief of the necessity of existence constituted, at all events, one test of aprioi'i cognition. In the case under consideration, however, it is, at all events, applied without any ground. Our belief in the necessary existence of space and time, is, as we shall afterwards endeavour to shew, a result of rational deduction. At all events, there can be no doubt, that we know both by experience, and that experience expressly de- clares them to be external, and not internal. We are, in truth, conscious of living in the one, and during the other. To deny it, would be to contra- dict our natural and irresistible convictions, and consequently, neither Kant's theory, nor any other theory, directly or indirectly ignoring it, ever had, or ever will have, or ever could have, a single practical believer. To appreciate the process, however, under which we attain our conclusion in so far as space is concerned, it must be observed, that the power of mind extends over the whole bodily frame. In what portion of the body the mind may mainly and essentially take up its abode, is of no conse- quence whatever, since it indisputably extends its in- fluence through the nerves in every member of the SENSATION. 417 body. We thus know that the breast is not in the same locahty as the head, nor the hands as the feet. The difficulty in exf)laining the process at this point seems to have arisen from our having no sense giving us a direct knowledge of space. The reason of this is just that it was not necessary, because space is not a substance. We are not conscious, therefore, of feeling it as a substance or existence, but of existing in it as non-substance, which is evi- dently the only consciousness of it that is possi- ble. Hence, when we move either the whole body, or a portion of it, as an arm or a limb, Ave are con- scious of motion in space, though, to realise tho- roughly the idea, memory is also requisite. The process, however, is obvious. The phenomenon cannot possibly occur to an intelligent being with- out giving him at once experience of space, as that in which his organic being is capable of moving. Our knowledge of space by vision, again, is derived from this process, apart from w4iich vision could probably, or rather certainly, give us no knowledge of space at all, since the rays acting on the optic nerve are, in reality, all that we see in vision. Space, as known by vision, is, therefore, only iufcrentially known. To appreciate fully our knowledge of space, however, we must anticipate somewhat in observing that it is impossible, from the veiy nature of the rational faculty, to know anything, without knowing also its opposite. If we know truth, we must also know falsehood ; if we know wisdom, E E 418 SENSATION. we must also know folly ; if we know hardness, we must also know non-hardness ; if we know substance, we must also know non-substance. Hence space is, strictly speaking, known to us also rationally in our knowledge of substance, as non- substance — these two obviously comprehending everything which we can conceive, either of exis- tence or mode. Non- substance, consequently, be- comes farther known to us as the receptacle of substance, inasmuch as our sensational knowledge of substance, as solidity, teach us that substance cannot exist in substance, and, therefore, we must necessarily conclude that it exists in non-substance. With the anterior knowledge thus derived from these sources, it is easy to understand how we inferen- tially acquire a far more extended and grander no- tion of space by vision ; for, we thus learn to measure distances by perspective, and the perception thus acquired of suns and systems, floating through that space which is thus appreciated at inconceivable distances, seems almost to realise to us an appre- hension of the Infinite. Thus we reach all that can be directly known of it. That we cannot con- ceive it annihilated, or away, is simply a rational result of our knowledge of substance, which im- '\3lies that, where it is not, there must be non-sub- stance as its opposite. It is, indeed, of the very- essence of reason to know, in regard to every sub- ject, that that which is, and that which is not, constitute the only possible j)ossibilities. To say, SENSATION. 410 therefore, that there could be anything else, would imply the very same absurdity as to say that there might be two lines neither equal nor unequal to each other. If, then, we thus acquire a precise notion of the process under which we become acquainted with the nature of space, in the same manner may we acquire an equally precise notion of the process under which we are made acquainted with the nature of time. We are conscious that we exist during time. Every breath we draw, every feeling we realise, make us as intelligent beings, conscious of our living during time. Nor can we conceive it annihilated, for we know, in our experience, that it is that during which space exists. To say that space does not exist in time, would be to say that space w"as not ; for, to our conceptions, non-time implies non-dura- tion, and non-duration is merely another word for non-being. Space, therefore, which does not exist during time, to us does not exist at all, and conse- quently, if we cannot conceive the possibility of that which is neither substance nor non-substance, neither can we conceive the existence of space apart from time. The one, to our conceptions, must be eternal and infinite as well as the other. No doubt, at this point, the whole subject becomes incompre- hensible ; but we are not endeavouring, be it ob- served, to explain the nature of space and time, but only the proofs under which we form our concep- tions of them, which, in so far, is perfectly simple. 420 SENSATION. though not entirely complete — our farther notion of time depending on the operation of memory, and to this particular we shall accordingly again direct our attention when we come to determine the nature and amount of knowledge which that faculty affords. Now, these principles enable us at once to explain a variety of other truths with regard to matter, which have usually been regarded as a priori or intuitive. Thus, the proposition that "it is im- '' possible that two bodies can occupy the same " space at the same time/' Ave believe and know, just from our knowledge of body and space as derived from experience. If two bodies could occupy the same space, then body would not be what we mean by body. The belief of the impos- sibility of such a phenomenon, therefore, is not to be found in any a priori or intuitive knowledge of the nature of body, which would necessarily imply that we knew a priori or intuitively the constitution of the veiy entity of body, still less is it to be found in some kind of magical assurance, that something, Ave do not knoAV Avhat, cannot exist in something else, we do not knoAv Avhat, which is really the form that the supposed intuition on the subject takes in many philosophical Avritings, but in our knowledge of body and space, as experimentally ascertained, under processes already described and determined. In the A^ery same way is also explained our belief in the proposition, " that the same body cannot be in ''different places at the same time;" and the propo- SENSATION. 421 sition, "that a body cannot be moved from one " place to another without passing through the in- ''termediate spaces," which Reid calls necessary truths — meaning thereby truths of which the evidence is inscrutable, and the processes by w^hich w^e attain them undiscoverable — whereas they are necessary truths to us, just because the evidence or grounds of belief in each case can be explained, and because the process in each case can be analysed and known, and we maintain that if the evidence could not be explained, and the process could not be analysed and discovered, i.e., if our belief really rested on some sort of magi- cal intuition, they would to us not only be no necessary truths, but they could be no truths, pro- perly speaking, at all, since such magical intuition is not only inconsistent with all belief conformable to the constitution of intelligent beings, but it could have no possible application or co-relation to any one thing more than to any other, so as to admit of its being understood, unless indeed it were to the constitution of entities, a particular of the nature of wdiich all parties agree that we have and can have no knowledofe whatever. We believe these truths, not in any way as a p7iori or intuitive, but simply because we know them experimentally as matter of fact. We know, in so far, what body is, and we know, in so far, what space is, and it is just this knowledge which is embodied in the pro- positions. To suppose them untrue, therefore, 422 SENSATION. would just be to suppose that body is not what we mean by body, nor space that which we mean by space. If, indeed, we be asked to define what body and space are, we at once admit that it is impossible, because they imply simple states — and, definition being merely the enumeration of the simple ele- ments constituting a compound state, is, therefore, in so far as simple states are concerned, absurd and impossible, becavise they involve no simple elements, being themselves simple and one. But our notions of them, so far as they go, are in no degree less pre- cise on that account, nor have we any difficulty by arbitrary signs descriptive of their results, in com- municating what we mean by them to others who are conscious of their nature as well as we are our- selves. We need hardly add that, in the same way, all our knowledge of truths in regard to body and space, whatever they may be, are realised. It will, therefore, be obvious, that in the know- ledge thus acquired, there is nothing intuitive or a priori, except the existence of our sensations themselves, or, in other words, the existence of our mental and organic natures as known through con- sciousness, if a belief in these can properly be called intuition. At all events, it can only be called in- tuition, in so far as we cannot explain how we are so constituted as to have such consciousness for being so constituted, that we must believe our own con- sciousness, seems an identical proposition. Hence, perhaps, the belief in our consciousness, and ge- SENSATION. 423 nerally in our faculties, may be more properly called mental instinct than intuition, tliouo'h it sisfnifies little what name we give to the belief, if it be un- derstood that we can know no absolute facts except through immediate consciousness, and no proposi- tions except under the conscious exercise of intel- ligence and reason. In sensation, therefore, the mind, having experience of certain facts through our senses, knows them in consciousness. Not, be it observed, that the consciousness of sensation is anything different from the consciousness of the mind itself. It is the mind merely existing in a particular relation, and acted upon by a particular cause. Thus, in the act of sensation we are con- scious of the inind subjectively, and qua mind, as in every other mental operation; but we are, at the same time^ also conscious of this conscious- ness being caused by the action of something ex- ternal to the mind, though intimately conjoined with it. Under this view, the whole process of sensation becomes at once precise and in- telligible. In describing it, we feel that we are merely describing our own felt and experienced consciousness in a well-kno^\Ti operation, and thus a sohd foundation seems to be laid, on which to rest the superstructure of intellectual science, for the last remnants of idealism vanish, as well as of philosophical scepticism. If we be absolutely con- scious both of mind and matter, all doubts upon those particulars are at an end. Nor is there any 424 SEiNlSATlON. other possible mode of meeting philosophical scep- ticism, since every existence of wliicli we are not absolutely conscious, either subjectively or objec- tively, must be known mediately or representa- tively ; and as there is no possible mode of proving" that in such a case, that which we call the medium or representation is really a medium or represex- TATiox, it becomes demonstrative that the primary existence, in so far as we are concerned, is a mere conjecture, and cannot logically be assumed to exist at all. There is, however, beyond all this, a very interest- ing inquiry which suggests itself as to the cause why our visions, in certain cases of dreaming, delirium, and insanity, give us a belief in their reality as sensations. The philosophy of this singular phe- nomenon appears to develope itself in the fact already proved, to the effect, that our consciousness does not make known to us the existence of the external causes of our organic states, as external to those states ; but that we are only conscious of such external causes aspar^s of our organic states — their absolute externality being afterw^ards ascer- tained by experience. It follows from this, that if the organic being realise in itself, in any way a state identical with that which a known external cause usually produces, we must, from the very- nature of experience, believe that such external cause is in operation, unless the error be rectified by the information of other and unconnected ao-encies. SENSATION. 425 This will be farther illustrated by keejDing in view the nature of our simple sensations, as already ex- plained, which are general and not particular — our particular sensations being compounded of the simple feeling combined with the idea of time or some other relation. Hence, when a man's foot, for example, is exposed during sleep in a cold night, he has merely the S'eneral sensation of cold in that member, and consequently that sensation, combin- ing with his dreams, or suggesting them, will give him the particular idea of snow, or any other par- ticular idea, according to the state of his mental or organic tendencies at the time. Nothing could remedy this error, except the obseiwation of our other senses under the guidance of reason, which, being all for the time inoperative, the origin of the false belief becomes, in so far, sufficiently ob^dous. In the same way it seems probable, that in delirium and insanity certain portions of the brain or nerves are so inflamed as to produce irre- sistible feelings of various kinds in the mind con- nected with them. That physical action on the nerves produces mental passions seems indisputable in the operation of some of the ordinary instincts, and hence, if such physical action on the brain produces mental passions, as we are almost posi- tively assured is the case, then we can easily sup- pose, that a certain amount of such action would so entirely withdraw our thoughts from the opera- tion of our senses, and so interfere wi\h. the opera- 426 SEMSATIOX. tion of reason in discriminating differences, as ta give to the organic state all tlie precision, and in- deed all the certainty of actual sensation. The fact that our consciousness of perceptions at all, depends on the degree of interest that we feel in each respectively, and that our observation of all other realities is diminished in proportion to the intensity of such interest, indicates that, in so far, at all events, this theory is true, but our facts are yet too few to justify anything like assurance upon the subject. It is, indeed, wonderful that they have not been more abundantly and carefully ob- served, considering that the result has so direct a relation, not merely to mental but to medical science; for, as the body indisputably acts upon the mind, so does the mind as indisputably act upon the body ; and, indeed, we have the most unques- tionable evidence that the irritability in the brain, causative of insanity, is frequently, if not gene- rally, the result of strong feeling acting on the greater, or less susceptibility of the organs. It is not at all impossible, therefore, that a due regard to mental states might have the most important bearing on the treatment of cases of delirium and insanity; and, although this is now unquestionably recognised, to a certain extent, by all respectable practitioners, yet we neither believe that it is in any case sufficiently recognised, nor that practi- tioners have, generally speaking, such an acquaint- ance with the psvcholosfv as connected with the SENSATION. 427 pliysiology of the subject, as renders them capable of regulating, with any degree of efficiency, or, indeed, beyond the application of the broadest and coarsest rules, the true psychogical principles of cure in the control and neutralisation of the pas- sions, and the determination of their possible tendencies. We are persuaded that the organic affection, in such cases, is rarely confined to the brain, but extends from the brain through other parts of the nervous system which thus partici- pate in the cerebral uneasiness. The particular notion which the general sensation of uneasiness thus generated by the organic irritability may assume, will, of course, depend upon any one or more of an infinity of circumstances which may combine with such sensation to limit and direct it. It would be extremely difficult in most cases, therefore, for any other person, to trace its cause, and probably even the patient himself, in the event of his recovery, could only do it veiy imperfectly. We do not know, however, if it has ever been sufficiently tried, and, therefore, cannot pretend to determine anything in regard to it with certainty. Of course, all that has been said on this point we would desire to be understood as susfofestive rather than anything else. We shall afterwards, however, have an opportunity of recurring to the subject in discussing the operation of other faculties. We may just allude, in conclusion, to the possible improvement and intensification of our 428 SENSATION. sensations, as illustrated in the precision of touch, acquired by the blind, the distinctness of vision acquired by seamen, and the like, which is by no means the result of any mere physical process only, but necessarily follows from the power habitu- ally realised of concentrating attention upon a given species of object, and which, indeed, is more or less felt by every one in incidental cases, when special circumstances for the time give to a particular object so vivid an interest as to produce the effect which habit constitutes in the instances alluded to. CHAPTER VI IT. ON MEMOEY. Connection of the faculties and feelings of the human mind — Nature of memory as contra-distinguished from other states — Memory a distinct faculty— Error of Dr. Brown thereanent — Theory of Dr. Ecid as to memory examined — Mode in which we ascertain our notions of time, duration, perfconal identity, of space and motion — -How we come to recol- lect more easily, and sustain the recollection more permanently, of some tliou2;hts and events, than of others — JMode in winch we come to re- member symbols — Artificial memory explained — How we come to recol- lect mere sounds, or other arbitrary and meaningless sensations — Ex- planation of certain singular and extraordinary phenomena of memory — Phenomena of memory in dreaming, day-dreaming, fever, delirium, and insanit\- — General remarks on memory — Conclusion. It is obvious, from our analysis of sensation, that there is no possibiUty of determining the character of any one portion or state of the human mind, without in so far implying a knowledge of the others, and this becomes still more manifest as we advance in the study of the science. In this way we can readily understand the difficulty of deter- mining the precise order of the mental processes, according to the dates, if we may so speak, of their practical manifestation, not only because they are so intimately interwoven with each other, but be- cause on this very account, the order of the series must depend so much on the circumstances of each individual. Yet, that memory is justly to be con- 430 MEMORY. sidered as the second form under which the human mind developes itself, may fairly be assumed, inas- much as, apart from its operation, no process except sensation can well be conceived as possible, assum- ing farther, as the foundation of our argument — what we trust is now becoming more and more evidently indisputable — that the mind cannot origi- nate any state of itself, apart from some feeling or thought calling it into operation. Memory, then, is the reference of a present con- sciousness to a past consciousness in which the state that it constitutes was primarily realised. There is, however, this distinction betwixt the character of the two states of consciousness, that in the primary state we had actually a conscious- ness of an operating cause, combined with its cognate feeling, and it may be some other feeling or feelings incidentally connected with it; whereas, in the second state, we have only an assurance that such a cause did then ojoerate, and that such cognate feeling co-existed with it, and not any present sense of the actual operation of the one, or co-existence of the other. This description, however, must be understood as limited merely to the feeling immediately and actually cognate to the operating cause, and essential to the consciousness of it, as, for example, to the sensational feeling cognate to the action of odoriferous particles on the olfac- tory nerves in smell, since incidental and co-relative mental feelings may be, and, indeed, must be com- MEMORY. 431 billed with secondary as well as watli primary con- sciousness. Except this, then, Avhich may be called a consciousness of the immediate action of a cause, there is no other difference betwixt the conscious- ness of memory and the anterior consciousness w^hich it recalls, save the mere reference of the one to the other as having existed in a past time. In all this, however, there is clearly a peculiar power of the mind exhibited, under which it retains its states, so that at any future time they may be re- submitted to consideration. Hence, is manifest the singular error into which Dr. Brown has fallen, in saying "that memory is not a distinct intel- "lectual faculty, but is merely conception or sug- " gestion, combined with the feelings of a particular "relation."'' For, no doubt, an idea of memory is merely a " conception ;" but, in the same sense, so is an idea of sensation, and so is every idea result- ing from any state of mind. The question is, how that particular kind of " conception " comes to "combine" with the "particular relation" of time, w^hich he supposes to constitute memory 1 It is the something which combines them, and relates the one to the other, that, in so far, constitutes the "distinct intellectual faculty," and which as- sures us, that certain particulars which do not exist now, did exist at a former period. To explain the phenomenon by refemng it to "suggestion," as he attempts to do, is merely to argue in a circle, " Brown's Lectures — Lecture xli. 432 MEilORY. since the question at once recurs, how can tlie consciousness of one time "suggest" the conscious- ness of another time, as that in which the pheno- menon that it involves was primarily realised ? To this no answer can possibly be given, except by supposing that it originates in a primary power of the human mind, or, in other words, that it is a power of the essence of our mental constitution.'* The power, consequently, is nothing separate from the mind any more than the capacity of perceiving in sensation. It is a power of the mind, and in its exercise, therefore, necessarily calls the mind, i.e., the essence of mind, into operation. All we mean to say is, that it is not referable to, or em- braced under, any other mental power, and that consequently, when Brown refers it to " sugges- "tion," he gives us a fact, instead of a principle, by telling us that it is, instead of telling us how it is ; for " suggestion " merely means indication of some kind or other, but in no measure explains the nature or cause of such indication. Eveiy one knows, as a matter of fact, that ideas of memoiy are " suggested," but we desire to know farther how, when they are " suggested," we should come to connect them with ideas of which we were pre- * It is Dot, Lowever, to be supposed tbat the retention of ideas or feelings in the memory is a power We only mean that the mind has a power of recalling such ideas to its own consciousness. Otherwise memory is merely a c(q)acity of retaining ideas. The power is distinguished from the capacity, as not being a state merely of the mind, but a concentrated eSbrt of the mind in a particular direction, and for a particular purposf. MEMORY. 433 viously conscious^ for this is the province of me- moiy, and we need hardly say that Dr. Brown's theory has really no bearing whatever on the sub- ject wliich he desires to explain. It was in conse- quence of this most unaccountable notion, that, to say an idea was '^suggested," was to explain the process of its generation, that we find Brown attempting to explain almost every mental pheno- mena by this "suggestion," without giving us the slightest information as to the specialities by which the infinite varieties of forms of " suggestion " are to be distinguished from each other, or apparently beino' £iware even that such information was neces- sary. Accordingly, we admit, that " every con- "ception of memory is a suggestion," i.e., it is, somehow or other, suggested to our minds, but it is an explanation of the nature and source of this particular kind of "suggestion" that we desire to receive, but of which Dr. Brown tells us nothing. His very theory of suggestion, indeed, which is almost ludicrously simple, actually precluded all need of analysis ; for it at once applied to every case, and superseded every difficulty, without, however, explaining anything whatever. Memory, therefore, there can be no doubt, is an original and " distinct intellectual faculty," as testified by our conscious- ness, by which past mental states are re-called ; nor is there probably a fact of any kind which human beings more universally and thoroughly recognise. We have thus, in the first instance, in so far F F 434 MEMORY. noticed Brown's theory, because, in thus far, it im- phes an error altogether different from that of Keid, and his more devoted followers, who regard the conceptions of memory as somehow or other distinct from states of the mind itself They seem ' to imagine that ideas of memory are ideas of per- ception, stored up in some receptacle of the mind, which are taken out and examined as often as convenient. For such a theory there seems no ground whatever. It is absolutely impossible and absurd, indeed, to suppose an idea existing per se, and separate from the mind conceiving it. Ideas are merely the objects of our consciousness, or, in other words, are objectively known to the mind, as consciously felt at the very time in which we are also consciously cognisant of the mind itself as their subject, and must consequently continue to apper- tain to the mind in the same form, and to be so REMEMBERED, or clsc the conncction, as actually con- stituted betwixt the recollection and the perception, becomes impossible, since, as will presently appear, the element of duration linking them, must neces- sarily have disappeared in the process. The origin of the misconception may be traced to that very same doctrine concerning ideas, which has generated so many mistakes with regard to sensation. They were supposed, as we have seen, to be some species of demi- spiritual entities or quali- ties coming from external bodies to the mind, and there constituting representatives of such external MEMORY. 435 existences, from which, somehow or other, they had emanated. Now, Dr. Keid, no doubt, repudiated this tiieory, in the mode under which it had been previously recognised, but fell into an error of pre- cisely the same character, by nearly inverting the process, in the distinction w^hich he attempted to draw betwixt sensation and perception, seeing that he has left the mode under which perceptions reach the mind altogether unexplained, except under the supposition that they are separate entities not external to the mind, but pre-existing in the mind, for the purpose of directing our attention to some assumed external existences which they are sup- posed to represent. Hence, he necessarily recog- nises spiritual entities in the mind, not produced by the operation of the mind itself, but arbitrarily and creatively pre-existing there, which he calls first principles, intuitions, and the like, altogether apart from the mere states of the mind to which they appertain, and not generated by any of its faculties. Among these, although he does not seem to have been aware of it himself, perceptions must neces- sarily be included, in as much as there is no other possible source from whence they would be legiti- mately derived. Hence, we at once appreciate the difficulty of discovering how those pre-existing en- tities — those thoughts, ideas, intuitions, or by whatever name they may be called — could be identified with certain external existences on the one hand, and certain faculties of the mind on the 436 MEMORY. other. There seems no Hnk to connect and com- bine them with one another. Now, it is these separate perceptions, whatever they may be, which Keid and his followers regard as the objects of memory. '^ Memory must have an object," says Reid, " Eveiy man who remembers, must remem- " ber something, and that which he remembers is '' called the object of his remembrance. In this " memory agrees with perception, but differs from •'sensation, Avliich has no object but the feeling " itself. "» This evidently confuses the indirect refe- rence made by memory to a past cause or primary consciousness, with the direct consciousness wliich is the feeling itself, the state of mind itself, and evidently can be notliing else. Hence, a new series of difficulties ; for, if we recollect not the mind itself existing in a past state as conscious of an object, but some object distinct from the mind, some isolated spiritual entity existing somehow in the mind, it seems not only difficult to conceive how it could be connected with the mind at all, but absolutely impossible to imagine how even an approximating notion would be formed as to the TIME WHEN IT HAD BEEN ORIGINALLY GENERATED THERE. It might have been a day, or a year, or a thousand years before. If we merely remember objects or phenomena., and not the mind which realises them, it would obviously be impossible to connect them with any particular time in which our * Intellcctua] powers — Essay 3rd, cli. 1. MEMORY. 437 iniTicls were conscious of tlieiu, inasmuch as by the veiy supposition, we never were conscious of our minds at all. That we could possibly, therefore, recoofnise a time when ideas became to us connected with a mind, of which we never knew anything at all, and of the existence of which we were never conscious, is evidently absurd and contradictory ; and it is in vain to say that ^^'0 measure time by a reference to external facts, such as the rising or setting of the sun, or by the progress of months and years, because either the ideas of these must be themselves states of mind, i.e., of which we are conscious objectively, along with our consciousness of our minds subjectively, or else they would be mere phenomena apart from any consciousness of mind, and existing as isolated facts; so that such ideas, the moment they were past, being in no way connected with our consciousness of mind, could convey no idea of duration, which, if not felt by the mind as a mode of its own existence, evidently could never be reahsed at all. Duration can only be appreciated, in the first instance, by a remem- brance of the time durinof which we have been conscious of our own existence, i.e., of our o^tl minds existing, and thus it is that we have our ideas of the comparative longitude of the various periods into which time has been more or less ai-tificially divided. Our minds, while w^e are awake, progress in a continuous course of thinking and feeling, realising at each successive stage their 438 MEMORY. various objects of consciousness — each state becom- ing latent in giving way to an ulterior state^ until re-called to recollection by an operation of memory • — wlien^ however, we have not theforriier state abso- lutely re-produced, but a new state which, though not the former state, yet recognises the former state, and in an obvious sense, identifies it with itself, under a process which necessarily implies a cogni- tion more or less precise, of the length of conscious existence which has intervened between them. We thus, by memory, in connection with continuous consciousness of existence, use the phenomena of our objective consciousness, as measures of dura- tion, and thus, in so far, can compare times ge- nerally altogether apart from any artificial mea- surement, which is, indeed, a modification of this process, and can be only understood in its jDhilo- sophy by a reference to it. Hence, our artificial measurements of time can give us no natural or primary knowledge of duration. These are a mere result of reason and experience, limiting and determining into parts our general knowledge of duration attained by the consciousness of the mind itself, and thus giving us inferential conclusions, which become practically available for defining and comparing the precise periods at which various ideas occurred, and the length of time during which various ideas continued. Of course these conclusions, again, are indirectly applicable to exter- nal existences as generative of such ideas, being, MEMORY. 439 indeed, the form under which time is usually regarded, and thus it is that, by habit, we are led to connect our ideas of time with such external existences, as if it were these that we directly re- member ; whereas our knowledge of these can only be indirect, in so far as we know certain particulars of our consciousness to be derived from them, the real objects of consciousness being the states of mind in which such external objects undoubtedly, in so far, are involved, though not their entities or constitutive natures, which we only discover to be external to our minds by the operation of exj)erience. But, even supposing that we had some means of connecting such objects or phenomena with our minds at such periods as they respectively began to exist there (which, however, if we are not con- scious of our minds, is evidently impossible), yet, supposing such to be the case, how could we form any idea of the duration of those vast portions of our lives during wJiich we have no distinct recollec- tion of any external event at all 1 It is manifest, that unless there were in our remembrance a remem- brance of the consciousness of our own existence during those periods, however vague it may be, or, at all events, an assurance that we have in all past time, had a continuous remembrance of such consciousness, we could have no kind of idea of the length of time intei-vening betwixt any two events that mio^ht be remembered. If we had no recol- lection of the consciousness of the mind itself 440 MEMORY. during such period, it would be perfectly impossible for us to determine whether the interval betwixt such events had been ten minutes or ten years. But, without dwelling upon a matter so obvious, we may take it for granted, under such circum- stances, that no one will maintain our knowledge of duration to be derived from any external cause exclusively, which is the great point of practical importance. It will not be maintained that there is nothing in the processes of our minds which could enable us to distinguish betwixt a day and a year, except the observation of the solar and lunar phenomena ; nor betwixt five minutes and five hours, except our perce2:)tions of the motions of a watch, or the shades of a sun-dial. So far, indeed, are the phenomena from warranting such a conclu- sion that, on the contraiy, we have in every act of recollection, an immediate assurance of a state of mind as having occurred at some past period of our history of which the date is fixed in each instance more or less precisely, by a sense of the continued duration of the mind itself, as conscious of a series of subsequent states. We are in no degree conscious of any double process under which the recollection of such anterior consciouness is, by a separate opera- tion, connected with our minds, and a determination of the date of its occurrence thence elicited. We are not, indeed, conscious of any spiritual entities or ideas whatever distinct from our states of mind themselves 'nor is there any ground for supposing MEMORY. " 441 the existence of such spiritual entites, iior are they, indeed, possible, as we trust is now obvious under the considerations which have thus been suggested. If, indeed, we can be assured of anything, it is that in memory we can directly remember only the states of our own minds, or, in other words, our minds themselves existing;' in certain states — and this extends to the recollection, generally, of our minds absolutely as existing even during the times that we remember nothing of their special opera- tions. We have a general recollection that, all along, during our w^aking hours we have been con- scious of our own existence, as well as of the time during which we have thus been conscious of such existence continuously flowing onwards, so as to give us the notion of duration. That we cannot measure duration in the same way during sleep, is just because our consciousness of existence has been more or less dormant, though^ when we awake, the feelings of our organic state, as more or less refreshed, vigorous, &c., will indicate more or less, through experience, the duration of our slum- bers. It is not, therefore, any external facts that memory directly recognises, nor isolated spiritual entities existing in the mind, whether under the name of images, ideas, intuitions, cognitions, or anything else — such words, when correctly em- ployed, being mere names for different forms of mental consciousness — but it is the mind itself which the mind remembers as existing in different 442 MEMORY. states and operating in different phenomena. In this way, in memory the whole character and frame of mind, as thinking, desiring, feeling, and so on at any former time, is represented to us. It is not anything isolated or apart, but the precise state in which we existed at some former period, in propor- tion to the clearness of our recollection in each case, which is imaged before us, and this — by a process which will afterwards be explained — in connection with those other states, which preceded or followed such recollection, in so far as it may have been modijied or coloured thereby. No doubt the error to which we have now been adverting has partially resulted from the tendency of philosophers to re- gard the faculties of the mind in some subtle and metaphysical way, as something distinct from the mind itself, as if sensation, memory, reason, &c., were not modes merely under which the mind ex- hibits itself, but quahties existing somehow away from the mind, and each operating separately and 2oer se. Now, it would be just as reasonable to suppose that the eye, the ear, the nose, the palate, were things separate from the organic system and operating jper se, or were merely in an arbitrary manner connected with it, as to suppose that the mental qualities are so with regard to the mind. They are, as qualities are of the mind, just parts of the organic system, or powers of it — which, as we now use the terms, is the same thing — and of the very essence of it, else would it be impossible to MEMORY. 443 connect them with, the organic system at all, and they would evidently exist as independent and merely isolated phenomena. Now, there is no particular with respect to which the importance of this practical development of the nature of memoiy is more strikingly manifested than in explaining the grounds of our belief in personal identity — a subject which has already in so far been discussed ; but it is a phenomenon, which, simple as it appears, has generated so much doubt and difficulty, approximating almost to scep- ticism, that it seems desirable again to recur to it — since, under the views that have now been given, our argument may be more thoroughly understood — especially considering that it necessarily lies at the foundation of all science, and that there can be no certainty of any philosophical conclusion, so long as our faith in, and conception of this conviction remains unsettled. Nor need the perplexities which have distracted all philosophers in regard to the grounds of our belief in personal identity, surprise us, considering the almost universal error to which we have recently been directing our atten- tion, under which our recollections are assumed to be the remembrance of certain thoughts, ideas, feelings, or objects of some kind or other existing in the mind, instead of the remembrance of the mind itself realising such thoughts or objects. Under that assumption, indeed, any satisfactory explanation of our belief in personal identity, as will 444 MEMORY. now be clearly perceived, is perfectly impossible-— since, if it be thoughts or objects in the mind, and not the mind itself realising such thoughts or ob- jects that we remember, it would be impossible to say either that such objects existed in our minds^ or even that the mind in which these objects for- merly existed was the same mind in which repre- sentations of them subsequently were found, or even if at either of these times they existed in a mind at all, or were anything else than isolated ideas or singular relations, existing indeed, but when, where, or how, it would be out of the ques- tion even to attempt logically to determine. Nothing, accordingly, can be more unsatisfactory than the views generally of philosophers upon this subject. Locke has confounded consciousness with memory, and personal identity itself with the grounds of our belief in it. He says — " For since consci- '^ousness always accompanies thinking, and it is " that that makes every one what he calls self; and "thereby distinguishes him from all other think- '^ing beings; in this alone consists personal " identity, i.e., the sameness of the rational being ; " and as far as this consciousness can be calculated " backwards, to any past action or thought, so far " REACHES THE IDENTITY OF THE PERSON ; it is the " same self now, as it was then ; and it is by the " same self with this present one, that the action " was done."'' In other words, consciousness is not " Human understanding — Book 2d, cli. 25th, Sec. 9. MEMORY. 445 "a state which reahses our thoughts, but it is a some- thing which " accompanies thinking ;" and it is not the ground of our belief in personal identity, but " in *Hhis alone consists personal identity;" and hence whatever portions of our lives we are not conscious of, we must abstract from the duration of our personal identity. But w^e are and can only be conscious of the present moment, and, therefore, under this theory there could be no such thing as personal identity at all. Assuming, however, that in this Locke had, somehow, unmttingly confused con- sciousness with memory, it would still follow, that personal identity could only be predicated of times with reference to which we recollected some '^past action or thought," which would limit our assu- rance of personal identity to a very small portion of our hves, with large gaps at interv^als, during which it would utterly disappear. Indeed, under any view, it is certain that this theory annihilates per- sonal identity altogether ; for, though there might be identity of consciousness, identity of the mind would be impossible, since the mind itself is never supposed to be known in any part of the process. Reid, however, has so fully and fairly criticised this theory of Locke's, that nothing further need be said on the subject, although after all, his own hypo- thesis can hardly be regarded as much more satisfactory. For he calls " Identity a relation "between a thino^ which is hioivn to exist at "one time, and a thing which is known to have 446 MEMORY. ''existed at another time."* Whereas identity, whatever it may be, may certainly exist whether it be hnown or not, for surely the same thing may or rather must be, the same thing, even supposing the relation entirely unknown. The sameness does not depend upon its being known ; but is and must be an actual fact, whether known or unknown. It is manifest, from this definition, that E-eid, notwith- standing the sharpness of his criticism, had by no means thoroughly disembarassed himself of Locke's theory of "consciousness" being ''identity." Pro- bably he was partly aware of the confusion of his ideas on the subject, for, almost immediately after- wards, he says, " If you ask a definition of identity, " I confess that I cannot give one ! It is too " simple a notion to admit of logical definition."'' Now this is perfectly true, and it had been well that Reid had kept it in view, when he attempted such a definition. The only objection to the remark is, that it had nothing to do with the par- ticular point which he desired to determine. There is no need of a definition in such a case, for all human beings know what personal identity means, and the only question is, how they come to be assured of their own personal identity. In one passage, Reid ascribes it to "remembrance." He says, " I remember that, twenty years ago, I con- " versed with such a person : my memory testifies " not only that this was done, but that it was done » Intellectual powers — Essay 3d, ch. 4. *• Do. MEMORY. 447 *'by ME, who now remember it. "^ Now, this would be perfectly just, in so far as it goes, provided Reid's system admitted that the "me" could be remember- ed, but for this purpose, it is obvious that we must have been conscious of the " me," i.e., of the soul itself, in order that we could, by possibility, re- member it, since it is obviously impossible to re- member that which we never knew. But Reid's system admits of no such consciousness, for he limits consciousness to the faculties and feelings, i.e., in other words, either to something away from the mind, and intermediate betwixt the mind and the object, or to tbe mere operations of mind. Hence he was necessarily driven to another theory, to the effect that our belief in our owti identity is a principle taken for granted as depending nearly on the same mtuitive or instinctive conviction, as as- sures us of the existence of memory itself or any other mental power. " I take it for granted," he says, "that all the thoughts I am conscious of or " remember, are the thoughts of one and the same " thinking principle which I call myself or my mind. " Every man has an immediate and irresistible con- "viction, not only of his present existence, but of " his continued existence and identity so far back ''as he can remember ;" and a few sentences after- wards, he adds — "Every man of a sound mind "finds himself under a necessity of believing his " own identity. The conviction of this is immediate * Intellectual powers — Essay 3rd, ch. 4. 448 MEMORY. ''and irresistible."" It is clear, therefore, that in referring our belief in personal identity to " Ke- " membrance," Dr. Reid must have had some idea of some indirect action of memory forced upon him by the evident consideration, that unless the mind itself was in some way or other involved in the process, it could not be possible to have any evi- dence whatever of its identity. This notion, how- ever, was altogether vague, and accordingly he falls back again on his primary theoiy of intuition in express and unqualified terms, as alone in any measure satisfactorily explanatory of the pheno- menon, in the words which immediately follow the analysis previously given. " We probably, at '' first," he says, " derive our notion of identity " from that natural conviction which every man has ''from the dawn of reason of his own identity and " continued existence. The operations of our minds "are all successive, and have no continued exis- "tence." There, accordingly, was his difficulty. Memory could not evolve the phenomenon, for, sup- posing that we are conscious only of the faculties or operations of mind, and not of the very essence of mind itself, it was impossible to conceive how " the " memoiy testified not only that the acts done "twenty years before were done, but that they "were done by me;" and, accordingly, it is with a view of accounting for this part of the phenomenon, that he goes on again as formerly to refer it to in- " Intellectual powers — Essay 1st, cli. 2. MEMORY. 449 tuition, in these words, '^but the thinking being *'has a continued existence, and we have an " invincible belief that it remains the same, when " all its thoughts and operations change."^ Hence, it follows, that according to Keid, memory is not directly, but only indirectly the cause of our belief in personal identity, as being the occasion merely which originates the conviction of our previous ex- istence, by enabhng us to compare a former fact with a present phenomenon, and therefore requiring the supplement of an " invincible belief," in order to assm^e us of our continuous identity ; which invin- cible belief, howevei', being left wholly unexplained, and, as an isolated phenomenon, being, indeed, wholly inexplicable, as having no foundation in fact — all logical grounds of belief in our personal identity, necessarily fail. The \T.ews of Brown upon this subject, are, as has been said, substantively the veiy same as Pteid's, and therefore, of course, liable to the same objec- tions. In one place he says, " there is to be found "in it {i.e. our belief in personal identity) every "■ circumstance wliich can be required to substan- " tiate it as a law of intuitive belief."^ and aQi'ain, "the belief of our mental identity, then, we may " safely conclude, is founded on an essential princi- " pie of our constitution. "<= But, in the very same Lecture we are informed, " our faith in our iden- * Intellectual powers — Essay 3rd, ch. 4. *■ Brown's Lectures — Lecture xiii. • Do. G G 450 MEMORY, " tity then, as being only another form of the faitn " which we put in memoiy, can be questioned only " by those who deny all memory,"'' which can only mean, that we remember our personal identity as a matter of fact, whereas belief in personal identity tinder the very terms of the expression, implies a sense of present existence in relation to our w^hole past lives. The confusion, both in the cases of Brown and Reid, manifestly originates in their con- viction that memory had assuredly something to do with the matter, combined with their inability to explain what that something actually is ; while this inability again, was owing to their idea that we are conscious only of the operations of mind, and not of mind itself. Hence, while they connect memory in some way with the phenomenon, they do not even attempt to explain what part memory per- forms in realising it. They content themselves with cutting the knot, by referring the result to some inexplicable intuition. Now, all this contradiction and confusion at once and entirely disappears, when we regard memory as recalling not merely certain spiritual entities or operations which have existed in the mind, but the MIND ITSELF, as foimerly existing in certain states ; and the cause of the phenomenon is brought out in its fulness, when we farther keep in vicAv what every one knows to be fact, that Ave are not only conscious of our minds when eno-aofed in fomial * Brown's Leciiiros — Lecture xiii. MEMORY. 451 processes, but that we are conscious of their existence at all times, at least while we are awake, although, perhaps, in a less marked and precise form, and that this continuous consciousness is, of course, a subject of memory. Not, indeed, that we actually remember every instant of our existence, qua exist- ence, any more than we remember eveiy mental process, but we remember, that all our lives we have had the same remembrance of our continued identity, or in other w^ords, that there never w^as a period of our hves in which we doubted it, so that by a comparison of our present consciousness w^ith our past remembrance, the assurance of our per- sonal identity thus extends backwards, through every period of our history, up to the time when we began to have any feelings at all. It is not, therefore, the remembrance of our mental opera- tions, states, or ideas, that gives us the assurance of our personal identity, but the remembrance of our minds themselves as existing in all our varied states, and the more we think of it, it becomes the more obxaous, that except by this remembrance of our minds themselves, we could never have any proof of our personal identity at all. In this there is no difficulty nor subtilty. The fact, as stated, not only simply and thoroughly ex^^lains the phe- nomenon, but the explanation is felt to be true to our consciousness, the moment that we clearly understand it. That the consciousness of our own existence, and consequently the recollection of it, may, in so far, be 452 MEMORY. interrupted by sleep, is true, yet, when we awake from such sleep, we are under the veiy same opera- tion of memoiy assured, that we are the same identical persons as when we fell asleep. We are not, however, prepared, if such expression may be used, dogmatically to admit that human beings (setting aside dreams) are altogether unconscious of existence even during sleep. Assuredly we have an impression more or less distinct and precise, even after sound sleep, as to the comparative length of time during which it has continued. At all events, as has been already proved, and we need not repeat the argument, we know by memoiy that we are the same persons as when we fell asleep, and no possible objection can be taken to the conclusion, excej^t on the inadmissible assump- tion that our natures deceive us, and that our memories testify a lie. In so far memory, too, is necessary for the con- stitution of our knowledge of space, i.e., not of space as discoverable by any single sensation — for this is known as a whole, at once and directly, by consciousness — but of that knowledge of space which we acquire by successive acts of consciousness under which such knowledge is amplified. In the same way memory is necessary for the constitution of our idea of motion. The process in each case, how- ever, is so obvious, that it is sufficient merely to indicate the share which this faculty or capacity has in the realisation of those phenomena. V We now come to a particular in regard to me- MEMORY. 453 mory of the very greatest practical importance, and wliicli is necessarily suggested by the tenor of the argument in ^A'hich we have been engaged, for it was therein indicated that it is only a portion, and a small portion, of the operations and states or ideas of which we have been conscious that we con- tinue to remember, and which thus serve as fixed points, by means of which a more precise determi- nation of the longitude of the various portions of our lives may be ascertained. Hence we are natu- rally led to inquire how this should be ? and how it should happen that some things are easily re- membered and long remembered, whilst others are difficult to remember, and quickly forgotten. In explaining this, it may, in the first instance, be remarked generally, that no doubt the character and compass of the memoiy in different individuals depends in so far on their respective mental consti- tutions. One man has, we find, a better memory than another ; and one man has a better memory in respect of one species of phenomena, and another in respect of another. This, to a certain extent is, no doubt, referable to nature, and in thus far we can no more explain such differences than we can explain the essential constitution of memoiy itself Except in so far as they directly act on us or are felt by us, the nature of entities is beyond our dis- coveiy. We believe, however, that in regard to these apparent differences of memory, much more is usually assigned to nature than belongs to nature, 454 MEMORY. and that many particulars usually referred to pri- mary constitution, are really explicable by other causes, and we have no doubt will sometime be so explained to an extent at present, perhaps, hardly conceivable. The point, however, to which we now specially desire to direct our attention, does not regard the differences of memory amongst different individuals, whether attributable to original constitution or not, but to the difference in the various kinds of phe- nomena under which the same person recollects some particulars and forgets others, even though they be of the same date — nay, sometimes con- tinues to remember those which had occurred long before others which he has entirely forgotten. Mr. Stewart, in so far truly attributes to attention the greater or less ease with which we commit to memory, but most erroneously, according to the usage of his school, supposes attention to be a primaiy principle,''' wJiereas ''attention" is merely the name of a more or less voluntaiy direction of the mind to a particular object, and, therefore, can in no measure explain this cognate phenomenon. It is, however, very easily explained as being merely the result of the greater or less interest that we feel in the object, from whatever cause, and whether volun- tary or involuntary. In truth, it is on the interest involved in a subject, either directly or indirectly, • Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind, ch. 2nd and ch. 6th, BBC. 1, and Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind, ch. 2nd, sec. 1. MEMORY. 455 that attention itself depends ; for to attend to that to which we are perfectly indifferent, under any aspect, is impossible, or rather it is impossible that we should even attempt to attend to it. On the same principle, a stronger feeling or passion coming into operation with respect to some other particular, will immediately distract our attention from that in which we had been previously engaged. We have here^ therefore, the true cause of one particu- lar being more easily remembered, and of being more firmly fixed in the mind, than another. What- ever involves the strongest passion, the deepest interest, will be the most easily acquired and the most permanently remembered; and^ accordingly, those events which occur wdien our passions are strongest, are ceteris paribus the most deeply fixed in the memory. This is precisely the reason that old people frequently remember the events of their youth, when they have forgotten those which ap- pear to be equally or more important, that had occurred only a short time before. Their passions in old ao'e are weaker — the events of life are there- fore, less interesting, and in the same measure are they stamped less deeply upon the memory. Nay, in some instances in this way we have a more precise and lasting recollection of events to w^hich we had given no attention at all, understand- ing attention in the sense which Stewart rightly attributes to it, of a voluntary direction of the mind. Thus a sudden accident or unexpected misfortune, 456 MEMORY. to which we had not voluntarily directed our thoughts at all, will be longer remembered and more accurately remembered than facts of less in- terest, to which for weeks, or even years, our thoughts had been as anxiously directed as our voluntary agency was capable of enforcing. It is on this account that we find it necessary to interest children in anything which we wish them to learn. The more we interest them the more intense will be their instinctive application, and, of course, the greater their success. We can force voluntary ap- plication by the fear of punishment, but this is the least effective mode of attaining the end. We try, therefore, to give them an instinctive, though still an indirect interest in the hope of reward, whether immediate or prospective ; but the most effective mode results from the interest which they may actually take in aay study itself for its own sake. This iiDjDhes not only an instinctive, but a dnect interest; and when it can be realised, the results will be both more rapid and more permanent. This appears still more manifest from the con- sideration, that except in so far as desires or pas- sions are combined with any idea, it can never recur to our remembrance at all. That which we feel no interest in, of any kind, it is impossible that we can thinli of We do not seem even to be conscious of sensations which are neither accompanied by feel- ings of pain nor of pleasure ; for those sensations which we observe only by attention, are evidently MEMORY. 457 observed tlirougli the operation of those feehngs which originate such attention, and therefore, obvi- ously must imply desire of some kind or other. In the same way, we cannot be conscious of any thought previously known to the mind, nor could such thought suggest itself, unless directly or indi- rectly some feeUng called our attention to it. Hence, it would seem that the mass of our thoughts are latent in the mind, just because they are not cognate to any existing feeling, or in other words, suitable for its gratification ; and consequently, it follows, as indeed is the fact, that ideas or thoughts cease to be latent, and are remembered just as their respective cognate feelings, i.e., the feelings which more or less directly can be gratified through their instrumentality, successively exhibit them- selves. In this way, it may be doubted whether any large proportion of our thoughts are ever lost, or whether they would not be remembered again, could we only re-exist in the same or a cognate state of feeling. Certain it is, that long-forgotten events do suddenly rise up in our minds — sometimes during dreams, or under an entire change of circum- stances — such, as in a measure, to bring back ten- dencies and feelings, which, from lapse of years, had been much impaired, or in a great measure, even to all appearance, annihilated. Thus, again, it is manifest, that as any idea ceases to be connected with the feeling which originally made it known to our consciousness, it must, in the same propor- 458 MEMORY, tion, become obscure and gradually die away and be forgotten. Its connection with the conscious- ness in such a case, diminishes and disappears. If an event be recollected at all, therefore, it must be by some greater or less interest, still attached to the feeling with which it was primarily connected, or to that feeling being revivified and renewed. As there must be a feeling before we can realise a sensation therefore, so must there be a feeling be- fore we can realise a recollection : without this, it is impossible that the mind can have any attraction to it, so as to bring it within the scope of its appre- hension. This intimate relationship of feeling to the consciousness both of sensation and recollec- tion, will be farther illustrated when we come to speak of the association of ideas; but it is most wonderful, considering the interest involved in it, and its practical importance, that the phenomenon has been so little attended to. In connection with this subject arises an inquiry into the manner in which we remember symbols, such as mere words, or the like, which have in themselves no meaning, and consequently can in so far involve no feeling, but which acquire a meaning, and imply a feeling, merely as represen- tatives of events or objects with which they are arbitrarily identified. That we could remember a word which has no meaning, and which we connect with no feeling nor any jDurpose — for in this case obviously a feeling would necessarily be involved-^ MEMORY. 459 is under the analysis wliicli we have ah'eady com- pleted, indisputably impossible. Our remembrance of words, consequently, and all symbols, qua sym- bols, must necessarily depend upon their representa- tive character, and is conceivable in no other way. Now, in order to explain this phenomenon, we must in so far anticipate by appealing to a result which can only be attainable under a process not yet in- vestigated, but which, as we all know, enables us to ascertain identities and differences, and all manner of relations, and to the desire of ascertaining such particulars through Avhich the suitable faculty for the purpose of ascertaining them is called into operation. Accordingly, under the operation of this faculty we first learn to connect natural sounds with their causes, and subsequently learn to identify all the ar- tificial symbols by which our fellow-creatures express the various thoughts or indicate the various events and objects which they desire to communicate, or to which they desire to direct the attention of each other. The felt utility of such an identification, and its evident tendency to realise our wishes, con- stitute probably the primary feeling which urges us to its attainment. And in that attainment we necessarily, in each case, come to identify also the feeling which each thought, event, or object, in- volves, with the symbol which now is emj^loyed to represent it. No doubt the feeling involved in many ideas, especially when exceedingly complex, may be vague and general, as being not merely 460 MEMORY. absolute, but still more distinctive ; yet, that some such feeling must combine with representative symbols is certain, otherwise they could not be symbols, and would instantly be forgotten. That the feehng must frequently be vague and distinc- tive rather than absolute, is, however, clear from attendino: to this circumstance, which seems to have been almost entirely overlooked — that words, such, for example, as "histoiy," not merely symbolise single ideas, but books and volumes. When, ac- cordingly, we speak of " history," we cannot mean all history, but that something which distinguishes and discriminates the composition called history from philosophy, medicine, &c. It is the feeling cognate with the rational distinction and discrimi- nation, therefore, which cognises to us the idea wliich the word represents. Yet this feeling may obviously be of a very complicated kind, compre- hending more or less an immense mass of feelings, all more or less related to the multitude of ideas or events which it symbolises, and thus, as we shall presently shew more particularly, may recall and re- present any one of them to our remembrance. In this way it is obvious enough how symbols will come gradually, by habit, to take the place of the events or objects which they were intended merely to repre- sent, and we thus come to imagine that we under- stand a subject when we have merely realised the vague feelings attached to its representative symbols. This developes the first main cause of that confusion MEMORY. 461 and indefiiiiteness of thought which characterises the great majority of mankind- — a subject which we can merely indicate here, but which will constitute a portion, and a most important portion, of our subsequent investigations. From these considerations it will be easily seen, that artificial memoiy, as it is called, is not, as some suppose, a mere delusion — for artificial memory is just the invention of new symbols, which, if tho- roughly identified with feelings cognate to the ideas which they represent, will necessarily recall them, and the more readity, that the identification of these ideas and their symbols is a separate and isolated act, which, accordingly, can be mixed up with no other considerations, and therefore is impressed on the mind with a precision and definiteness which could not have been otherwise ascertained. Hence apj)ears, farther, also, the importance to memory of frequently recalling our knowledge, and especially our symboUcal knowledge, in order that we may thereby not only acquire a more full and accurate assurance of the meaning of the symbols, but may also identify more entirely the feelings which apper- tain to the things represented with their representa- tive symbols, so as that the same feelings being common to, may equally suggest, both. From this it will be obvious that eveiy resolution to recol- lect an event at some future time must be accom- panied by some sjTiibolical an-angement, which, being likely to be brought under our notice when 462 MEMORY. the idea is to be recalled, may thus be made to act as a monitor. But whilst it is clear, that our remembrance of symbols must necessarily depend upon their repre- sentative character, and their union thereby with the feelings which appertain to the originals or sub- jects which they represent, so long as we regard them quel symbols, it is undoubtedly true, also, that we may remember sounds or any other symbols apart from any rational meaning attached to them after frequent repetition, under a different process. This is very strikingly illustrated in the case of musical sounds, when the recollection seems to de- pend on the feeling imphed in relations of harmony by which former sensations are recalled, and which, in so far, at all events, would seem to be organic, in as far as the nerves, and through them the mus- cles, naturally assume consecutive and accordant vibrations, so that a sudden and irreofular stop in the music gives a sort of shock to the system. In the same way, in repeating poetry there seems to be a sense of the same species of harmony as realised in numbers, and which seems organically to suggest to us, without any effort, the suc- cessive words to which we had been accustomed. The same cause, in a modified form, probably ex- plains the effect, also, of very frequent repetition of words, whatever be the nature of their arrange- ment. Assuredly, we come to repeat them, with- out any reference to the sense, and this is, no doubt. MEMORY. 4f)3 from habit having gradually given them a sort of measured harmony to ourselves unconsciously, so that each antecedent word, as it were, modulates the physical organisation for the pronunciation of that which succeeds it ; and this seems proved by the universally-knoTvm fact, that if at any point the stream of repetition ceases, we cannot proceed again from the same point in the same way, but must either recall the sense, in order to commence the subsequent repetition, or else return again on our steps, till the harmony, if we may so speak, of the operation be recovered. This, indeed, is the cause of our tendency, m such cases, to repeat veiy rapidly, so as not to allow the slidinsf movements of the muscles to stop, so long as to interfere with the process. In so far, then, the philosophy of the common 23heno- mena of memory seems sufficiently clear and intelli- gible, nor can we doubt that, as memory is realised by feeling, the only effectual means of recalling past thoughts is by recovering the former state of mind, or tone of feeling, by tracing backwards the train of thought from feeling to feeling, when the particular thought which we desire will ultimately be remem- bered, so long, at all events, as any degree of the actual identification of such thouo-ht with the feehn« which realised its consciousness, continues to remain. The same principle will serve, in some measure, per- haps, to explain, also, certain singular and extraor- dinaiy phenomena of memory which have been recorded by Dr. Abercrombie — one of the few phy- 464 MEMORY. sicians that would seem, in any measure, to have aj^preciated the intimate connection betwixt mental philosophy and medical science — '^ A man mention- " ed by Mr. Abemethy," he says, ^'had been born in " France, but had spent the greater part of his life " in England, and for many years had entirely lost " the habit of speaking French. But, when under " the care of Mr. Abernethy, on account of the " effects of an injury on the head, he always spoke " French." Again, '^ a similar case occurred in St. " Thomas' Hospital, of a man who was in a state " of stupor, in consequence of an injury of the head. '' On his partial recovery, he spoke a language " which nobody in the hospital understood, but " which was soon ascertained to be Welsh. It was ^' then discovered that he had been thirty years ab- "sent from Wales, and before the accident had " entirely forgotten his native language ! " But, perhaps the most extraordinary case is the fol- lowing: '^ A case," he says, "has been related " to me of a boy who, at the age of four, received " a fracture of the skull, for which he under- "went the operation of trepan. He was, at the " time, in a state of perfect stupor, and after his re- '^ covery, retained no recollection either of the " accident or the operation. At the age of fifteen, " during the delirium of a fever, he gave his mother "a correct description of the operation, and the " persons who were present at it, with their dress " and other minute particulars. He had never MEMORY. 465 '' been obsei-ved to allude to it before, and no means " were known b}^ which he could have acquired the '' circumstances which he mentioned."'' Now, were all the particulars of this last case thoroughly as- certained and certain, it would go far to prove that our organic states may affect the mind uncon- sciously, and thus may subsequently be remem- bered, in the event of a recurrence of perfectly identical or cognate feelings, so as to give con- sciousness to those states. But thouo-h we not only believe this possible, but are also inclined to think that there are many facts more or less corro- borative of such a theory, yet, it is evident that the case mentioned is too loosely reported, and alto- gether liable to too many objections to justify any approach to a positive conclusion upon the subject. The whole of these cases, however, in each of which, no doubt, there must have been some truth, v\^ould seem to sanction a supposition previously indicated, that in reality we never forget anything, so as that a recurrence of absolutely identical or cognate feel- ings might not recall it, but that past states of mind are merely latent until such identical or cognate feelings re-appear as to realise a consciousness of them. Hence it would seem that it is not our memory itself which depends on the state of the body or organic being, but the feelings which give consciousness to the memory. This seems a war- rantable conclusion from the cases above quoted, so * Inquiries concerning the Intellectual Powers — Part 3rd, sec. 1. H H 466 MEMORY. far as they can be depended on, and it is confirmed by all experience, inasmuch as though memory unquestionably appears in so far to be modified by the state of the body — as when the spirits are depressed, for example, or the nervous sys- tem agitated ; yet this modification of memory is not occasioned by any absolute afiection of that faculty itself, which is immediately restored to its full strength on the re-adjustment of the feelings, specially in the restoration of the vigour and energies of the bodily frame. But how^ever intensely inte- resting this subject may be, it is obvious that we want facts for the attainment of anything hke assurance as to our conclusions. If, however, the necessity be clearly understood, and the importance of the results appreciated, we need not doubt that facts well authenticated — for otherwise they are nearly useless — will be forthcoming. Every man, and especially every medical man, has an oppor- tunity of guaranteeing so much, and we shall quickly have the means of ascertaining conclusions which at present are beyond our reach, when men are convinced that they may benefit their respective professions, and illustrate their own professional posi- tion, by communicating them. The veiy same principles farther go to explain, in a great measure, many of the phenomena of dreaming, day-dreaming, fever, delirium, and in- sanity, wherein events long past and apparently forgotten, reappear in the most vivid colours to our MEMORY. 467 recollection. In such cases everything save the specially over-ruHng feeling or passion is shut out, wL ether by voluntary effort, bodily state, or whatever cause; and hence it necessarily follows, under these principles, that the consciousness of the particulars cognate to such feeling or passion must be more precise and \'i^dd than under any other circumstances. Hence the rationale of such cases as the followinof : — " An eminent medical friend *' informs me," says Dr. Abercrombie, "that dur- " ing fever, without any delhium, he, on one occa- " sion, repeated long passages from Homer, w^iich " he could not do when in health ; and another '^ friend has mentioned to me, that in a similar " situation, there was represented to his mind in a " most vivid manner, the circumstances of a journey "in the Highlands which he had performed long " before, including many minute particulars which " he had entirely forgotten."'' Why the particular subjects mentioned should thus have occurred to these parties, rather than any other subjects, it is, of course, impossible to say, without a minute knowledge of their history and tendencies, but that having occurred, all the particulars connected with them should have presented themselves vividly to their minds, and been more precisely remembered, depends upon causes which are now — in so far at all events, we trust — perfectly manifest, and Which will be still farther evolved when we come to speak of " Inquiries, &c. — Part 3rd, sec. 1. 466 MEMORY. that mental process usually known under the name of the ^^association of ideas." In the following nar- rative the operation of the same cause is even still more strikingly developed : " The late Dr. Gregory "was accustomed to mention in his lectures the " case of a clergyman, who, while labouring under " a disease of the brain, spoke nothing but Hebrew, "which was ascertained to be the last language "that he had acquired.'"" Now it is the nature of all organic excitement, whether it take the shape of fever, cerebral inflammation, or anything else, to stimulate for a longer or shorter time one par- ticular feeling or desire. In many cases, of course, such feeling or desire will be that most strongly affecting the mind at the time when the disease begins, and especially if such desire or feeling have been, as is often the case, itself a main cause of originating the organic excitement. Accord- ingly, in the case na,rrated, the acquisition of Hebrev\^, as we are informed, having been for some time the great object of the patient's anxiety, his mind under the impulse of the cerebral action took this direction with so much violence as to concen- trate its whole attention thereon during the state of delirium, so that eveiy particular which he had previously mastered of the facts of the language, necessarily was exhibited to him in vivid conscious- ness and without any distraction, all other con- siderations — by the strength of the over-ruling * Aljercrombie's Inquivies, &c — Part oiil, sec. 1. MEMORY. 469 passion — being excluded, and the special object of his desire clothed with suqDassing fascinations. Without maintaining that the principle thoroughly explains all those cases, it is indisputable that in a gTeat measure it explains them, and that apart from it not one of them can be explained at all. It may farther be observed with regard to me- mory, that its notions or states, however complex, and however rapidly they succeed each other, are only one in so far as cotemporaneous, and coloured, if we may so speak, by the same feelings. Each sensation, and indeed, each state of every kind, as we have already partially seen, implies a sepa- rate act of consciousness. We may, therefore, re- member a variety of states as one whole ; but we cannot remember two or more states, at the same time as different, and of which we are made consci- ous by different feelings, although we may be made conscious of one state by the combination of a variety of feelings. Farther, we by no means al- ways remember our sensations or any other states of mind in their completeness, as they originally ex- isted, but we may discriminate and extract, and consequently remember any part of any one state, and even combine it with others, just as the several parts more vividly interest us. It is not memory itself, however, that regulates and combines the succession of our thoughts. This is effected by a process which we shall presently proceed to ex- plain, and which will be found to have an essential 470 MEMORY. bearing on many of the phenomena of memory. It must farther be carefully kept in view, that in every act of memory, along with the object recol- lected, we are also conscious of our own minds recollecting, since unless this were the case, it is evident that the recollection in each case would be something apart from ourselves, and consequently could give us no information, and could not indeed exist, so far as we can conceive, as an object of cognition, but only as a separate, isolated, and absolute entity. In conclusion, it need only be mentioned, that we owe all our knowledge, and all our experience to memory. Apart from this faculty, we could know only phenomena of the moment, which would immediately pass away, to be succeeded by others equally fleeting. But memory retains them, and enables us thereby to afford to intelligence, when it may be required, a knowledge of those facts which are necessary for the determination and ex- tension of principles, which, as applicable to all times and all circumstances, thereby elevate us above creatures of mere observation and impulse, as teaching us, not only what is, but what must BE, and thus ascertaining to us the future, from our logical inferences, as deduced from the past. CHAPTER IX. ON ASSOC [AT [ON OF IDEAS. Our thoughts succeed each other in a regulated order — Theory of Hartley, with respect to the cause of this — Of Leibnitz — Views of later Philoso- phers — Their misconception — Real nature of the process — Farther elucidation of the error of Hume and his successors — Illustration of tho process — Effect of hahit on the process —Action of mind in it — The process as exemplified iu delirium and sleep — Its relation to abstraction or day-dreaming — Nature of our belief in dreams — rjanifestatiou of the process iu Insanity — How the process operates with reference to sym- bolical forms — Summary of the argument. . On [coking bac[i on our bye-past [ives, we can- not he[p being sensibie tiiat our tliouglits have succeeded eacli other in some regu[ated order, but what may be the princip[e of their union, or why one thougiit rather than another shouid succeed a previous t[iought, or liow we are to contro[ the series, or whether we can contro[ it at aii, are points, so far as we are aware, up to t[iis time, wiio[[y unexp[ained and unl^nown. Hartiey attributes the association of ideas to cer- tain operations of the nervous system, and no doubt suc[i operations of t[ie nervous system may, in so far as we can te[[, actua[iy accompany, or even be essentia[ to, the process. But the liypo- tiiesis is of no practica[ importance, not mereiy 472 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. because the action of body on mind, be it what it may, is utterly undiscoverable by us, but because even if [it could be discovered, we should be as far as ever from knowing anything of the mode under which the ideas resulting therefrom could be regu- lated or controlled. Hartley's work is probably one of the most ino-enious that was ever written under any form of the materialistic theory, and is on this account a striking illustration of the practical vanity of that theory, since it has not advanced us one step in the science of intellectual philosophy, in which it is only on a footing practically with every other system founding on the same princij^le, nor, we may venture to say, can any attempt of a similar character by possibility prove more success- ful, since evidently the first thing that such a sys- tem should determme is the possibility of blood and bones, and brains, and senses, and nerves, pro- ducing thought and feeling. Till this be done, it is impossible that any connection can be traced between the two, or any operation of the one re- alised as causative of the other ; and it is clear that this never can be done, till thought and feeling can be subjected to the cognizance of the senses. Leibnitz, again, was of opinion that human beings are a species of machines, whose minds being wound up, if we may so speak, at the begin- ning of their existence, progressively develope the series of thoughts let loose, as the chain runs down ! It is a curious instance of German theories. ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 473 but hardly realising so iiiiicli probability as to merit a lengthened consideration, deservedly eminent as was its author in many or most other branches of science. Philosophers of a later date, have hardly even made an attempt at philosophically explaining the phenomena exhibited in this mental process. Incidentally, no doubt, they record many impor- tant facts ; but, so far as principles are concerned, they have contented themselves with a sort of natural history of association, by collecting the various classes of relations under which, associa- tions seem most generally to take place.'' This ten- dency originated — at least in modern times — with Hume, who supposed that consecutive ideas sug- gest each other, from certain peculiarities of their own nature, which he classifies under three heads. "To me," he says, "there appear to be only three "principles of connection among ideas — viz., resem- " blance, contiguity in time or place, and cause or " effect. That these principles serve to connect " ideas, will not, I believe, be much doubted. A " picture naturally leads our thoughts to the " original, &c."'' Now nothing can more clearly shew the extreme indifference of philosophers to the proper use of terms, or more strikingly indicate a main cause of their consequent embarrassments, * We have in tliis probably the origin of Mr. Jefi'rey's idea, formerly men- tirincd, that mental philosophy i'^ a science of classification. ^ Hume's Essays— Sect. 3. 474 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. than that one endued with so much logical acute - ness as Hume, should in this application, have called, " resemblance, contiguity, or cause and "effect," principles. They are mere facts, and facts external to the mind too, until such time as the mind has appreciated and reahsed the ''resem- "blance, contiguity, cause or effect" of such facts as may be exhibited to it, which implies that the consecutive idea has already been suggested, and hence the very first question which occurs for deter- mining the cause of the phenomenon, is as to the process under which this happens. If w^e once know how the mind comes to attend to the "resem- *'blance, contiguity, causative, or effective" charac- ter of an object, and to direct itself to any one of these peculiarities rather than to others, the problem is well-nigh solved. It is evident, therefore, that Hume has given us, as has been said, a sort of im- perfect natural history, instead of the philosophy of the process, and in this he has been followed by all succeeding inquirers. They have indeed added, and correctly added, certain other relations to those which he had proposed, and in thus far, have rendered the natural history of the j^rocess more complete; but it seems now universally admitted, that to perfect it is impossible, inasmuch as there is no possible relation which can be conceived, direct or indirect, real or symbolical, which may not constitute the antecedent in the process of association. ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 475 Dr. Brown seems^ almost alone, to have per- ceived the difficulty, and in order to meet it, and thus explain why some of the relations which he assumes to constitute the primaiy laws of sugges- tion — ^^resemblance, contrast, nearness, in place or " time " — should occur to the mind rather than others, he proposes certain secondary laws of sug- gestion, operative when 'Hhe original feelings have "been — 1, of longer or shorter continuance — 2, " more or less lively — 3, of more or less frequent oc- " currence — 4, more or less recent — 5, more or less " pure from tlie occasional and varying mixture of *' other feelings. But w^hich vary — 6, according to " differences of original constitution — 7, according " to differences of temporary emotion — 8, according " to changes produced in the state of the body — " and 9, according to general tendencies produced "by prior habits."^ Now, besides that this is merely another attempt at classification, the whole of these ybrr/i5 of the "original feelings," as he calls them, can, of course, apply only to recollections, for these are the only " original " or previously ex- isting feelings that we have ; but, apart from this, the fact is — as a moment's consideration will satisfy any one — that the process of association, whatever it may be, rarely recalls previous feelings lyrecisely as they had " originally " existed. On the contrary, our ideas suggested by the associating principle, are in the vast majority of cases, either entirely or • Brown's Lecturefl — Lectures xxxvii and xxxviii. 47G ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. partially new, and such as we never had previously known ^precisely in the same form. It is not, in other words, past ideas or feelings in their fulness, that are usually suggested, but modifications of them, operating in an entirely new way, and fre- quently having no conscious reference to any past state whatsoever. A misconception on this point runs through the whole of Brown's Lectures on the subject, from beginning to end. He says, that association of ideas is " a term employed to denote ^' that tendency of the mind by which feelings " THAT WERE FORMERLY EXCITED BY AN EXTERNAL " CAUSE, arise afterwards, in regular successions to " each other, as it were spontaneously, or at least " without the immediate presence of any known " external cause."'' The whole of this definition is a mass of errors. What, indeed, he could have meant by limiting the feelings resulting from the suggesting or associating process, to those that were " formerly excited by an external cause," it seems impossible to imagine, and the less, that he subse- quently goes on to add, that " the associating prin- " ciple extends not to ideas only, but to every " sjoecies of affection of which the mind is suscepti- " ble. Our internal joys, sorrows, and all the ^' variety of our emotions, are capable of being re- ^' vivED in a certain degree by the mere influence *' of this principle, and of blending with the ideas " or other feelings which awakened them, &c. ^ » Brown's Lectures — Lecture xxxiv. ^ Do. ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 4 / / The inconsistency of these passages, in so far, is evi- dent, although in both he still consistently, though most erroneously, perseveres in limiting states that result from the process of association, to recollec- tions only. In no one instance, however, does he even attempt any explanation of the philosophy of the process, nor, indeed, considering that he held suggestion itself to be a primary principle, was it perhaps possible. Yet, making allowance for the rapidity with which our ideas and feelings succeed each other by association, and the subtilty which not unfrequently characterises the consecutive links of the operation, we cannot think that its analysis either implies difficulty, or admits of doubt. In the first instance, however, and as prepara- tory to such analysis, we Vv^ould observe, what has indeed already been partially indicated, that the notion of one idea suo-gestinsc another of its own nature, which seems the universal belief of philoso- phers, and indeed of every one that has ever thought, or at least written, on the subject, is undoubtedly a mistake. An idea per se is not, and cannot be a motive power at all. Merely to know one fact, it is obvious the moment we fairly con- sider it, could not of itself suggest to us another fact. This is manifest to common sense, and every one feels conscious that the proposition is true. Were there nothino- in tlie mind but an absolute idea or fact, it, assuredly, of itself could never originate another idea or fact. It might remain. 478 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. or it might go away, but it could produce no new state. To tell us, therefore, that certain facts are related, that they resemble, are contiguous to, or causative of, each other, can never explain why such resemblance, contiguity, or causation should occur to our minds ! still less why some special relation or form of relation among them, should be apprehended by us. It is clear, therefore, that the principle of associa- tion cannot be in the ideas themselves qua ideas, but must consist in something existing along with them, and somehow implying an active power, in stimulat- ing the operations of the mind, else, of course, the mind could never change its states, since there would BE NO CAUSE TO PRODUCE SUCH CHANGE. Now this principle or active power stimulating the mental operations, and thus associating or sug- gesting ideas, by generating, in each case, a new idea from the previously existing state of mind, is, there can be no doubt, even under a superficial examination of the subject, the desire or desires with which such previously existing state of mind is accompanied, and through which it is realised by consciousness. In order to understand this dis- tinctly, we must keep in view that every idea is stamped upon the mind, as we have already seen, by some feeling, using the word generally to denote all the passions, emotions, and desires, and in pro- proportion to the depth and concentration and power of such feeling. Accordingly, when the mind becomes weary of an idea — as undoubtedly it ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 479 becomes ultimately weary in dwelling on any idea, and the more so in proportion as the feeling with which it is connected, and by which it is impressed on the consciousness, is weak and uninteresting — this sense of weariness,, though we may be scarcely conscious of it, jet necessarily generates a desire of change, and thus impels the mind to seek some new idea which may occupy it more agreeably. This, however, supposes the feeling that co-exists M' ith, and gives consciousness to the idea, to involve no ulterior desire in itself, as for example, in the case of our sense of sublimity. But when the idea farther involves and realises an absolute and pro- spective desire co-existing with it, there is evidently a state of mind produced, which, apart from any new desire introduced, implies in itself a tendency to change, since desire, whether negative or posi- tive, of weariness or of purpose, of its very nature, LOOKS BEYOND ITSELF, and seoks its gratification, vot ill its ijresent state, but in the attainment of an ulterior object. Hence it is manifest, that if the passion in any idea be very strong, and, there- fore, deeply interesting, it will hardly be possible to get quit of it, for, as is now apparent, it can only be superseded by another idea involving the same passion in a stronger measure, or some other stronger passion than that which is realised in itself Hence, even a painful idea may adhere to the mind mth the most invincible perti- nacity, because, painful as it may be, it will not 480 ASSOCIATION OP IDEAS. only not be wearisome, but on the contrary most deeply interesting, although every possible con- jecture will probably, in the meantime, occur under such circumstances, as to the modes under which it might have been avoided, or may be superseded. Yet this must long be in vain, since the idea in which the feeling is concentrated so absorbs the whole mind, as that frequently nothing else can supersede it, and it is only time — which, from the very nature of our position as human beings, forces on us new ideas, through our necessary duties, which external circumstances involving other de- sires suggest to us and compel us to realise — that, by introducing feelings cognate thereto, can gradually weaken the absorbing power, and thus restore us to any measure of enjoyment. Hence the cause why persons in active life, much sooner after affliction, recover the tone of their minds, than those who have little to do, or who yield, without resistance, to intensity of affliction or of sympa- thetic emotions. Pleasurable ideas, if connected with strong passions, of course, in the same way for a time occupy our minds to the exclusion of everything else, and only gradually disaj)pear under the operation of the same causes, conjoined with the feeling which in general we rapidly realise, that there was much more anticipated in the hope, than there is enjoyed in the possession of any earthly thing. On the contrary, ideas connected with slight feelings, imder the very same principles, ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 481 quickly vanish. We weary of them more or less consciously, and, under a process to be immediately explained, new ideas supersede them, and occupy their place, to give way again to others still, in their continuous order. The consecutive ideas, if no external object attract us, being, of course, those most cognate to our chief desire, which reason at once teaches, will, of all others, afford us the highest gratification. To make the subsequent argument perfectly clear, however, it must be observed, that our de- sires assume various forms, under different circum- stances, so as to originate by habit certain species of what may be called secondary desires, materially modifying the train and succession of our thoughts. That there are primary desires, or rather tendencies which become desires, existing in some form in the human mind, is indisputable — and we say tendencies, because it is evident that, strictly speaking, they cannot become desires till we know from experience what it is that will gratify them. And hence, there seems great reason to doubt whether there be any succession of ideas generated one from another in the infant's mind. But, as we have said, that there are essential tendencies which generate desire when we come to know the objects that will gratify them, is indisputable. It is thus our uneasiness of stomach which generates a desire for meat and drink — our uneasiness from listlessness which gene- rates all kind of effort — our uneasiness at inferiority 1 1 482 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. which generates ambition in all its various phases and forms — our uneasiness in ignorance which generates our desire for knowledge, and so in all cases. The desire, therefore, is evidently not the original state of mind, but a state of mind flowing from the oria^inal feelinsr of uneasiness, and de- pending for its realisation on intelligence and ex- perience. Yet does it so completely supersede the original state, that subsequently to experience it is more to the desire than to the primary uneasi- ness that our attention is directed — so much so, in- deed, that the real nature of the process has been so misunderstood, as to lead people to believe de- sire to be a primary and elementary state, which is evidently impossible, unless we could be supposed to desire something of which we have no concep- tion. The consequence of this real condition of the process is the opening of a way for the con- stitution of new desires responding to no primary uneasiness, but generated indirectly in the view of the ultimate relief of any form of uneasiness, and this is a phenomenon, which, though perfectly cer- tain, yet, no one has ever attempted to explain, because it arises solely out of the phenomena which have now been propounded, and which, conse- quently, except under the analysis that we have given, must be altogether unintelligible. Those desires, then, which may be called secondary, do not, it will now be evident, apply to the objects which directly relieve uneasiness, but to the means ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 483 by which such objects may be procured. Thus a man may have a desire for a spade, or a plough, or a horse, not because those objects will them- selves directly remove his uneasiness, but because he knows them to be the means throuofh which such uneasiness may ultiriiately be removed. In the same way, a man may desire money, not as of itself directly removing his uneasiness, but as the means throug^h which he knows that such uneasi- ness may be removed, either as felt at the time or as subsequently anticipated; and this desire more and more continuously dwelt on, we know gradu- ally in many cases, perhaps more or less in all cases, becomes substituted in place of the original desire, of which at first it had only in view the gratification ; so that money, simply for its own sake, becomes a substantive desire under the name of avarice. In one word, means of any kind may thus gradually be substituted through habit as substantive objects of desire, in place of those desires which they were at first merely sought for in order to gratify. All this could only be explained under the assumption that desire qua desire is not an original feehng, but, in so far, a result of experience, and can thus be generated by circumstances, only requhing that its object should be steadily viewed in connection with the (^ratification of cravino^s of some kind or other, felt or anticipated. In flict, anything may thus be- come an object of desire, and to such secondary de- sires consequently, there can be no limitation what- 484 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. ever. By combining any agreeable feeling steadily with an object, we generate, it would appear, neces- sarily a new desire, and this conclusion is the more fully ascertained, just as our experience extends. Hence is explained, as will indeed at once be obvi- ous, an immense variety of moral phenomena, while a totally new phase, philosophically speaking, is ex- hibited of our moral condition, shewing how much our purposes in life must depend upon ourselves. The grand particular, however, in this matter which affects our more immediate inquiry, regards the connection of desires with the association of our ideas, which will be found to be very inti- mate, since, as has been said, wherever an idea co- exists with a cognate desire, whether primary or secondary, such desire as fi-om its very nature look- ing BEYOND ITSELF, to Something else calculated to gratify it whether as a means or an end, necessarily in its action, and as a part of its action, gene- rates a new idea. In tliis we have manifestly the nature of the process developed. Uneasiness under the action of intelligence generates deshe. Such de- sire being thus a result of intelligence, and neces- sarily implying an object, from its very nature forci- bly — to the extent of its power — stimulates the mind to seek the means of realising such object. This, again, calls into operation our past experience. Thereafter, the result will, of course, depend not merely on the character of the co-existing idea and desire, but on the character of the particular mind, ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 485 and the extent of its experience. It is impossible, therefore, farther to trace specially the train of thinking in each case, though its course generally is perfectly manifest. Hence, it is manifest, too, that the desire in all cases, whether primaiy or secondary, is merely the active principle stimulat- ing the mind, while the co-existing idea in connec- tion -with such desne, hniits and determines the range by which the intelligence seeking a new idea corresponding to the desire, is to confine itself It evidently cannot, in the first instance, go beyond that range, because it is only in thus far that the desire or active principle gives the stimulus, the desire evidently arising out of, and thus being ne- cessarily limited in its intensity, by the idea co-ex- isting with it, 'which is all that it has to found upon. In this way is worked out the second idea, such idea being a step towards the attainment of the object which the desire points at, and tlius the process goes on, until we arrive at some idea involv- ing a strong feeling, on which, of course, our atten- tion will rest, as in the case of absolute enjoyment, until either such feeling pass away, or we become weaiy or partially weaiy of it, when this weariness or partial weariness as a form of desire, will direct us to a new idea, which will be constituted either by some subordinate desire connected and. co-exist- ing ^vith the former, or by some external cause operating upon the mind, and then the process will go on as before. 486 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. It often happens^ however, that inteUigence is but indirectly called into operation, as when the mind is in a state of listlessness, and consequently allows the dominant desire to revel at its will, which is a state of mind usually known as imagina- tion, for imagination is just the process of associa- tion, having in view a more or less definite object. If the object be clear and precise, the process of association being regulated by intelligence, becomes just classification or reasoning. For the dominant desire, be its object what it may, will be mainly the desire of knowing w^liat will most probably effect our object, and the rational faculty will, therefore, reject all extraneous considerations so far as our knowledge enables it, and will regulate the whole train of our thouo;-hts. But when the mind in a state of listlessness merely desires occupation, or when its object is not real, but theoretical or possi- ble only, so that the exercise of the rational faculty is little requisite, except indirectly in guiding the de- desire to the ideas which will gratify it, the desire of knowledge being hardly in operation, then the result will be imagination, strictly so called, or day-dream- ing. For though profound thought, which draws away the mind from passing events, is sometimes called day-dreaming, yet this is an evident mis- application of the term, which truly means associa- tion proceeding without any definite practical end. Thus, suppose a man being occupied with no prac- tical matter, or fixed and definite object, is led ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 487 somehow to a sense of his inferioiity, and a eonse- sequent desire for glory of some kind, he will in- dulge immediately in a series of imaginaiy ideas of success, cognate to his desire, and his other tenden- cies at the time — those, of course, suggesting them- selves, at least in the first place, which seem most hkely to remove his uneasiness, but which, as they consecutively arise, will again bring along with them cognate desires, probably bearing on the same general purpose — till gradually elevating him- self to the hio'hest attainments and the widest fame, he be interrupted in his speculations by some ter- restrial avocation, or what is not less likely, by a sense of their absurdity and foUy. In fact, under such circumstances, as in all others, the desire and its consecutive succession of gratifying, or respond- ing ideas, will remain in the mind so long as they continue sufficiently pleasing, but when by a natu- ral process we become wearied of them from what- ever cause, or any stronger feeling is originated, either from being cognate to some of our ideas, or from external interruption, then a new state of mind is immediately generated, and new desires will give our thoughts new directions, in conformity with the nature of the process. Hence, w^e could, on these piinciples, almost anticipate the train of a man's thinking were we thoroughly cognisant of the pre- vailinof character and desires of his mind. But it is obvious, that there may be times when there is no idea in the mind, and consequently 488 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. there can be no passion nor desii'e in operation, since, as no idea can exist consciously in the mind without some feehng to reahse its consciousness, so no desire can exist in the mind without calling forth some ideas as its subject. In this state our m.inds frequently are on awaking from sleep. They are perfectly blank, unconscious of idea, desire, or feel- ing, except in so far as the feeling of mere existence is concerned. In such a case, we instantly desire mental occupation. We must have something to engage our attention, and it is clear that the pri- maiy idea responsive to such desire, must, under the circumstances supposed, m the first instance, be introduced from without. It may be some bodily pain, for example, or some sensational uneasiness, as in the case of the light dazzHng our eyes the first moment that we half unconsciously open them. The idea will be to get rid of such pain or uneasi- ness. We give these as possible cases, though it matters nothing what may be the desu^e primarily generated, or how it may be generated, for each must have its cognate idea, and it being consti- tuted, the process will proceed as before described, until we come to some complex notion, when that special part of the compound most cognate to our existing frame of mind, and specially our dominant desire at the moment, will be selected by the natu- ral and necessaiy tendency in operation, will be adapted to the mental state, and again the process will proceed in its regulated train. ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 489 It is at this point that we can fully appreciate the en'or of Hume and his successors, in supposing that " resemblance, contiguity, &c.," suggest their coiTesponding ideas. This is not the fact, and is demonstratively impossible. They have nothing to do, indeed, with the principle of association, ex- cept in so far as desires may co-exist with, as cognate to them. The sight of a picture, for ex- ample, is not, as Hume supposes, necessarily fol- lowed by an idea of the person whom it is intended to represent. That such an idea may follow the sight of a picture is perfectly tine, because if there be no strong feeling existing and operating within us, then the desire of comparing the picture with the person whom it is intended to represent, might lead to such a result. But it is just as possible that the next idea might be that of the painter, or of beauty, or its excellencies and defects in comjoari- son with other pictures around it, or an infinite variety of others, just according to the character of the preceding idea, the tendencies of various minds, and the possible desires that might be stimulating them. In this way, in looking at a mineral, 'the chemist would veiy likely think of its composi- tion, the mineralogist of its class, and the jeweller of its value. The principle is always the same. The desire, whether primary or secondary, is the stimulating agent, and each successive ideajfl^iust spring out of, and be coloured by the desire that preceded it, which then, of course, gives place to 490 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. another more coofnate to the chang-ed state of mind. The preceding idea itself could evidently never suggest anything, nor stimulate the mind to effort in any form. To say, therefore, that one idea has been suggested by another, is indisputably an utter misconception. It is intelligence stimulated by de- sire, which can alone suggest the thoughts related to or calculated to gratify such desire. The philo- sophers who have entertained such an opinion, manifestly confound association with recollection, and, because certain ideas frequently follow each other, they have erroneously imagined that they suggest each other, whereas the suggesting or associating principle is the link that connects them, and which can alone be found in the desire stimu- lating the intelligence to the suggestion of that which will gratify it. Of course, the desire in each such case will be more or less cognate to the pre- ceding idea, and must in so far be limited by it, but this is all that the preceding idea has to do with the operation. Now", it is necessary to attend to this matter carefully, because, though the dis- tinction be quite marked ; yet, there may be con- fusion in special cases of mental analysis from the ideas suggested often being mere recollections more or less modified, but this in no way makes the one idea suggestive of the other. No doubt, som-^ ideas may be the more readily suggested from being better remembered, and being thus more readily seizable — if we may so spe^-^^ — hv their ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 491 cognate desires ; but it is to the desires stimulating intelligence that they respond, and it is under this process alone consequently that they can be asso- ciated or suggested. The whole process, however, goes so I^pidly through the mind, that though its character gene- rally be perfectly obvious, it yet requires considerable attention to trace its progress in detail. It may, however, be easily illustrated. Stewart mentions, " that whilst Captain King and his companions " were at dinner in a miserable hut, on the banks " of the river Awatska, a solitary half-worn pewter '' spoon attracted their attention, and on examina- " tion, they found it stamped with the word Lon- ^' don." Captain King, he says, adds, " I cannot '^ pass over this circumstance in silence, out of '' gratitude for the many pleasant thoughts, the '' anxious hopes, and tender remembrances it ex- cited in us. "a Dr. Brown copies the story, but neither he nor Mr. Stewart make an attempt at ex- plaining the philosophy of the associations excited by the sight of the "half- worn pewter spoon," Avhich yet, under the circumstances, is abundantly obvious. The existence of a *' pewter spoon " at all in such a place, constituted an unknown and singu- lar fact, and thus naturally excited that feeling of curiosity which implied a desire to know whence it caine. Hence the examination of it. The stamp of " London " thus discovered, constituted again a " Philusopliy of the Human Mind — Ch. 5, part 1, sect. 4. 492 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. symbol equivalent to that of "home/' with all the simple ideas involved in it, and all the feelings cog- nate to it. Hence the "pleasant thoughts." But these ideas, and feelings, also implied cognate de- sires dl^knowing the condition of those whom the voyagers had left at home, and who were embraced in the idea of home, and hence the "anxious hopes." There was -also cognate to these ideas and feelings, a desire of renewing the happiness of every kind in- volved in the notion of home, and hence the "tender " remembrances." Such states of mind must, more or less, have been excited by the process of associa- tion as we have described it, but, of course, their modifications would depend on the tendencies of each individual. The recollection of wives, parents, children, property, and so on, would suggest them- selves, just as the feehngs and consequent desires towards each respectively, were stronger or weaker in the various individuals with respect to the vari- ous particulars that the complex idea of home may be supposed to include. Probably, no two of them had precisely the same ideas suggested, but each had his own idea, connected with some very strong feelino", and of which, the impression would — on the principles already explained — continue for a consider- able time, thus stamping a stronger and more vivid recollection of this particular fact on their minds, than they had realised probably of any other during the time of their absence. From this it will be seen, that the feelings of the human mind are ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 493 merely those states of uneasiness, whether of fear, anxiety, soitow, suffering, or any other, which generate desires ; but it must be carefully ob- served, that it is neither feeling, strictly so called, nor any form of absolute enjoyment, which sug- gests ideas, or rather, which stimulates to their suggestion, because neither mere feeling nor en- joyment look beyond themselves. It is a sense of deficiency, or desire alone, of whatever kind it may be, which does this, or can possibly do it, by stimulating intelligence and memory into action for its gratification. From all this it is obvious, that as every idea is stamped on the mind by some feeling, or passion, or desire, so no idea can be recalled to recollection, mthout recalling also the feeling, passion, or desire, which gave it consciousness. Such feeling, pas- sion, or desire, accordingly modifies necessarily the train of thought in proportion to its intensity. Under these principles, it is the easiest thing pos- sible to analyse and explain every process of asso- ciation by a little attention, and the unspeakably important consequence is thereby reahsed, that just as a desire is peiTnanent, so by connecting itself in the memory with a wide range of ideas, it will be still the more frequently suggested, thus gi\adually b}^ habit acquiring a greater and greater strength, till ultimately it must become almost perpetually present with us, regulating all our thoughts and modifying all our conduct. Hence the necessity of 494 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. controlling our desires and of so commanding oui'- selves, as to be able to introduce when we choose new desires, seeing that if any one desire perma- nently abide in the mind or frequently recur to it, the power of that desire, under the influence of habit, will become ultimately almost irresistible, for, whenever a desire acquires a certain strength, it becomes by another peculiarity of our natures, all in all to us, and thus other desires — and, of course, that of change as one of them — in the first instance are weakened, and ultimately disappear altogether under its influence. Hence, in one word, it will follow from our whole analysis, that as all our acts must depend upon our ideas, so up to this point the mind can neither act nor the conduct be regulated, except under the influence of such desires as may co-exist with them. At this point, however, ajDpears the action of the mind itself in the process of association — an action usually attributed to what has been called the will, and correctly so, no doubt, if by the will be meant the determination of the whole mind, as contradis- tinguished from the mere wishes implied in the tendencies of its separate feelings ; for there can be no doubt that the mind existing as the subject of all our spiritual operations, and thus operating itself behind them and upon them, must, in so far, have the power of controlling them, by the intro- duction of new ideas responsive to any determina- tion as to the great object of its being, which it may ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 495 iiave attained previously. For, as the mind has before it all its states and ideas at the same time, it is thus, by the very nature of the case, as it were constituted a judge over and among them. It can thus, if it so chooses, select any of them for carrying on a train of thought, and thereby continue to modify the cun'ent of ideas every moment, by directinsf them as one succeeds another. It can compare them, and on such comparison, select any one and reject the rest ; our desire to follow forth the tendency thus suggested, being necessarily generated, by the advantages which intelligence thus brought into operation, indicates as likely to flow tnerefrom. Of course, the selection will be better or worse, just as the mind allows itself fair play, because, if it so choose again, it may satisfy itself with what it feels to be a superficial compari- son, thus yielding voluntarily to the strongest de- sire of the moment, and acting under its influence. But when any one accustoms his mind to mark and compare its states, he will quicldy acquire a competency to determine the character of each, and its probable results, not only with accuracy, but with an habitual readiness approximating to instinct. Calling reason into operation, he will at once discover the effect which the indulgence of any desire in a particular mode, will probably have on his future fate and happiness, and reason will be thus, in so far, called into operation in every case, by the desire which must, to a greater or less 496 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. extent, be present in every mental process of knowing the precise value of each object which we pursue. In this way, the same process continu- ously repeated, will enable us ultimately, with in- creasing ease, to form our characters either for good or evil. It is indeed true, that we cannot know our thoughts before they suggest themselves ; but we can determine an object which we desire to attain, and the desire implied in this being kept steadily before the mind, will, as a necessaiy con- sequence, in so far regulate our whole train of thinking. It is just, therefore, according to the nature of the object, which, whether consciously or unconsciously, our desires or tendencies elimi- nate through intelligence from mental consci- ousness, or sensations, or previous thoughts, that the whole series of our mental states must be determined. The mind having all its states under its cognisance, by strengthening a special tendency, under a rational sense of its importance, may, in so far, guide the subsequent process of association. Yet, at this point, the precise form of the opera- tion becomes so subtle and complicated, as appa- rently to defy farther analysis. To advance farther, would, indeed, seem to imply a resolution of the character of mind in its very essence or entity, an attainment which we cannot but beheve impossible by human beings — at least, as they are presently constituted. In so far, however, aU is perfectly clear, nor does it seem possible to doubt or differ ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 497 as to the nature of the process by which ideas are associated, so soon as we clearly understand the terms employed in describing it. We would only obsei-ve in conclusion, that, of course, in the exer- cise of our intelligence in the process of association, many cognate ideas flash across the mind, and that it is in the selection of some one of these hy compari- son that the conjoined operation of desire and in- telhgence is most distinctly manifest. The same process of association, there can be no doubt, operates in deHrium and during sleep in dreams, our ideas and feelings having either con- tinued from our waking thoughts, or been suggested by some ah extra action, or internal physical cause operating upon the nervous system. Nothing, in- deed, is more common in dreaming than to feel sensations of cold, &c. Tliis is nearly as common as when we are awake, the only diiference being, that in dreaming we attribute the sensation, not to the real but to some imaginaiy cause, originating in the state of mind in which we happen to be at the time — as, for example, when we attribute the cold felt by a foot being extended beyond the bed- clothes, to its being plunged in snow or the like. Nor is this wonderful, when it is recollected that our consciousness of extra-organic sensations, can be felt only as part of an organic consciousness, and that we attribute it to an extra- organic cause, merely in consequence of experience, through which, however, it is obvious that we are ultimately enabled KK 498 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. to distingfuish the extra-oro-anic sensation as extra- organic by consciousness alone. This phenomenon cannot be thoroughly explained, however, with- out attending to the farther phenomenon, that intense feeling will so realise an idea of imagination as to give it more or less approximatively a sensa- tion of reality. In other words, intense feeling sometimes seems so to act on our oro-anism as to affect the organic state in the same way, more or less, as it is affected by an extra-organic action, so as to make us believe that an extra-oro-anic cause is operating upon us, the very intensity of the state excluding the discriminating pow^r of reason, and this is sometimes realised in day-dreaming nearly as entirely as in real dreaming. By intensely thinking on some organic pain or bodily sensation, we may almost persuade ourselves that we realise it. In either case, there can be little doubt that the result is attributable to intense feeling acting more or less powerfully on organic nature. In sleep, moreover, the delusion is still farther en- hanced by the dormancy of our minds to a greater or less extent, with respect to certain of its powers. In fact, in sleep it must be the mind mainly that is dormant, for though the body be at rest, its ner- vous system may be acted upon manifestly when we are asleep, to the same extent as when we are awake. Hence it would appear, tliat in sleep there is a partial disjunction of body and mind, as well as to a certain degree in every instance where violent ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 499 passions are in operation, which seems indisput- able from the fiict, that when our minds are con- centrated on a special object by any strong passion, not only bodily sensations, but even physical action, that in ordinary cases would generate considerable pain, are altogether unobserved by us ; while on the other hand, if the bodily system be materially dis- organised by intoxication, or any of those diseases which cause delirium, all precision in distinguishing betwixt ideas of perception and ideas of imagina- tion is destroyed. The same thing happens to a greater or less extent in sleep. There is, indeed, greater calmness and steadiness in our dreamy hallucinations, for intoxication and delirium seem to imply spasmodic and convulsive action on the nervous system, changing the current of thought by violent impulses in the physical organisation itself, but in all such cases, the power of dis- tinguishing betwixt ideas of perception and ideas of imagination is equally modified. In all such cases there could, therefore, seem to be a disjunc- tion in the organic union, in so far as to modify the nature of organic consciousness. The power of judging from experience by accurate distinc- tions, or in other words, the strength of the rational faculty would seem to be impaired. But, though all this be more strikingly exhibited in sleep, yet the concentration of the mind on some one object, under the influence of strong passion, may, apparently, at all events, so disjoin mind and 500 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. body, or in other words, produce, what is, even in ordinary language, called absence of mind, as to imply only the slightest possible shade of distinc- tion betwixt day-dreaming and real dreaming. We may, under the awe of sublimity, for examj^le, have our minds so entirely abstracted even from the veiy objects actually exciting it, as to become nearly un- conscious of perceiving them; while, on the other hand, under the impression of vivid images, we may be induced to believe that we have their actual prototypes before us, and may, even under sudden impulse, where the strength of passion checks the operation of reason, absolutely act, as if such were truly the case. Hence, the mind, when its connec- tion with the ]3ody thus is modified, ranges over seas and continents, lives ages in a moment of time, and passes through every variety of occupa- tion and position with the rapidity of light, because to judge with any accuracy of duration, we must not only be conscious of existence, but conscious also, it will now be obvious, of organic existence. We need not, indeed, be actually conscious of any per- ception for the purpose, but we must be conscious of our minds existing in a state capable of perceiv- ing, or in other words, in connection with our 'phy- sical organisation ; for, otherwise, it is obvious that we could have no oiDportunity of comparing the time implied in our mental feelings with external time, v/hich is the only possible way that we could accurattly measure absolute duration. Hence, in ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 501 dreaming, delirium, or intoxication, and even in dtiy-dreaming to a certain extent, any amount of time, and thence, also, of space and number of events, may seem to be comprehended in the shortest possible period — although the measure of time in sleep is always extremely vague and indefinite, there being no clear notion of duration for reasons which will subsequently be explained — the pheno- mena occurring to the mind being the only instra- ment of measurement, and these leading us, though vaguely, to extend the supposed time to the length that would have been required actually and literally to realise them. We may have hardly closed our eyes, therefore, when under the usual operation of the associating principle, now unrestrained by any sense of organic or physical co-existence, an innu- merable series of associated events and changes may have already passed through the mind, and this gives us the idea, that the time which would have been necessaiy for their realisation has actually in- terv^ened. There is no corrective operation, our attention being drawn away from the mere sense of existence, and from all comparison with external realities. Yet, it by no means follows, as some have supposed, that our dreams are thus neces- sarily Hmited to a moment. On the contrary, as any strong desire or passion will preserve its most cognate ideas for a long time while we are av/ake, so there can be Httle doubt, that in dreaming the same causes will operate in the same way : noth- 502 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. ing, indeed, is more common than to awake from, an interesting dream, wliich recurs when we fall asleep again, and this sometimes happens repeat- edly. The same principle is evidently operating. The feeling and the idea had continued combined while we were awake — more or less modified, no doubt, by a sense of its non-reality — but when we sleep again, and thus are replaced in the same cir- cumstances, the same state or train of thinking is renewed, and continues in our dreams, and it may be throughout our sleep, till we awake again. The phenomenon of somnambulism, when the dream evidently must continue a considerable period of time, demonstratively establishes the same conclu- sion. It would seem, therefore, very clear, that sleep implies — in so far, at all events — a separation of the mind from the physical organisation, and hence an incapacity of discriminating imaginations fi'om re- alities, from the want of means for comparing our purely mental, with our organic states. Hence, in- tent concentration on the immediate objects present- ed to our minds naturally deludes us into a vague behef of their reahty. In this process, the length of time which we had j^revzo^s/?/ known would be ne- cessary for the accomplishment of the events which occur to us in our dreams, is, as has been said, necessarily assumed as the duration which they have actually occupied. This is farther owing to tlie mind in sleep being directed rather to its pheno- ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 503 rtienical states by reason of tlieir intensity, than to its own subjective existence, from which its attention is proportionally withdrawn. Hence, our sense of duration during sleep becomes vague and imperfect. The same thing is true, when even we are awake, but occupied by veiy intense or strong passion, so that the mind's phenomenical state for the time mainly occupies it, to the exclusion both of its subjective being, and of external existence. At any time, asleep or awake, the distraction of the attention from subjective existence, must proportionally affect our accurate determination of duration. The same state — as we have also said — may, to a very great degree, be produced by the action of strong feelings abstracting our minds from every fomi of perception, and from all attention to the operation of our senses. It is worthy of observa- tion, however, that the action of strong feeling, which, in thus far so nearly resembles sleep, is yet so far from inducing sleep, that on the contrary, strong feeling and profound thinking prevent us from sleeping. This, there can be no doubt, arises from such feeling or thought disturbing the ner- vous system, which requires to be soothed in order to generate sleep, which seems to be intended to refresh the organic system by cessation from all effort, and for that purpose, to annihilate for the time almost all sense, even of existence itself. Hence it would appear that dreams are destructive of sound sleep, and consequently, as might be ex- 504 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. pected under such circumstances, strong feeling" generated in our dreams . must be held as an un- natural state, and does invariably awake us. But though sleep thus appears to imply a certain greater or less disjunction of mind from our physi- cal organisation, it is yet strange, that in sleep, the mind seems sometimes to use the body as a mere machine, when it controls the nerves acting on the muscular system, or so far as they act on the muscular system, while its connection with the ner- vous system as sensational, is in operation only to a very limited extent. In such cases as those of somnambulism, for example, the mind may thus use the muscles of the body as if a sort of ma- chinery, while almost entirely unconscious of any external thing, or, indeed, incapable of attending to aught save its own immediate operation. We have here the nearest approach, perhaps, of dreaming to abstraction or day-dreaming. It is the mind fixed with such intensity, though it may be without any vehemence of passion, on some one object that everything else is superseded. Accordingly, in day- dreaming almost the same phenomena are exhibited. A man will, in this state, guide his course through many impediments, difiiculties, and even dangers, by a sort of indirect perception, and yet, without being conscious of them. One step more, and a slight diminution of organic consciousness, and we have somnambulism. Hence, a person in a state of somnambulism seems hardly asleep, while a ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 505 person in a profound state of abstraction, seems hardly awake. In both cases it is intense feehng, superseding more or less organic consciousness, and thus, by keeping an entire command over the mind, excludino- all considerations save those coo^nate to itself. These views seem to explain that pheno- menon which has been called "double conscious- " ness," when the somnambulist forgets what took place during his sleep, till he sleeps again, and then remembers it; for the mind, being restored to its former state of feeling, naturally desires to deter- mine what that state of feeling was, in all its parts, and thus, by the process of association, the former state of his mind is suggested again. The curious question which arises as to the nature of our belief in dreaming, and the grounds of our assurance that what we call realities are not themselves dreams, since we believe in the actu- ahty of dreams, as well as of such reaHties, though not strictly belonging to this part of our subject, yet seems so closely connected with it, that our argument might be deemed imperfect, were such an important particular left unnoticed. The fact is, that our beliefs in these two cases, though both indisputable, are yet respectively of a very different nature and validity, as is proved by the precise and felt distinction which, practically, we draw betwixt them. Eveiy one, when awake, believes his dreams to have been imaginations ; but no one, when asleep, BELIEVES THIS OF HIS WAKING STATES. Yet, to make 506 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. the beliefs identical in kind and validity, it is evi- dently necessary that they should be thus reciprocal. In dreams, moreover, there is not only great vague- ness in our belief, but sometimes even a doubt of their reality ; and we are inclined to think that this increases as we advance in life, whether from ex- tended experience or not it may be difficult to determine. Belief in the reality of dreams evi- dently originates partly in the dormancy of the rational faculty which diminishes our power of comparing present feeling with past experience ; partly from the torpidity of our perceptive capabi- lities, in the modification of the organic union, which almost annihilates the possibility of such a comparison; and partly from the intensity of feeling directed to the special objects of dreams, in conse- quence of the partial non-activity of the mind in other respects, which concentrates our whole atten- tion upon them alone. Hence it is, that recollec- tions occur to us in dreams with a precision fre- quently which we cannot realise when awake, because the mind, being in no degree distracted by other considerations, is consequently by so much the more intensely fixed on the ideas which our train of association suggests. Where we believe a sensation in dreaming, it is however, nearly cer- tain that we actually feel it — the error originating in our attributing it to a wrong external cause. The very same principles, in so far, account for insanity, which very generally results from one ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 507 special desire or fear having got possession of the mind — fear, of course, being merely a negative de- sire. The victim cannot get quit of this desire. There it dwells with its cognate ideas, and habit or other causes previously alluded to, will make almost any idea cognate to it, Avithout the mind being able in any measure to supersede it, because no stronger desire can possibly suggest itself, while reason, or the power of discriminating reality from non-reality, is proportionally impaired. That this may be owing to physical causes, is perfectly possible. Certain nervous affections may have a tendency to generate desires. We know, indeed, that it is so with respect to physical desires, but there is no reason to doubt that it may be so, likewise, with regard to mental states, though our facts upon the whole subject are deplorably deficient and unsatis- factory. At all events, we are certain, that mental states may be so intensely felt, as to defy all our efforts to supersede them. Pride, ambition, vanity, shame, &c., may thus so possess the mind, as that they and their cognate ideas permanently endure. Not that the preponderating desire in insanity ne- cessarily precludes the entrance into the mind of every idea not cognate with itself, and which a change of scene or of circumstances may suggest, but then the desire is at once recalled by any idea having the most remote affinity with it, and this, again, recalls the special ideas which have become more particularly cognate with it; for, though it 508 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. may occasionally be in a half-subdued state, yet it is ever ready to re-assert its influence at any moment, and in connection with the most unlikely relations. It has, in one word, so pervaded the whole mind, that hardly an idea can present itself, which, in some of its phases, has not co-existed with it, or been coloured by its character, and which ^\ill not, there- fore, recall it in all its power ; for, as we have already seen, every desire has, if we may so speak, an at- traction for itself, and for all cognate states and feelings, so that each desire naturally tends to those ideas with which it had previously co-existed, or by which it had been previously gratified, and vice versa. There is, in all this, also, an evident coinci- dence in so far, betwixt somnambulism, day-dream- ing or abstraction, and insanity, only in the case of insanity the hold of the dominant passion on the mind does not depend on any temporary state of the body, still less on any voluntary direction of the mind, but on some change more or less organic and permanent. The peculiarity in all these cases is, that we have our minds so completely fixed on one object as that we overlook all others, and that object in somnambulism and insanity is always de- lusive, and yet it is perfectly in vain to reason with any one under these influences, because his object to him is all in all, and he is for the time utterly incapable of perceiving or appreciating any other relationsliips, and, therefore, any form of argument. The phenomenon, however, will be still better un- ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 509 derstood, by attending to the extent to which our beHefs depend upon feehng, exdusively or mainly. That which we desire to be true on the one hand, and that which we fear may be true on the other, we more or less believe to he true, just probably, in the first instance, from our thoughts being concen- trated on its consideration ; and, as the energy of those feelings increases, the corrective power of reason necessarily diminishes, specially from our attention beino; withdrawn from the actualities in real life, and from our desire for the exercise of the rational faculty being proportionally les- sened. AVe thus come, even in ordinary states of mind, to believe, more or less, that which we hope or fear respectively, and thus, if the mind perseveres in dwelling on particular objects, so as to associate them wdth all its thoughts, a species of secondary madness, if we may so speak, is generated, leading frequently, if there be a pre- disposition, to real insanity. In this way, lust, ambition, hatred, envy, jealousy, melancholy, &c., may gradually be so intensified, as to approach more or less to insanity. We utterly under-value certain objects, and over- value others, just from habitually or otherwise intensifying the passions which we have made coo-nate to them. In the same way, by utter neglect of the rational faculty, and, by rarely or ever attempting to appreciate identities or similarities through comparison, we may, and the illiterate actually do, so weaken their 510 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. intelligent and rational nature, and eradicate its cognate desire, that they cannot perceive or under- stand the plainest argument. Never having ex- perienced the pleasure of investigation, tliey have lost the desire, by the non-use of it. Such parties, therefore, care nothing for the truth, qua truth, but care only for the objects of their own desires, and the means by which they would like to attain them. Their belief being the result of feeling and not of reason, they cannot appreciate, nor will they attend to, a proof depending upon reason, except when it agrees with the evidence (if it can be called evi- dence) of feeling also, i.e., when it suits themselves. In all such cases, however, it is clear that the principle of association operates in the same way. It is in each case the existing idea, stimulated by some co-existing desire, that in connection, more or less, with the special action of intelligence and intelligent desire, produces the next idea, which carries along with it, of course, such of its feelings as are in any measure cognate with it, all of which, stimulated by the same desire continued, or a new one under similar circumstances, generate a new idea, and so on while the process lasts. It matters nothing whether we be awake or asleep, wise or foolish, sane or insane, the principle of association is always the same, and the modification of our ideas in each case is e^adently at once ac- counted for by the variety of our conditions. It may be observed, however, as of some importance ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 511 in analysing the process of association, that desires seem sometimes to be as it were latent in the mind, i.e., in so far as our consciousness is concerned. I have, for example, been engaged in a train of thinking, directed to a special object, which I de- sired to reahse, and in this frame been interrupted by an acquaintance or friend, with whom I have entered on subjects implying totally different con- siderations, and, so far as I am aware, the previous object of desire had for the time passed out of my mind, though the moment the other party left me it returned again, and very quickly I recovered the precise point in the train of thinking at which I had been interrupted. There is generally in such cases, however, a recollection more or less vague of a sort of double state of mind, during which the primary desire lay, as it were, behind the more immediate occupation. The difficulty of deter- mining precisely the nature of feelings which are cognate to words or other arbitrary symbols, also somewhat complicates our analysis of the process of association. It is a point, however, under the views now given, very easily explained, for it will be manifest that symbols, and specially words, un- less the mind be otherwise pre-occupied, instantly generate a desire to know v^liat they mean, and then reason, by a process already described, sug- gests their corresponding ideas, and thereafter, of course, the train of thinking being begun, will pro- ceed according to its usual laws, unless interrupted 512 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. again by some external cause — the interruption, whether symbolical or otherwise, leading to a re- petition of the operation or operations previously ascertained. It is, however, clear that the desire cognate to every symbol, in the first instance, must be a desire to know its nieaninof — unless the mere sounds imply some desire in themselves — for other- wise it would be altogether overlooked, as many of our ordinary sensations actually are, and would generate no mental state at all. It is a separate but important question, in so far as this subject is concerned, to determine how ideas come to be cognate to certain feelings and desires, and for this purpose, it is to be observed, in the first place, that some of our states evidently have cognate feelings and desires from nature. A wound has its cognate pain, and, in connection with intelligence, its desire of relief — hunger, its sense of craving, &c. The exercise of our senses, on the other hand, implies a species of gratification greater or less. The idea of an injury, again, is cognate with the feeling of anger, and probably, a desire of ven- geance : of kindness, mth those of love, gratitude, benevolence, &c. But^there are also feelings which become cognate with ideas, by co-existing mtli them in the mind, and this, be it observed, not merely with the special form of idea which thus co- existed with them, but on grounds already ex- plained, with the general idea generated thereby ; such a feeling, therefore, becomes cognate with ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 513 every identical idea; for eveiy identical idea, or partially identical idea, is in so far comprehended by the general idea. Nay, it must to a certain ex- tent be cognate to every similar idea, for similarity must imply identity on some point, though it be only an accessory one. Hence, as any feeling has become more and more cognate to any idea by habit, it is impossible for such idea again to occur or even a similar one, without a tendency to recall such feeling, because the feeling impresses the idea on the mind, so that they are substantively parts of a whole, and the artificial relationship, if we may so speak, soon becomes as available as the na- tural one, and a feeling, thus become artificially or by habit cognate to an idea, will, therefore, as na- turally arise along with that idea, as a sense of pain from a wound, or of craving from hunger, or of irritation from a sense of injury. Yet such feel- ing, whether natural or artificial, may be super- seded by any other stronger feeling or desire, just as the pain of a wound, or the craving of hunger, or the irritation consequent on a sense of injury, may be so. But, though at the time superseded, these feelings, whether natural or artificial, must still, in a more or less latent form, co-exist with their cognate ideas, and thus will, in so far, though slightly, modify the succession of thought, not as in themselves, apart from the desire involved in them, leading to a change of thought, but as con- stituting, in a certain measure, a veiy part of the LL 514 ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. idea on which the operatiag desire acts, and thus, in connection with such desire, defining and deter- mining the form w'hich the succeeding^ idea is to assume. Thus they tend to give a character to the succeeding idea, though of themselves, apart from any desire actually involved in them, or some other desire incidentally intruded on. them, they, of course, would never lead the mind to any new idea, but would remain for ever exactly in the same state. A new idea, suggested by the process de- scribed, may, indeed, recall along with it a feeling on which, as interested in it, the mind may, to a greater or less extent, delight to dwell, but it is. desire alone, which can possibly induce the mind to seek a new idea, because desire alone looks be- yond ITSELF, and thus impels the intelligence to seek that Avhich will gratify it, and so, directly or indirectly, we account for all associated trains of thought. In this we have a perfect exposition of the mental process in thinking, under which, eveiy succession and every change of thought may be ex- plained. For if the mind actually have an object which occupies and satisfies it, the process is ob\d- ous, since such object, so long as it occupies and satisfies it, must remain there, and if it have not, it must necessarily seek one ; for we cannot be at ease, nor satisfied in our ordinary state of mind, without an object; and so tracing back the ideas of our memory for the sake of gratifying our desire of procuring one, the most interesting object, or, ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. jl5 at all events the object of interest which first suggests itself under this general operation, will immediately be realised as cognate to the desire, and will, so long as satisfactory, occupy the mind. At the same time, this tracing back of the thoughts of memory is rarely necessary, because we have almost all some special objects, which, above all others, pleasingly occupy our attention, and which, having co-existed with almost every form of feeling in our minds, thus necessarily suggest themselves by the process previously explained. The operation is so rapid and natural, if we may use the terai, that it looks like instinctive ; but yet it is merely desire, through intelligence, laying hold of its known and experienced gratification. In the very same way, when an external object attracts us — as, for example, when any one speaks to us, his remarks introduce new ideas into the mind, simply because, from a variety of reasons, we may desire to know more or less anxiously what he wishes to communicate. The process, it is per- fectly obvious, is identical in all cases of succession of ideas, and its apprehension renders readily in- telligible to us many of the most curious, interest- ing, and important phenomena of hmnan thought. CHAPTER X. ON HABIT. Philosopty of habit naturally follows that of association — Eeid's deflin'iion of habit, and its deficiency — Nature of habit developed — Power of habit on the physical organisation — Relation of association to the process — Influence of habit on memory — Artificial memory depends mainly on habit — Power of habit in intensifying the feelings and primary desires, and in originating secondary desires — Power of habit in constituting belief — Pielation of habit to the belief which originates in feeling and in authority or testimony — Growth of habit farther explained by principles of association — The power of habit a result of our mental constitution — Importance of attending to the influence of habit in the analysis of mental states. A CONSIDERATION of the philosophy of Habit natu- rally follows our determination of the philosophy of association, with which, indeed, it is so closely connected, that neither can be fully appreciated apart from the other. Reid defines habit to be " a part of our consti- "tution" so determined, 'Hhat what we have been " accustomed to do, we acquire not only a fiicility, " but a proneness to do on like occasions, so that " it requires a particular Avill and effort to forbear "it, but to do it requires very often no will at all,"» • Eeid — Active powers — Essay 3d, part 1st, ch. 3. HABIT. 517 which is in so far a perfectly correct definition, though we doubt whether, in any such case, " no *' ivill be required," admitting, however, that the action of the will or mind may be so rapid as hardly to be perceptible ; but the definition omits the most important element of habit, in so far as intellectual philosophy is concerned, as manifested in its power of strengthening and weakening re- spectively the passions, feelings, and desires of the mind. In truth. Dr. Keid's definition applies mainly to physical habit, which, however, is clearly connected with, and eminently calculated to illus- trate that purely mental habit which constitutes so important a part of our natures; for, that habit acts upon physical nature, is indisputable and mani- fest. Even lifeless matter may be made to assume a special shape and configuration by continued con- straint, and still more may sensative nature be acted upon so as to be strengthened and improved by continuous exercise. It is in this way that scent in dogs is brought to such wonderful perfection ; that jugglers and others acquire such dexterity in the use of their members ; that seamen attain such acuteness of vision; and that the blind ultimately are enabled to read with facility by touch. The nerves and muscles, evidently, by exercise, act more readily, and acquire a more entire com- mand over each other. Hence it is, that professed musicians — as Hartley has justly remarked — can play a piece with which they are intimately ac- 518 HABIT. quainted, while thinking on some other subject^ or, it may be, even conversing with another party. In such a case, the action of the muscles and nerves would appear to run into each other — habit having gradually assimilated the physical parts — as the continual rubbing of one body on another shapes both into a mutual adaptation. So far, the process is obviously physical or mechanical. It is the same with the use of the fingers or the limbs in jugglery. The play of the parts is facilitated by mechanical adaptation. We almost feel it to be so — we are unconscious of the action of mind in the production of such results. They seem to come of themselves, without effort. They slide into one another, and the results are — as Reid has in so far truly said — instinctive. But, though in so far this be true, yet it is not all the truth. The mind, though in such cases, scarcely conscious of every special organic action, is yet directing the whole, and must be present at eveiy part, since at any point the mind can check, modify, or stop the operation. The mind is, therefore, willing it all, and through the whole process guiding the body, though aided as it were, by the mechanical adaptation of part to part : of this, indeed, as has been said, we are in almost every case, more or less conscious, though, generally speaking, the verj^ small amount of feel- ing implied in the successive steps of it, scarcely stamps each so deeply, as to leave distinct traces in the memory of their respective existences. IJABiT. 519 When the process is so easy for ua, we overlook the successive steps of it. It is only when we struggle to reahse it, that feehng is involved in all the parts of it, and that thus we recollect them. As we acquu'e greater facility, the desire involved in each progressive adv<:fnce of the operation is pro- portionally less, because the mechanical operation works it out without any effort, for desire must ahvays be more intense as it induces us to effort. The very same cause seems to account for the im- provement of the senses by habit. It braces the nerves and gives facility to the exercise of the muscles, as a result of mechanical action. That the sailor, in his casual glance, has his mind more in- tently fixed upon his object than the affectionate mother looking for her son's ship, or the loving wife for her husband's, over the wide waste of waters, is incredible and impossible, yet he dis- covers the object sooner, and that can only be ac- counted for by the habitual action of the physical organ, through which it has become mechanically better adapted for its end. For as the muscles of the arms or other limbs, w^hen constantly engaged in active exercise, gradually become enlarged and strengthened, so it is with any of the senses when actively exercised. The sense, in each case, is in- vigorated and strengthened through the exercise of the nerves and muscles which appertain to them. Yet, that the degree of attention, or, in other words, the mental effort, has a certain effect, cannot be 520 HABIT. doubted, for we are all conscious in our experience^ that by attention we can see more accurately, hear more readily, and feel more acutely ; and in the same way, of course, must it be with those who, from the physical causes spoken of, realise their perceptions in a higher degree of intensity. It evi- dently is the mental effort, indeed, combined with the physical repetition, which effects the progres- sive improvement that habit gradually works forth. That we cannot recall those efforts in their details, is — as has been pre^dously indicated — not merely owing to their rapidity, but to the slight degree of feeling which they imply. The feeling, in such cases, is directed almost exclusively to the ultimate object ; and the efforts we make to attain such object, being enveloped in, as they had been origi- nated by such feeling, the whole of them is, as it were, swallowed up in our desire of the object, and hence our recollection of each individually almost instantly passes away. We only remember them^ consequently, when they imply some pain or trouble in realising them ; but when they become easy from the change wrought on the physical structure of the nerves and muscles from habit, they are ne- cessarily forgotten the moment they are past. All this seems demonstratively proved, by an example which Mr. Stewart has suggested, though applied by him to a somewhat different purpose. "An " expert accountant " he says, " can sum up, almost *' with a single glance of his eye, a long column of HABIT. 521 ' fiofures. He can tell the sum with iinerrinQ;' cer- ' tainty, while, at the same time, he is unable to ' recollect any one of the figures of Avhich that sum ' is composed : and yet nobody doubts that each ' of these figures has passed through his mind, or ' supposes, that when the rapidity of the process ' becomes so great, that he is unable to recollect ' the various steps of it, he obtains the result by a ' sort of inspiration." On the contrary, there can be no doubt, that he was conscious of each figure, and that each was involved in the result of his mental process. lie saw each of them, appre- hended each of them, and the result is the conse- quence of his combining them all. But it is not the rapidity of the process which prevents his re- collecting the several figures, for that rapidity itself is a consequence of his indifference as to the means which he employs, the sum of the whole being all that he desires to determine. Hence, the steps of the process having no interest to him, he neither dwells on them, as he could not fail to do if he felt any interest in them, nor does he recollect them, in respect of the deficiency of feeling through which alone they could be stamped on the memory. The interest he felt in them, individually, ceases the moment they have served their purpose by being combined into the sum of the whole, and conse- quently, they cannot be remembered, because the momentaiy interest felt in them has passed away with the attainment of the object, to which the ^^ OF T»^^ , . ^ OF ,, 522 HABIT. momentary apprehension of them had been sub- servient. Now this brings us to consider the influence of habit on memory, which is no less remarkable, and which can, with equal facility, be explained; for, that memory does improve by habit, universal ex- perience has attested, as embodied in the well- known adage, that " memory is imj^roved by exer- "cising it." Memory is, in fact, strengthened by exercise, just as the eyesight is so strengthened, or the acuteness of touch ; yet, there can be no question, that the phenomenon is also modified by other causes. For as memory, as we have already seen, depends on the depth of feeling by which any idea is impressed on the mind, so we know that such impression is farther deepened by the fre- quency with which the idea recurs in connection with such influences; and as every recurrence of an idea connects it with new accessory ideas, wdjich thus are imbued with the colouring that the co- existing essential, as well as subsidiary feelings, give to it, so is it the more readily recalled when any of these ideas arise in the mind in connection with a cognate desire calculated to generate it ; for, as ideas necessarily suggest their cognate feelings, or rather as we cannot be conscious of them apart from such feelings, so do feehngs necessarily suggest their cognate ideas, apart from which the desires in- volved in them cannot be gratified. So that the more widely a feeling is connected with ideas, the HABIT. 523 more frequently must it rise in the mind, tlie more must the impression of it be deepened, and thus the greater tendency must it have to exhibit itself asj'ain. Hence the origin of what has been called arti- ficial memory; for as natural memory is the sugges- tion of an idea, by a symbol naturally cognate to it, with a view to the gratification of some existing desire, so artificial memoiy is the suggestion of an idea by a symbol arbitrarily or artificially made cognate to it, with a view to the same purpose." To understand this, it must be observed that the mind has the power of identifying ideas which are in themselves perfectly dissimilar by its own act, and this is effected by the one as symbolical of the other, being clothed or coloured with the same feel- ing, and the process is known in universal ex- perience ; for any two ideas co-existing even acci- dentally thus become so entirely one, by being clothed or coloured with the same feeling, that a desire mainly cognate to only one of them will ex- hibit both, though that which is less cognate may be allowed more or less unconsciously to disappear and pass away. The operation, however, can be effected by a spontaneous act, so that two ideas may become symbohcal of each other, by both im- plying the same feeling ; and thus, when any desire impels us in such a direction, the one will necessarily be connected with, as a substitute for, the other. It ■ See ch. 8th on Memory. .524 HABIT. is in this way that elements of compound ideas existing in the mind are frequently followed by the whole compound exhibiting itself, or some other part of it, just according to the character of the existing desire. How far any particular corres- ponds to such desire, of course, intelligence deter- mines, and this is the reason that similar ideas frequently follow similar ideas, and causes effects, and effects causes ; and specially, that not unfre- quently ideas present themselves, which are but very distantly connected with those that preceded them, or which are connected therewith by a purely arbitrary bond. It is intelligence selecting them for the gratification of the dominant desire, or combination of desires, though still there must be some connection of the new idea with that which preceded it, because reason has nothing else on which to operate. Hence, if the dominant de- sire tend to one part of a compound idea, of which we actually remember the other part, and that other part involves a stronger desire, it is easy to understand how the whole current of our thouQfhts will change, and be turned in a new direction. The new idea has carried the strongest feelino-, mth which it is connected, along wdth it. Thus it is that looking at an artificial symbol, such as a knot on a handkerchief, we may instantly recollect a promise to a friend, because the knot, when we have no stronger desire, leads us from its singularity, to desire to know why it was there, and the feeling HABIT. 525 connected witli our promise is the strongest that is connected with it ; but, at the same time, it is manifest from the arbitrary character of the union, that it ^ill usually require more or less habit to connect the two particulars together. To colour with a feeling a merely arbitrary sjanbol cannot, under ordinary circumstances, be thoroughly done at once — at all events, to last for any considerable lengili of time — but requires frequent repetition, and hence the difficulty of mastering languages, which afford a very striking exemplification of arti- ficial memor}^ To do so requires repetition upon repetition, and can even thus only be thoroughly effected while memory is strongest. During that period, however, any number of languages, it is obvious on the principles now developed, may be acquired almost with the same facility as we ac- quire one, supposing that we speak them and read them alternately, so that the repetition by habit fixes them on the memory. Our vocabulary of each, perhaps, may be somewhat more limited, but our knowledge of all up to such limit wdll be as accurate as our knowledge of any one of them studied separately would have been. In all such cases, the permanence of our recollection depends on the union of the symbols, and the ideas which they represent, having been so frequent or so strong, that a common feeling has identified them, so that the recurrence of either excites that feeling ; and this applies not merely to the use of language as 526 HABIT. symbolical, but to all cases of artificial memory — as, for example, where a particular locality has been the scene of agitating or impressive events, when the strength of the feeling connecting the symbol and the idea produces the same result as a frequent repetition of them in connection. In the same way^ the putting a ring on the finger to mark a promise or an arrangement, implies a certain degree of arti- ficial memory. The ring, as it were, forcing itself on our notice, necessarily recalls, in most cases, the idea which it is intended to symbolise, because we desire to know why it is there, and intelligence, as in all other instances, instantly suggests the infor- mation by which our desire may be gratified ; though, were any stronger desire or passion pre- sent to the mind at the time when the promise or arrangement was to be recollected, it is evident, on the same principles, that the desire of knowing what we had intended to imply by the ring would be superseded, and consequently the promise or ar- rangement forgotten. Hence it is, that people, who have little to think of, will always be most benefitted by the use of such symbols, unless, indeed, they he connected ivith any hahituaJhj over-rid'mg j^assion. Yet, we need hardly add, that apart from all other considerations, it is habit which mainly realises all such artificial memoiy. It is just a new form of association, and can only be explained on the prin- ciples of association ; but the process becomes more marked where habit, as a distinct character of mind, HABIT. 527 intervenes to give these principles a special direc- tion. In the veiy same way, therefore, are the phenomena, both of natural and artificial memory explained — only in artificial memory the connection betwixt the sign and the thing signified is arbi- trary, whether originating in circumstances or in a spontaneous act of the mind, and consequently, to render it permanent, such connection must either be confirmed by some very strong feeling, or by a series of continuous and more or less interesting repetitions. It is, however, indisputable, and seems, at first sight, to constitute an exception to the con- clusion at which, we have thus arrived, that we seem, by frequent repetition, actually to remember symbols qua symbols, without attaching any sort of sense to them. We can repeat by rote in other words, as children sometimes repeat a lesson, with- out the smallest apprehension of that which the words convey. The exception, however, is only apparent and not real, since the fact is — -as we have already seen — that any form of words may gradually involve to our feelings a species of cadence and harmony, which implies feeling suffi- cient for their recollection, w^hile this is assisted by the tendency which the nervous and muscular organisation acquires as a mere physical act, con- sequent on habit, to generate the consecutive acts or sounds. This is illustrated in music, wherein, though the successive sounds individually have no meaning, yet the recollection of them successively, 528 HABIT. apart from any effort of thought, is evidently ex- cited, by our feeHngs of harmony and our desire to enjoy it, to the extent, at all events, of completing the measure, assisted by the organic tendency of tlie nerves, and through them of the muscles, to accommodate themselves to that particular sequence to which they had been previously accustomed in connection with the harmony partially guiding it. In the same way, in committing poetry to memory, we attend not merely to the sense, but to the har- mony ; and it is just on this account, by the opera- tion of the double cause, that while we recollect poetry more readily than prose, we are also apt more readily to repeat it without distinctly tracing the sense which it bears in our doing so. It is the harmony of sounds in such cases that is gratifying our desire. Yet it is equally true, that in the fre- quent repetition of prose we form a sort of harmony for ourselves, which ultimately combines with the mere physical action of the organism in facilitating our repetition of it by rote. Hence, in such a case, we cannot pass over a clause, and recommence, be- cause we thus both break the harmony and inter- rupt the physical process. If we stop, we must recover the sense, ere we can re-commence again, be- cause the organic modulation being lost, the feeling and tendency which generate our recollection of the words, necessarily disappear along with it. The most important effect of habit, however, in relation to the human mind, is to be found in its HABIT. 529 direct power over the feelings and desires, apart from our recognition of which, the philosophy of our intellectual processes is altogether unintelli- gible. To understand this matter with any degi-ee of accuracy, it must be observed, that all the feelings and passions of the human mind are more or less connected with some desire ; in other words, they imply some pleasure which we desire either to re- tain or attain, or some pain which we desire either to supersede, or prospectively to avoid. But, as we have already seen, in addition to the desires essen- tially involved in oui' primary feelings and passions, there are new desires g-enerated in the human mind, and having for their objects (lie means through which the objects of our primary and natural de- sires are supposed to be attainable. Now, habit is a second nature, as it has been called, with reference to our primary desires, by its power of strength- ening some of them so as to overbear the rest ; but it is a j^Timary nature as to those artificial desires which we have spoken of, because it originates them, and frequently so strengthens them as to change our primary characters. In both these cases, however, its mode of operation is precisely the same. The more we encourage any feeling or de- sire, whether primary or secondary, in a geometric ratio is its influence intensified, and whatever ideas are coloured with the same feeling, by co-existence or otherwise, so as to be parts of the one compound feehng, its influence with regard to them all will be M M 530 HABIT. intensified. Hence, in this way, interest may be felt in objects arbitrarily, that is, through feelings with which in themselves, they have no affinity whatever. Thus, the gift of a deceased friend may become exceedingly dear to us, or the seat which he was wont to occupy may excite in us an interest of the most intense character, simply because he and they have become one idea, in so far as they are impressed on the mind by the same feeling; and hence the more frequently the idea of either, in con- nection with such feeling, recurs to us, the stronger does it become. In this case, however, we have merely primary feelings intensified, but habit in re- gard to desires actually becomes itself a primary nature, constituting, as has been said, altogether new states of mind, or in other words, new feelings, having no prototypes in the primitive constitution of the mind. In this way, is originated a pleasure in, and disgust at, means or circumstances merely, and a consequent desire for, or abhorrence at, such means or circumstances, apart altogether from the objects which such means or circumstances were supposed calculated to secure or avoid, or with which, in any other way, they were connected. This could be illustrated by any number of in- stances. Many, for example, who at first desired fine dresses for the sake of winning admiration, come ultimately to like them for their own sakes, and when it is perfectly impossible that admiration could be their object. Others who have studied HABIT. 531 subjects, merely with a view to worldly success, or professional advancement, come by habit to love such subjects for themselves. But specially tlie strange desire called avarice, as was formerly indi- cated, illustrates this mental operation. Eager in early life for the indulgence of luxury, or the influ- ence of power, men quickly discover that these can only be reahsed through the possession of wealth. To procure wealth, consequently, we apply our- selves with unwearied perseverance. Our whole efforts of soul and body are directed to it. We rise early, and late take rest. All the strongest of our passions and j)urposes come to be concentrated on its attainment. In this pursuit, the end passes away from our thoughts, and by habit the means come to be substituted for it. At first, wealth for its own sake was regarded by us as of no conse- quence ; it was only sought as a means through which other things could be procured, and primary desires gratified ; but, as it continues to present itself to the mind in perpetual connection with those desires, the pleasure which they imply in their attainment gradually transfers itself from the OBJECTS TO THE MEANS, and thus a desire is gene- rated of a totally new character, as having no e?:- istence whatever in our primary natures. In thus far, in fact, under the influence of habit, we acquire a new nature, and become new creatures. Vie love, and hate, desire, and repudiate objects, which, to our primary constitution, are perfectly indifferent, 532 HABIT. and which indeed, of themselves, and for their own sakes, have no action upon, or reference to, our ori- ginal and primary constitution at all. This is obvi- ous on the slightest consideration, with reference to the special illustration to which we have been ad- verting; for the avaricious man is perfectly indiffer- ent as to the form in which he realises his property, whether in land, or houses, or railways, or gold, or mere acknowledgments, provided the security be good, and supposing him substantively to have the command of it. Nor does he seek to realise it for any ulterior purpose, except to acquire more. He only desires to increase and accumulate. He never does gratify, nor does he really intend to gratify, any primary or natural tendency. On the con- trary, such an application of his wealth would be utterly inconsistent with his now dominant, but no less on that account entirely secondary and arti- ficial, desire. He seeks that which he knows that he can never use, and which, indeed, it would be the most grievous pain for him to expend on any object whatever. For the sake of its accumula- tion, therefore, he resists all his primary tendencies till they be subdued and eradicated. Every feeling is swallowed up in this acquired desire, and he lives solely for the . accumulation of money. We do not say, however, let it be observed, that there may not, at all events, for a very long time, be other desires combined with avarice and intensifying it — we only say, what every one will admit, that HABIT. 533 tliis is a description of the phenomenon of avarice itself. The very same result is realised in all cases wherein we permanently and habitually connect a feeling with an idea, whether pleasurable or pain- ful, though not to the same extent, because there is perhaps no case in which strong feelings come to be so concentrated on any one object as in that of avarice ; and it is clear, that a principle which thus operates in modifying and changing our primary natures, cannot be incidental, but must be itself of the very constitution of our natures. No doubt, the operation of habit as a process, is, as we have seen, accounted for by the principle of association; but that habit, when operating, should not only modify the streng-th of our passions, but even generate new desires, can only be explained by supposing, that it is of the essence of the constitution of mind. In so far, therefore, as this is the case, it can admit of no farther analysis. But there is still another, and little less important result of habit to be mentioned, and that is, as re- gards its effect on our beliefs. There cannot be a greater error, however common it lasiy be, than to suppose that human beliefs rest solely upon rational evidence. On the contrary, they rest, with a large portion of mankind, at all events, to a much greater extent, on feeling or desire. The proud man always overvalues his qualifications ; the vain man ima- gines that he is deceiving others by liis affectation and ostentation : the kind and benevolent man 534 HABIT. attributes a goodness to his fellow-creatures, which they rarely possess ; the malignant, envious, and unprincipled man, on the contraiy, imputes motives and ascribes puqDOses to them which they never thought of. In such cases, and in most others, our only or our chief evidence is the wish that things should be as we picture them. And, no doubt, the desire is a proof — not that the thing is, but that it may he ; for our desires (of course, we do not speak of fantastic wishes, but our ho)id Jide desires), whether rig4it or wrong, are, at all events, human, and never do or can transcend the nature of things. It is, indeed, obvious, that if we could bond fid§ desire that which is impossible in the nature of thino-s, our own natures themselves would be a mockery. Our desires, therefore, in themselves imply a sufficient and, indeed, indisputable evi- dence, that what we desire mat be ; and on this rests the farther belief which they also, as we have seen, more or less impose upon us, that what we desire is. Specially, as we desire our feUow- creatures to be hke ourselves — for we have a cer- tain distaste to those that are unlike ourselves — and as we only know human nature directly in ourselves, it is a natural result that we impute to them the same motives, whether good or bad, by which we feel that we are ourselves influenced, and this tendency, confirmed by habit, becomes almost irre- sistible. The principle, however, embraces a far wider range than that which regards merely our HABIT. 535 opinions of others, for everything that we desire to believe, we, more or less, believe in imagination, because the desire more or less excludes cdl other considerations ; and that which we believe in ima- gination, by just such another process of habit as that recently described, we soon come to believe in reality. In fact, every belief in imagination would be a belief in reality, could we entirely exclude the modifying circumstances in the operation of discri- minating reason; and as it is very difficult to intro- duce a feeling through which these modifying circumstances may be made thoroughly matter of consciousness, when all our desires tend to belief in the imagination, it is easy to perceive how much, by habit, the one will accordingly be strengthened and the other weakened. It requires, indeed, a very considerable effort at realising a desire for pure ti-uth, in order that modifying circumstances may have fair play in the exercise of unbiassed reason. Hence it is that a large proportion of our beliefs originate in desire, and from the same cause, almost the whole of them are more or less modified by it. Such, in fact, is the philosophy of prejudice : it is the belief of feeling strengthened by habit. But, to make our apprehension of this subject complete, it must be remembered that belief, originating more or less in mere authority, is also embraced under the name of prejudice. There are few subjects even pertaining to intellectual science more misunder- stood than this, since it is generally supposed that 536 HABIT. we, in the first instance^ intuitively believe the evi- dence of testimony, and that this intuitive belief is modified by experience, in w^hich case it is evident that the grounds of our belief would, of the very nature of things, be frequently unsatisfactory and even false, inasmuch as, whatever may be the in- tention of witnesses, they frequently may be, and even must be, mistaken. To assume, therefore, that we believe intuitively everything which any one may say to be absolutely true, implies an evi- dent absurdity, as resting our intuitive beliefs on authority which may always, and which must, in many cases, be insufficient. The only immediate belief which we can have in testimony is in the con- viction of the attesting witness. The capability and tendency to communicate our thoughts and ideas is of the very constitution of our natures, and the co-relative in others to such capability and ten- dency, is and could only be a disposition or tendency to believe us. We know, from reason, that the capability is conferred on us by nature, in order to enable us to communicate that which we do think, and not that which we do not think. It is from the very constitution of our minds, consequently, that we, in the first instance, believe what other people tell us, to be true to the best of their know- ledge; but it would be utterly away from any prin- ciple of our natures to believe it true in the nature of things, which would, indeed, involve the assump- tion that our co-relative behefs in respect to things HABIT. 537 without us, are not really co-relative to such things, but altogether arbitrary, and not merely arbitrary, but untrustworthy, as leading to conclusions illogi- cal in theory, and false in fact. It is, indeed, indis- putable, that notwithstanding our primary tendency to believe in their tnith, our fellow-creatures do sometimes wilfully deceive us, but this is because they violate their natures and natural tendencies, to which our behef strictly responds and with which it entirely harmonises ; and we say, violate their natural tendencies, because, setting aside even our own feelings, which, by rational deduction, settle the point a priori, we can, on abstract grounds, no tnore suppose that our capabilities of mutual com- munication were given in order that we should deceive each other, than that our desire for society was given, in order that we should maltreat and murder each other. But though our primary belief in authority be thus limited to a mutual belief in each other's sincerity, yet, by a secondary process, this behef quickly embraces a wider range. For finding in early life that our parents and elders do not deceive us — at all events, so far as we can dis- cover — and finding, farther, that they are always, or almost always right, we are gradually led, partly by reason and partly by habit, under the principle already explained, to put full confidence in their opinions, not only separately, but as clothed with the various passions, feelings, and desires with which they had invested them. In thus far, we 638 HABIT. give ourselves no trouble whatever as to the foun- dations on which such opinions rest. We believe them in so far rationally on their testimony, because we have found their testimony almost universally correct, and the habit of believing them has rivetted the various ideas along with their corresponding feelings on our minds. Hence, subsequently to eradicate such belief, or the character of mind with which such feelings have imbued us, is a work of serious difficulty. It is indeed obvious, on princij)les already explained, that counteracting ideas and feel- ings can hardly find an open avenue into the mind, so that the belief becomes, as it were, a part of our- selves. It is the consummation of j^rejudice. From the explanation now given of these various phenomena, it will be manifest, tliat while the growth of habit depends upon the principle of association, yet, that the power which habit exer- cises is of the veiy nature and constitution of the human mind, and that its influence must, therefore, of necessity be perpetually taken into account ere we can hope accurately to analyse almost any por- tion of our mental operations. CHAPTER XI, ON REASON. Difference betwixt consciousness and reason — Difficulties as to the natura and operations of reason, in some measure attributable to the use of symbols — Means of superseding these — Growth of our knowledge in re- lation to this subject — Nature of general ideas, and meaning of words that express them, as illustrative of the nature of reason — Kealists, Nominalists, Conceptualists — Analysis of the phenomenon — Explana- f'v lion of the nature of Mathematical axioms, and of the physical and moral axiom, " every change must have a cause," as illustrative of the nature of reason — Distinction of consciousness and reason more accu- rately drawn — Knowledge acquired by reason is the knowledge of re- lations, under which we identify and discriminate existences according to their qualities or powers — Our belief in the proposition, " the same " thing, under the same circumstances, will always produce the same " result," explained — Our belief in the permanence of the universe ex- plained — Extent of our belief in symbols, as expressive of the objects they ^ represent, explained — Conclusion. Intelligence^ apprehension, or knowledge, implies a process compounded of consciousness and reason. Consciousness gives the knowledge of absolute facts that we perceive or feel; and reason gives the knowledge of relations, i.e., distinguishes the abso- lute idea from all other ideas, in respect of the speciality or specialities by which it is distinguished. The confusion which has so universally prevailed upon this subject, is mainly owing to the use of symbols, and particularly of language, as represent- 540 REASON. ing ideas; for words come ultimately, by habit, to take the place of ideas, by a process already ex- plained, and though every word has a feeling attached to it, by which it is distinguished in our minds from all other words, yet this feeling is frequently very vague and indefinite. The idea or ideas which each expresses, are scarcely ever accurately known by us. As we hurry onwards from clause to clause, and sentence to sentence, we are satisfied with a very general apprehension of what is meant. Hence, the feeling or feelings, properly appertaining to words, frequently change, by the unconscious operation of our j)assions and desires, so as to give to such words a totally dif- ferent character. They are, consequently, no longer true symbols, and thus, the same word conveys to different persons entirely different impressions, and this altogether apart from the farther considera- tion, that from the beginning, different persons attach necessarily more or less extensive significa- tions to words, in proportion to the extent of their knowledge of the simple ideas which such words may possibly imply. It is thus obvious, that though, every one reasons correctly from his own premises, yet, different persons must arrive at dif ferent conclusions in the use of the same words, in- asmuch as though the words are the same, yet the premises are different, because each individual at- taches different senses to the words employed. The difference of the conclusions at which different REASON. 541 persons anive from the same verbal premises, is, moreover, still farther illustrated by the considera- tion, that each looks at the facts — even supposing the words to be understood in the same sense — according to the tendency of his own mind, i.e., ac- cording to the direction given to them by the de- sire or the desires which at the moment are domi- nant in it. There may, consequently, be no feeling in the mind enabling one person to regard the facts under the same aspect as others do — except, indeed, the desire for attaining absolute truth, which is generally the weakest of all our desires, unless in the case of those few who assiduously and perseveringly cultivate it as the great end of their being. To appreciate, however, in any measure tho- roughly, the difficulties which encompass this sub- ject, we must recall the process under which we gradually and unconsciously become accustomed to symbolise ideas and propositions in words, so that we ultimately come to assign, senses to words, and realise beliefs in elementary propositions, without knowing when, or how, or why, such results took place. A correct analysis of the words, indeed, though by no means an easy operation, may deter- mine the accuracy of the meanings which we attach to them ; but this will evidently give us no informa- tion as to the ground of our belief in elementary propositions, to attain which, we must, as it were, throw ourselves back on the circumstances under which our belief in them was reahsed, and try to 542 REASON. determine how we should now reahse it, were it to be done anew ? For this purpose we must tempo- rarily denude ourselves of the belief which we actu- ally entertain, and endeavour, by the pure use of reason, to retrace the primary operation. The in- tricacy and complication of such a process is suffi- ciently manifest, and consequently, we need not wonder, that to evade it, philosophers have usually, in some form or another, had recourse to the much more simple plan of referring our behef in all such elementary propositions to intuition. As, however, we are convinced, and trust, indeed, that we have already proved, that there is no such thing as intui- tive belief, except the belief that nature has consti- tuted in our faculties and feelings, and that this can neither involve nor imply any absolute know- ledge of an external fact, unless in so far as any existence may directly operate upon them, it is evi- dent that we cannot admit such an explanation, but are bound by the very nature of our principles, both to solve precisely the difficulties connected with the meaning of words, and to account pre- cisely for the origin of what have been called intui- tive or a priori propositions. Now, to do this effectually, it seems necessary that we should endeavour to discover the oriofin, and describe the progressive growth, of our know- ledge, so that the real nature of the rational faculty and its powers may thus be distinctly exhibited in the simple steps of its primaiy manifestations. In REASON. 543 this argument I shall avoid any assumption that can admit of dispute, and trust to be able to shew how simply difficulties can thus be obviated which have usually been regarded as almost insuperable impediments to tlie progress of philosophical science. a When we realise a sensation, then, which is the first step in thought or knowledge, we have in such sensation an absolute feeling. This feeling being limited to a particular time, and by a particular place and circumstances, is particular. Of course, therefore, if it be remembered in connection with the same limitations, it becomes a particular idea. Particular ideas are consequently merely ideas of feelings, whether simple or compound, and whether sensational, emotional, or rational, limited by time, place, and circumstances. But such is the consti- tution of the human mind, that no feeling can thus exist as merely absolute. There is a desire con- nected with every feeling which forces us first to determine what it is in itself, and then to compare it with others, so as to identify it with those pre- viously felt, and to discriminate it from all other things, an operation which is effected by the faculty of reason. Hence, in every instance, when we have a particular we have also a general, and, in a certain sense, a relative feeling generated along with it. Keason, in other words, picks out that something in the particular feeling which constitutes, in each ' See remarks on the same subject in the chapter " on sensation. 544 REASON. case, the distiDctive peculiarity by which it is dis- criminated from all other feelings. Thus, if I see a green square object — say, for example, a piece of green cloth of a square form, I have a particular compound feeling. I am at once conscious of a green colour, and of that colour in a square form, both being known as without me, and both being so combined as to constitute one compound feeling ; and I have in addition to this, and as a separate feeling, a consciousness of my own mind as the subject acted upon. In this phenomenon, however, there is immediately another process found to be involved. In our consciousness, on the one hand, of our own minds, we have the first manifestation of the difference betwixt existence and non-exis- tence. In our consciousness, on the other hand, of the compound feeling, we instantly discriminate betwixt the colour and the figure, or, in other words, the greenness and the squareness, and these particulars again, we also discriminate from non-ex- istence, and from our own minds as conscious of them. All this is the operation of reason, and by it every one particular is distinguished from all the rest, the compound feeling being analysed, and its parts at once and precisely discriminated. The speciality of the colour, as distinguished, not only from all other qualities, but from other kinds of colour also, is determined: greenness in fact, qua greenness, is known as contra-distinguished from everything else. There is in the idea, conse- REASON; 545' quently, nothing making it particular. In the par- ticular, no doubt, the operation originated, but in the action of reason every speciality, which could connect the idea with any limiting circumstance of time, or place, or degree, is superseded. All that is impHed in it, is some cause or another without our minds, which affects them in a certain known way, and which, in so far, we discover by reason to differ from everything else. It thus is not THE cause, which can only be constituted by its being regarded in connection with time, but a cause, having a certain relation to our minds, and which we know, not as affecting our mind at a particular time, but merely as affecting our minds in a given loay. It thus becomes a general or abstract idea, not by assimilating a number of green objects to one another, as is commonly supposed, nor as embracing every form of green- ness, but as realising the essence of greenness — the somethino; which distinctivelv constitutes screen- ness, and discriminates it from all other things and all other colours. Hence, in seeing a green object once, we have the abstract or general no- tion of greenness as completely as if we had seen green objects a thousand times.. In the same way, if our attention be directed to the figure, reason picks out the peculiar characteristic which discri- minates a square from all other things and all other figures. It does, indeed, discriminate the particu- lar square from all other squares, but it also discri- N N 546 REASON. minates squareness from all other figures. In this latter case, the particular feeling as limited to pre- sent time, which originated the notion, altogether disappears from observation, and we have a rational knowledge in the place of a conscious feeling. It is no longer the square, but a square or squareness which is known as a distinctive something, and this squareness is a general, abstract, or distinctive term, just as we found the term greenness to be in the former case. Again, if I feel irritated, I have a particular feeHng limited by a particular time, and a particular cause. It is a present state, and any subsequent recollection of it, in connection with such time, and such cause, more or less defi- nitely constitutes a particular idea. But, in the particular feeling, or idea, our reason, in like man- ner, picks out the something which constitutes the mental state of irritation, as distinguished from aU other states and all other things. This is the gene- ral or abstract idea. It is not the consciousness of irritation, but a hioivledge of irritation itself, as a discriminated state of mind, which we may reahse without any feeling of irritation at aU. Once more, if I have an idea of a tree, which implies a series of sensations identified with a given locality, as we shall subsequently shew more at length, supposing such idea connected with a particular time or place, though only in imagination or memory, it is par- ticular; but, if I have an idea of a tree, away from every consideration of time and place, and REASON. 547 every other limiting consideration — if there be any other — and solely as affecting my mind in a cer- tain way, this is a general idea. It is that some- thing, or those somethings, essential to every tree, discriminated from everything else, by the opera- tion of reason. Hence, it is not any external thing absolutely that constitutes such an idea, but those characteristics of an external thins;, which distinafuish it from everything else, as discovered, and discrimi- nated by reason. Feeling makes us conscious of the external thing, as at any particular time it ope- rates upon us, but reason only can make known its special nature as calculated to affect us in a certain way, which, evident!}^, cannot imply a particular, but must be a general or abstra,ct idea. There is no- thing, therefore, without us, which answers to a general idea, qua its generality, because the general idea, excluding all reference to time, and actuahty of feehng, merely involves the essential quality or characteristic of the object, apart from every inci- dent, which thus necessarily distinguishes it from everything else, and which is the operation of reason only. It is attained by a purely mental operation subsequent to our consciousness of the feeling, and separate from it,, and consequently cannot be imaged, as if it had been a perception, but only hnoion, as the result of an act of the rational faculty. The analysis thus given, however, will be still better understood, by attending to the history of 548 REASON. the subject, for difficulties as to the nature of gene- ral ideas and general terms begin with the very earliest dawnings of intellectual philosophy. Ge- neral words or names, even then, of course, existed as phenomena, and iiistantly raised the questions, what are they "? and what do they represent 1 The first philosophers of whose opinions we have any definite information, such as Pythogoras, Plato, and their followers, as we have already partially seen, assumed that they represent actual entities, or universals a parte rei. They supposed, that is to say, that there is an actual entity of greenness, an actual entity of squareness, an actual entity of a tree, and so on, existing as models or examplars in the human mind, and that general names desig- nate them. This theory has disappeared in more modem times : we do not believe that it could find a single advocate. In opposition to this reahstic theory, however, there was proposed, at a very early period — for in all probability it anteceded the stoics — a hypothesis to the effect that general names or words represent no idea whatever, being merely signs or symbols. What its originators could have meant by such a theory, or how they could have imagined signs which signify nothing, or symbols which represent nothing, it seems impossible to explain. Indeed, if there were no mental states corresponding to general terms, it would evidently be impossible to distinguish the meaning of one such term from REASON. 549 that of another, since none of them would apply to any one thing more than another. In this way, how could it be, that the general term, man, for example, should include only creatures of a parti- cular form and character, and exclude all others % How could the general term, tree, be distinguished in its meaning from the general term, horse, if neither represented any one thing more than any other thing ? In a word, why should we predicate of any one general term that which we cannot pre- dicate of another? There can be no conceivable reply to such questions, on the supposition that general terms are mere words without any definite meaning. Accordingly, this nominalistic theory- has, in modern times, been substantively identified with what has been called conceptuahsm, and, in this aspect, is merely the recognition of a principle of resemblance or identity in a variety of objects, which principle is assumed to be the something that general terms are intended to express. The retention by some philosophers of the name of nominalists, there can be no doubt, has originated in a certain greater or less misconception on their parts of the meaning of nominalism, as, indeed, is clearly manifested in the case of Stewart — the ablest of modem nominalists — when he says, that it is from the admitted use of symbols -in reasoning that he concludes reascming to be equally valid, whether the general terms employed in it have any precise meaning or no. For he evidently forgets, that 550 REASON. though, no doubt, reasoning may admit of certain words being used symboHcally in the process, yet this is because they are connected in such reasoning with certain other words, that having a precise signification, thereby limit their raeaning ; the sym- bols, though having no meaning in themselves, yet receiving a meaning from their connection luith the context. This will be made indisputably manifest, by attending to the terms in which he has stated his argument : " All straight lines," he says, "drawn " from the centre of a circle to the circumference, " are equal to one another ; but A B and C D " are straig'ht lines drawn from the centre of a " circle to the circumference, therefore, A B is " equal to C D. It is manifest, that in order to " feel the force of this conclusion, it is by no means " necessary that 1 should annex any particular no- "tions to the letters, A, B, or C, D, or that I " should comprehend what is meant by equality, or "by a circle, its centre, and its circumference, " Every person must be certain, that the truth of "the conclusion is necessarily imphed in that of " the two premises, whatever the particular things " may be to which these premises may relate."* According to this view, the reasoning, with equal propriety, might have run thus : " If something be " true of something, then, if something be that " something, the conclusion is true of that some- " thing." Now, no doubt, this is perfectly correct ' Elements of tlie Philosophy of the Huniau Mind — Ch. 4th, sec. 2. REASON. 551 reasoning, but it is a totally different proposi- tion. The moment we use such terms as "equality, "circle, circumference," and the like, we have special notions expressed, which are included within the universal idea implied in the word "something," and thus fix the sense of the letters, A B and C D. Hence, though the proposition — as Stewart says — would, undoubtedly, be equally true, even were the letters and terms employed in the most general sense, yet it would be a different, i.e., a more general truth, and therefore, could not convey any special ideas of " equahty, circle, centre, circumfer- *' ence, or Hues," those words, as having no particu- " lar notions annexed to them," being, in such a case, not included in, but equivalent to the term " some- " thing," and, therefore, the conclusion derived from them, however true, would, of necessity, be perfectly general, not applying to lines, hut to any hind or nnode of existence ichatever. There can be no other supposition, since, were terms employed, neither applicable to existence generally, nor to any kind or form of such existence specially, it is clear that the proposition included in them — were it possible for such terms to include a proposition — could be neither true nor false, but nonsense. In assuming, therefore, that the terms which he employs apply to no " particular " kind of existence, he can only mean, that they are used in the most general sense possible, or, in other words, that they are applicable to every kind of existence, including everything 552 REASON. that does or can appertain to it. The fact, how- ever, is, that Mr. Stewart overlooked the essential consideration, that, though certain of the terms which he used, could in themselves have no "par- "ticular" meaning, yet, that they receive such a meaning in consequence of their connection with other and definite words in the argument. This is still more thoroughly illustrated by attend- ing to what follows, where he says — " In the fol- *' lowing syllogism, all men must die — Peter is a " man, therefore, Peter must die. The evidence of "the conclusion does not in the least depend on " the particular notions which I annex to the words " man and Peter, but would be equally conclusive "if we were to substitute instead of them two "letters of the alphabet, or any other insignificant " characters. All X's must die — Z is an X, there- " fore Z must die, is a syllogism which forces the " assent no less than the former. It is farther ob- " vious that this syllogism would be equally con- " elusive, if, instead of the word die, I were to "substitute any other verb which the language " contains." No doubt I But the verb is as much a general term as the noun, and, in order to make his theory good, he must be prepared to shew, not that "any other vei-V could be substituted in place of the verb " die," but that " a letter of the alpha- " bet, or any other insignificant character" could be substituted in place of it. The known verb is the veiy thing which gives precision to, and ascertains REASON. 553 the limits of, the noun connected with it. Hence, to say "all X's die," is just equivalent to saying, ^'all creatures of a certain kind die." The verb thus gives a more or less extended, though perfectly precise meaning to the noun, and it would just be the same if a known noun were used with a sym- bolical verb. All men X — Peter is a man — there- fore, Peter X's, is a perfectly good syllogism, the verb X expressing any act which a man can ac- complish or do. But a proposition, with all its general terms, both nouns and verbs — " insigni- "ficant characters" — would be nonsense, simply because there could be no means of attaching any sense to them, either general or particular. It is just the same to us, if we cannot comprehend the terms of a proposition. In such a case, it can con- vey to us no meaning, and consequently we cannot assent to it. At the best, it could only imply the most general of all assertions, that "what is, is." But, though thus led into a misconception by the apparent facility with which his nominahstic theory enabled him to explain processes of reasoning by symbols, it is evident that Mr. Stewart had, not- withstanding, a sort of latent consciousness, that general words actually express some mental state; for, in explaining the principles of classification, and for this purpose, quoting from Smith's " disserta- "tion on the formation of languages," he says — " it is this application of the name of an individual *' to a great number of objects, whose resemblance 664 REASON. " naturally recalls the idea of that individual, and "of the name which expresses it, that seems ori- "ginally to have given occasion to the formation " of these classes and assortments, which, in the "schools are called genera and species.""* This theory, which Stewart approves, seems substantively identical with that of Reid and Brown, the latter of whom says, in nearly identical terms — "If our " mind be capable of feehng resemblance, it must "be capable of general notions, which are nothing "more than varieties of this very feeling."'' It would be difficult to imagine any difference in principle betwixt the view thus expressed, and that formerly quoted as the joint opinion of Smith and Stewart. In both cases, general names are held to represent that something, which, on comparison, we find to be identical or similar in a greater or less number of cases. Now, this is really the con- ceptualist theory — the difference betwixt it and the theory of those who, in modern times, call them- selves nominahsts, being merely verbal, originating in some confusion on the part of nominalists as to the precise sense of the name which they assume. This conceptualist theory, as explained by Dr. Reid, divides the process of generalisation into two parts — 1st, "The analysing a subject into its known "attributes, and giving a name to each attribute," which portion of the process he calls abstraction ; • Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind — Ch. 4th, sec. 1. •• Brown's Lectures — Lecture Ixvii. REASON. 555 2nd, " The observing one or more such attributes '' to be common to many subjects/' which he calls generalisation/ As to the former portion of the process, Brown has left httle to be said, inasmuch as, in a simple sentence, he has proved that such a faculty as it assumes is impossible, " since eveiy " exertion of it would imply a contradiction, inas- " much as the previous state of mind would involve " necessarily the very abstraction which it is sup- " posed to produce."'' It will farther be observed, that the assumption of such a process would imply the most erroneous and absurd supposition, that we form our notions of subjects before knowing their attributes- -whereas it is, on the contrary, by com- bining known attributes, as will be subsequently explained, that we acquire a knowledge of subjects.'' It supposes, for example, that we know substance before knowing the hardness, colour, smell, &c., which belong to it, and that we then proceed by this faculty of abstraction to analyse the substance into those quahties — whereas, the quahties, as is indeed manifest, are all that ice know of the sub- stance, each attribute being separately known by our various senses in the first instance, and then such qualities being combined together in one locality, constitute what we call substance, so that a faculty of combination would be much more • Reid— Intellectual po\vers — Essay 5tL, cL. 3. '' Brown's Lectures — Lecture li. • See chapter on Sensation. 556 REASON. readily conceivable than a faculty of abstraction. But, though Brown in thus far made a step in ad- vance of his predecessors, yet he felt that without some such process, it was impossible to account- for what he supposed to be the subsequent opera- tion, and which, indeed, constitutes the peculiarity of the conceptualist theory. Hence, while he re- pudiated a voluntary, he assumed some form of involuntary abstraction. In other words, he as- sumed, just as Reid did, that we first know subject or substance, and that, then, by some involuntary process, we become acquainted with its attributes^ — which involuntary process he explains, by referring it to what he calls "relative suggestion," i.e., by referring it to an unknown cause. In truth, how- ever, this is just as much an error as the former, though it be more disguised, for there is no such process as abstraction at all, as we trust is now obvious, whether voluntary or involuntary ; attri- butes being known before substance can be known, and, indeed, being the only substance that ive can knoiv, that which we call substance being merely the reference of attributes to an identical locality under a process of an entirely different character. Not only, however, is there no such process as abstraction, but in forming general ideas, there is no such "observing of one or more attributes to be " common to many subjects," as Beid supjDOses in the second part of his imagined operation. The error of this theory, universal as it is, will at once REASON. 557 be obvious, if we consider that in perceiving, for example, one green object, we have as general an apprehension of greenness as if w^e had seen green objects ten thousand times. No one, indeed, will for a moment maintain that w^e must have seen two green objects in order to have a general idea of greenness, or two horses, in order to have a general idea of a horse. No doubt, by repeatedly per- ceiving the same or identical objects, we may have a more accurate and precise idea of the nature of each, but it will not be in the slicrhtest dem-ee more general. Nor does it signify how any idea is formed — whether it be a perception acquired by sensation, or a complex idea acquired through reason — the moment we know it as particular, that same moment it is also apprehended as general. In truth, the only comparison which takes place in forming a general notion is for the purpose of knowing it in itself absolutely, and thus of discri- minating it from all others. A particular idea is an absolute feeling limited by time, place, or cir- cumstances; a general idea discriminates the speci- ality or specialities which constitutes any particular idea what it is, separating it from all mere inci- dents, so as to distinguish it essentially from every- thing else. Hence, in reality, every notion is general when it ceases to be a mere absolute feeling or recollection thereof, because it at once becomes DISTINCTIVE, and thus, discriminating its object from all other things, becomes intelligently apprehended. 558 REASON. The peculiarity, therefore, or pecuHarities which we know in each general notion, is or are those that distino^uish them from all other thinofs, and in thus knowing, we understand or apprehend them. The particular idea is thus a mere feeling — the general idea is intelligence or apprehension. "We are con- scious, therefore, of particular ideas as feelings or recollections of feelings, but we can only be said to know or apprehend them when we discriminate that essential something in each which distin- guishes it from all other ideas, and its objects from all other things. Hence, the more frequently we are cognisant of, and the more accurately we examine objects, we have more definite, but in no degree more general ideas of them — the generality of our ideas consisting merely in their separation from all feelings or ideas of time, place, or other limit- ing circumstances. Every modification of quality or substance, consequently, has its own general no- tion distinguishing each from all other things, by realising the speciality of such quality or sub- stance which discriminates each from all other modifications of qualities or substances iu any way differing from them. In this way is readily ex- plained our idea of a triangle, for example, which is a general idea derived by reason from our per- ception or conception of any form of a triangle. Hence, when we see a triangle of a special kind — say an isoceles triangle — we have at once, from such perception, two general notions with respect to its REASON. 559 fio'ure. We have the oreneral notion of an isoceles triangle as constituted by two. equal sides with their combining base, and of a triangle absolutely, as consisting of three conjoined sides. It is mani- festly impossible, therefore, to have an image or conception in the strictest sense of the word con- ception, either of an isoceles triangle, or of a triangle absolutely, because the isoceles triangle as perceived, is a mere feeling of a sj)ecial form which we can imagine in thought ; but, as apprehended in a general notion, it is the something tvhich constitutes the speciality of that p)articidar form, ajmrt from time, place, size, or any other limiting circumstance, and which thus, by an act of reason, contradistin- guishes it from all other forms in which those lines can be conjoined. In the same way, the particular notion of a triangle of any kind can be imaged by the mind as limited to a particular form, but the general notion of a triangle cannot be imaged as being merely the result of a rational process discriminating that mode of combining three lines which constitutes a triangle, from all other modes of combining three hnes, and from all other things whatsoever ; for it is obvious, that discrimination or contradistinction, though it may be hiovm, can- not be imaged, as being simply a process of reason through which facts and truths are not only felt, but are also intelligently apprehended. We are said thus to know them by knowing their discriminating characteristics, so far ai we 560 REASON. observe such characteristics, as contradistinguishing' item from all other things. And we say, so far as we observe them, because — and the point is of essen- tial importance — because we may perceive objects, and appreciate propositions, in certain respects, without perceiving or appreciating all their peculi- arities. Indeed, as has been said, the more atten- tively we examine either objects or propositions, the more precisely and accurately do we come to know them. Thus, taking one of the above-men- tioned examples, we may, in the first instance, re- gard an isoceles triangle only as a figure consti- tuted by the inter-conjunction of three lines, i.e., as a triangle absolutely, because we may pay no atten- tion to the apparent equality of two of its sides. But, when on more careful examination, we dis- cover this peculiarity, we instantly have farther the additional notion of an isoceles triangle. In either case, however, the general notion is a totally dif- ferent thing from the perception. The perception is an act of the senses, limited by a particular time, place, and size, and the recollection of it implies the same limitations. But the general notion is an act of reason, and regards the discriminating speciality of the figure alone, as contradistinguished from all other figures, and all other things. From all which, it is quite clear, that such objects as the sun, the moon, &c. — of which we only know one ex- ample — imply general ideas, just as much as those of which we have an infinity of examples. They REASON. 561 are, indeed, particular in so far as connected with time, place, size, or other incidental characteristic ; but, in seeing the sun or the moon, we have the general notion of a sun or a moon, by simply regarding them as apart from such characteristic, so that, were we to see another sun or moon, we could at once identify them with as much certainty as if we had previously known them in any number of cases. The nature of the whole process is so plain, that we can hardly think it will admit of being misunderstood. Indeed, the only difficulty of explaining it, arises from its extreme simplicity. There are hardly words to be found for expressing processes so exceedingly elementary, and it is this that makes it necessary to repeat and re-repeat the same thing, in so many different forms. So far, then, we trust has the nature of general ideas been made distinctly manifest, as they regard absolute facts, as well as the real meaning of the words which designate them. The process is every way the same in regard to relations. It will, in- deed, be now obvious, from the discriminating tendency of the rational faculty, that its main cha- racteristic consists in that jDower by which it identifies and distinguishes, and to the exertion of this power it is impelled by a cognate desire, with the continuous action of which we are all experi- mentally acquainted. Accordingly, when we see any two things — say two lines, for example — we instantly set about comparing them more or less 00 562 REASON consciously, and in this comparison, we necessarily, in the very act, discover that relation which we call equality, or that which we call inequality in length. It would, of course, be the same with regard to numbers or anything else. In this way we ration- ally or intelligently apprehend, by such comparison, the peculiarity which constitutes the relation, and which thus contra-distinguishes it from all other relations ; in other words, we know the speciality or specialities which makes or make the relation what it is, and without which it could not be. In this we have the general notion, and though sub- sequent re- observation of the phenomenon in any case may make our knowledge of the relation more accurate, it can in no degree make it more general. In seeing two apparently equal lines once, we have as general a notion of equality as if we had seen such lines any number of times. And as in know- ing whiteness, for example, we must also, more or less, definitely know what is not whiteness, since anything else, be it what it may, is not whiteness; so, in like manner, in knowing equality, we must also more or less definitely know inequality, since anything else, be it wliat it may, is inequality. But there is still a more complicated species of re- lations — our apprehension of which, however, is reducible to the same princijDle — when we compare degrees of differences with one another, which is called proportion. In this case reason identifies one thing as being as diffei'ent from another thing as a REASON. 563 third tliino^ is from a fourth thiiiQf — as A : B : : C : D. In other words, A is greater or less than B, in the saine measure that C is greater or less than D. It is an identifying of the relations of differences, and so is an operation implying considerable com- plication; but it is evident that neither the ideas involved in it, nor the terms expressing them, in- volve anything peculiar. It is just a somewhat more complex form of the same process. The very same analysis which thus explains so simply the nature of general ideas, and the mean- ing of the words which designate them, will now be found ^^ith equal simplicity to explain that be- lief in elementary propositions which is usually regarded as intuitive, but which, in reality, is the direct result of a universal and veiy intelligible operation of reason. And we shall, in the first place, direct our attention to the ground of our belief in mathematical axioms, a subject which has so much perplexed philosophers. Our belief in these axioms is not innate, nor intuitive, nor, in one word, a priori in any way. They are neither more nor less than definitions of relations with which perception and reason have made us acquainted under the process recently described. Thus, we have seen, that by an act of comparison we know what the relation of equality is, and what the rela- tion of inequality is, just as by an act of discrimi- nation, which is the foundation of comparison, we know what whiteness is, and what blackness is. 564 llEASON Accordingly, when we say that ^' things equal to the " same thing are equal to one another," we define equality by a speciality so essentially of its nature, that we at once recognise it as a fact apart from which, equality could not be equality — as, in other words, a discriminating characteristic of equality. It is of the very essence, therefore, of our rational or general notion of equality. To know what equality means, consequently, and not to know this, is evi- dently impossible : it would be a contradiction in terms. The axiom is neither more nor less, than a definition or statement of what we mean by equality, under one of its aspects. It is the very same thing with the axiom, ''if equals be added "to equals, the wholes are equal," and so in every case. The origin and nature of our belief in mathematical axioms is therefore perfectly clear. Mathematical axioms are merely definitions or statements of the essential characteristics of cer- tain relations of lines necessarily discovered and apprehended in the very act of comparing lines, and without a knowledo^e of which we could not knoiD those relations at all. They are, indeed, mere forms of the more general propositions, to the effect, that "Things identical with the same " thing in any quality or peculiarity, are also in " that quality identical with one another ;" tliat, "if the same quantity, degree, or number be " taken from identicals, the remainders of such " identicals will be. the same ;" that, " if the same REASON. 565 ^^ quantity, degree, or niiiiiber, be added, &c., and "so on." Not to know these things would evi- dently imply ignorance of the meaning of the words " the same " and " identical," because the fact or relation which these words express imply them and include them, and hence, if we know what these words mean, which we do by a simple act of identi- fication or discrimination, we must know and ap- preciate the axioms adverted to, since they merely state characteristics which are of the essence of the things expressed. It is obvious that the same remarks apply to such axioms as, "the whole is "greater than any of its parts," and "two straight "lines cannot inclose a space," since, if ive know what a ''ivhole" and ''parts" mean, we must know that a "whole" includes all its "parts," the pro- position being substantively an identical one ; and, if we know what a " straight line " means, we must know that it is the shortest line betwixt any two points, and that there cannot be two shortest lines, for this proposition also is evidently identical. That such truths are necessary, there can be no question, because we assume that there are such relations or realities as " equality, straight lines," and the like, such as they appear to us to he, and consequently they are necessary truths to us, inasmuch as their falsehood would imply, that our faculties tell us that which is not in itself true — an assumption which, so far as we are concerned, is evidently inadmissible. But they are no more necessary than the proposi- 566 REASON. tions that "greenness is not blackness/' or, that ''fires burn certain articles," or, that ''the wind "blows," or in fact anything else of which our faculties assure us ; nor is there anything a 'p'^'i-ori in our belief in them, except the faculty or faculties which submit the facts that they regard to our •cognisance, and enable us to realise or apprehend them. The only difference seems to be, that while w^e can conceive substance or its properties, what- ever they may be, non-existent, we cannot conceive such annihilation of time and space as to supersede the existence of number and figure, at all events potentially. This, however, whatever may be the cause of the difference, has nothingf to do with the point which we are now consideiing, and which re- gards, not our conception of the possible non-exis- tence of the subjects of our relative ideas, but the mode in which we realise them, and the necessity of certain truths implied or included in them, on the supposition that they do really exist under such forms as our faculties represent them to us. In the very same way, and with equal simplicity, is explained the origin and nature of that most im- portant of all physical and moral axioms, and which, perhaps, may be held to include all others within itself, to the effect, that "Every effect must have a " cause," or, to express it more accurately, that " Every change must have a cause ; " for an effect being merely something effected, evidently would imply the operation of a cause, in the very use of REASON. .^)()7 the terms employed. We say then, that the very same principle explains this axiom, " Every change " must have a cause," with equal simplicity, clear- ness, and precision ; for, as soon as we begin to feel at all, from the very first time that we realise a sensation, the mind, conscious of itself, and em- bracing also, in so far, an absolute appreciation of the nature of that external existence generating such sensation in us, necessarily in the very act, discriminates also such sensation from non-exis- tence, from which both our consciousness of self and our feeling of sensation had emerged, and which had impUed neither the one nor the other. We discriminate something feeling, and something act- ing so as to generate that feeling, from the absence of either feeling or acting, i.e., we know existence as that which operates, or that which may be operated upon, and non-existence, as that which neither operates, nor is operated upon, and this is all that we can know, either of the one or of the other. It matters nothing, be it observed, that there may be existences which can operate, though we are ignorant of their operation. That of which we are ignorant of the operation is nothing to us. This, however, is not the point. Our knowledge of existence is derived from experience, as something which operates, or may be operated upon. From our consciousness of this, taken in connection with non-consciousness, we are made acquainted with the conceivable possibility of non-existence as its oppo- 568 REASON. site. In other words, the knowledge of being, iui- pHes rationally that of non-being, as the only con- dii ion from ivliich it can he distinguished. If exis- tence, therefore, be that which operates, or can be operated upon, then non-existence must be that which does not operate, and cannot be operated upon. To say, therefore, that " Eveiy change must " have a cause," is merely to express an identical proposition by saying, that that which cannot ope- rate cannot operate. The fact of existence, as an operative power, is all that we know of existence ; and we say as an operative power, because it is not mere power of which we are conscious, but we are conscious of existence itself operating by power. In other words, we are conscious not merely of action, but of something acting — not merely of changes, but also directly or indirectly of their causes ; and we say indirectly, because, when bodies external to us act upon each other, we perceive both their action and its results, without ourselves feeling either in the way that we do when our own organic system is directly acted upon. This subject, however, is so eminently important, and has so perplexed philosophers, that for the sake of avoiding misconception, it may, perhaps, be de- sirable to sketch, as we have done on other subjects, the liistory of opinions with regard to it, so that, by determining the difficulties which have actually been found in the way of explaining the tine nature of causation, we may be enabled clearly to appre- REASON. 569 ciate the validity of the mode under which it is proposed to solve them. Hume, then, v^ho was the first on this, as on many other such tojDics, to raise a discussion on principles, endeavoured to prove that there is no other connection betwixt cause and effect than that which results from priority of sequence. This was a theory entirely accordant with Hume's general tendency ; for, if there be no connection betwixt cause and effect, except priority of sequence, then, of course, every argument founded on the assumption of a necessary connection between them became false, and scepti- cism could be the only philosophy. Dr. Keid, therefore, could not admit such a theory, which, accordingly, after his usual fashion, he, in the first instance, endeavours to elude by ascribing our necessary belief in the connection betwixt cause and effect to intuition. But E-eid, however de- ficient in acuteness and subtilty of thought, yet we cannot doubt, felt the absurdity implied in explain- ing our belief in the relations of external things by an inteimal instinct. It was, no doubt, this feeling consequently which induced him — substantively waving: his reference of the belief to an intuitive action — to have recourse to what has been called the volition theory, under which our idea of power, or what was supposed to be the connecting link betwixt cause and effect, is ascribed to oiw own consciousness of its exercise. " According to Mr, ''Locke, therefore," he says, "the only clear notion 570 REASON. " or idea we have of active power is taken from the "power which we find in ourselves to give certain '^motions to our bodies, or a certain direction to "our thoughts, and thus power in ourselves can " be brought into action only by ivilling or volition. " From this, I think, it follows, that if we had not " will, and that degree of understanding which will " necessarily implies, we could exert no active power, "and consequeiitly could have none."^ Again, " It is certain that we can conceive no kind " of active power, but what is similar or ana- " logons to that which we attribute to ourselves."'' Again, " The name of a cause and of an agent is " properly given to that being only, which, by its " active power, produces some change in itself, or "in some other being."" Again, "Incompliance " with custom, or perhaps to gratify the avidity of " knowing the causes of things, we call the laws of . " nature, causes and active powers. So we speak " of the powers of gravitation, of magnetism, of " electricity. We call them causes of many of the " phenomena of nature, and such they are esteemed " by the ignorant, and by the half-learned ; but " those of juster discernment see, that laws of na- " ture are not agents — they are not endowed with " active power, and, therefore, cannot be causes, in " the proper sense — they are only the rules, accord- " ing to which the unknown cause acts."*^ From » Reid's Active powers — Essay 1st, ch. 6. ^ Reid's Active powers — Essay 4th, ch. 2. ' Do. Do. ' Active powers — Essay 4th, ch. 4. REASON. 571 all which passages, and many more of a cognate character, it is obvious, that Reid, denying all phy- sical power, supposes that the nexus of cause and effect, is in every instance to be sought in the will of a voluntary agent — or, in other words, when not ascribable to a human being, in the divine mind, either directly, or indirectly operating. Nor does he shrink from avowing this conclusion : " When we turn our attention," he says, " to external ob- jects, and begin to exercise our rational faculties about them, we find, that there are some motions and changes in them, which we have power to produce, and they have many which must have some other cause. Either the objects must have life and active power, as we have, or they must be moved and changed by something that has life and active power, as external objects are moved by us."* Again, ^^ It is to this day pro- blematical, whether all the phenomena of the material system be produced by the immediate operation of the first cause, according to the laws which His wisdom determined, or whether subor- dinate causes are employed by Him in^the oj^era- tions of nature, and if they be, what their nature, their number, and their different ofiices are "? and whether, in all cases, they act by commission, or in some, according to their discretion V'^ At the same time, Reid does not deny, that " unintelli- " gent instruments" maybe employed by the Divine Active powers — Essay 4th, ch. 3. '' Do. Do. 572 REASON. mind in working out His purposes, he only denies that such instruments have any power in them- selves, or can, in any measure, he apprehended hy us in such an operation. He regards them, there- fore, not as causes, but media, through which the Divine mind may act in the putting forth of His own power, although we have no means of discover- ing whether this be the case or not. This is clearly brought out in the following passage, where he says, " But whether the intelligent first cause acts " immediately in the production of these events, or " by subordinate intelligent agents, or by instru- " ments that are unintelligent, and what the nature, " the number, and the different ofiices of these " agents or instruments may be— these I apprehend "to be MYSTERIES PLACED BEYOND THE LIMITS OF " HUMAN KNOWLEDGE."^ Now, assuredly, it seems most singular, to find the champion of common sense denying the existence of physical power, since, if there be one fact more certain than another, it is our full conviction of the action of physical power as a matter of common sense, and hence we believe there has never practically been a difference of opinion upon the subject since the creation of the world. Farther, to find Dr. Reid sneeiing at the belief of "the ignorant and half-learned," and rest- ing his theory on the dogmas of "those of juster "discernment," seems so inconsistent with the general tenor of his writings, as of itself almost to • Active powers — P^ssay 1st, ch. 5. REASON. 573 prove that there must be something wrong about his theoiy. Such language might have suited the systems of those who reason a jyriori on eveiything in utter indifference to the practical convictions which their conclusions may contradict ; but that Dr. Reid should have adopted it, for the purpose of evading a metaphysical difficulty, does appear inexcusable, and his doing so has, perhaps, received its due meed of punishment from the retributive effect which the theory that he employed it to de- fend has had in subverting the very foundations of that philosophy which he conceived it to be the glory of his life to have originated. That such was its result, has been demonstrably established by Dr. Brown in his " Inquiiy into the relation 'of cause and effect," in the folio win a- clear and loo'ical aro'ument : — " But God the Creator, and 'God the providential Governor of the world," he says, " are not necessarily God the producer of 'eveiy change. In that great system which we ' call the universe, all things are what they are in ' consequence of His primary will ; but, if they 'were incapable of affecting anything, they would 'virtually be themselves as nothing. When we ' speak of the law of nature, indeed, we only use a 'general phrase, expressive of the accustomed ' order of the phenomena of nature ; but in this 'application the word law is not explanatoiy of ' anything, and expresses merely an order of suc- ' cession which takes place before us — there is such 574 REASON. 'a regular order of sequences^ and what we call Hhe qualities, powers, or properties of things, are ' only their relations to this very order. An object, ' therefore, which is not found to be the antecedent 'of any change, and on the presence of which, 'accordingly, in all imaginable circumstances, no ' change can be expected as its immediate conse- 'quent, more than if it were not existing, is an 'object that has no power, property, or quality 'whatever. That substance has the quality of ' heat, which excites in us, or occasions in us, as a 'subsequent change, the sensation of warmth; that ' has the quality of greenness, the presence of ' which is the antecedent of a peculiar visual sen- ' sation in our mind ; that has the quality of 'heaviness, which presses down a scale of a bal- ' ance that was before in equilibrium ; that has 'the quality of elasticity, of which the parts, after 'being pressed close together, return when the ' pressure is withdrawn in a direction opposite to ' the force which compressed them. If matter be ' incapable of acting upon matter or upon mind, it ' has no qualities by which its existence can become ' known, what is it of which, in such circumstances, 'we are entitled to speak under the name of ' matter f'^ Again, " That which excites in us all ' the feelings which we ascribe to certain qualities ' of matter, is matter ; and to suppose that there • Brown's Inquiry into the relation of cause and effect — Part 1st, sec. 5 — page 82, &g, • REASON. 575 '' is nothing without us which excites these feeUngs, " is to suppose that there is no matter without, as " far as we are capable of forming any conception "of matter. The doctrine of universal spiritual "efficiency, then, in the sequences of physical " causes, seems to be only an awkward and comph- " cated modification of the system of Berkeley ; " for, as in this view of physical causes that are " inefficient, the Deity, by his own immediate voli- "tion, or that of some delegated spirit, is the "author of every effect which we ascribe to the "presence of matter, the only conceivable use of " the inanimate masses which cannot affect us more " than if they were not in existence, must be as " remembrances to him who is omniscience itself."* Now, this argument, however erroneous it may be in its assumptions with respect to other particulars, is in its bearinyf on the doctrine of " universal "spiritual efficiency," absolute demonstration. If " matter be incapable of acting upon matter or upon "mind," it cannot act upon us, and consequently, in so far as we are concerned, it can be nothing at all. The efficient mind or will which is sup- posed to excite our belief in it, is all that we can know, and this is so obvious, that we are not aware of any of Beid's disciples who has disputed the logical necessity of the conclusion. Hence, it farther follows, that if our senses be delusive in ' Brown's Inquiry into the relation of cause and effect — Part 1st, sec. 5 — page 95. 576 REASON. persuading us of the fact of external existence as acting on our organic natures, when in reahty it is an invisible spirit that acts, our senses, in all cases, must be held as utterly unworthy of confidence, since the delusion would be so universal as to em- brace almost every instant of our conscious exist- ence. Such a theory would not only, therefore, be an " awkward imitation of the system of " Berkeley," but it would lead, by du'ect and irresistible inference, to the scepticism of Hume. Admit that our faculties deceive us necessarily in one case, and that specially a case of such per- petual occurrence, and it will be impossible to assign any legitimate reason for trusting them in any other instance whatever. But, though Brown has thus indisputably annihi- lated the volition theory, he yet leaves the great difficulty, which that theory was invented to ex- plain, precisely as he found it. The nature of the relation of cause and effect, or in other words, the mode under which we can logically distinguish the relation of cause and effect from mere incidental sequence, remains as unknown as before. He says, " The belief of power is an original feeling, intui- " tive and immediate on the perception of change*"^ Now, this is merely saying that it is inexplicable ; but supposing it to imply something more, still, if " we be irresistibly determined," as he farther tells * Brown's Inquiry into relation of cause and efiect — Part 4tli, sec. 6, page 356. (4tli Ed., 1835). REASON. 577 US, "to ascribe to the antecedent in a sequence " that invariableness of priority which constitutes " power," how can we be able to distinguish be- twixt those antecedents which are causes and those which are not causes, seeino- the '' invariableness of priority " — which, according to him, is the only proof of causation — may be the same in both cases ? The deficiency of his theory, in this respect, is at once exposed by Reid's ad ahsurdicm argument against Hume — whose doctrine, substantively. Brown adopted — to this effect, that " if the relation " betwixt cause and effect be that of mere antece- " dence and consequence, then day would be the '^ cause of night, and night would be the cause of ''day.'"' Accordingly, nothing can be more un- satisfactory than Brown's attempt at explaining away this ad absurdum illustration. We do not, indeed, go too far in calling it unintelHgible ; nor is this wonderful, since " invariableness of priority" is merely a matter of fact — merely a name for that which ever has been, ivhafever reason may he as- signed for it ; but it is not a poAver at all, nor a quality, nor an essence, nor, indeed, anything substantive of any kind whatsoever : nay, instead of being itself "invariableness of sequence," power is obviously that something, be it what it may, \Yh.\Q\i produces "invariableness of sequence." To * Brown's Inquiry into relation of cause and effect — Part 4tli, sec. 6, J.]). 356 & 385. '" Kcid's Arlivc powers— Ensay 4th, cli. .3. P P 578 REASON. call "in variableness of priority or sequence," there- fore, power, is to make an effect the cause of itself. Now, setting aside the theories of the modern German school — which, so far as I can understand them, are mixtures of sceptical and dogmatical philosophy, combined in an anomalous and incon- sistent mass, and claiming a species of originality merely in respect of the strange and uncouth phraseology under which they are expressed — the philosophy of causation remains in the same un- satisfactory state in which it was left by Dr. Brown ; and this seems the more extraordinaiy, as will now appear, if our views as already ex- pressed on the subject be correct, from the extreme simplicity of the explanation. In truth, so simple and obvious does the solution appear, that its very simplicity implies the only shadow of a doubt of which it is susceptible. The whole confusion, indeed, as to the relation of cause and effect seems to have originated in an idea that it is something mystical and obscure, as implying a latent link which connects cause and effect or change together. An effect was thus re- garded as a new cheation, evolved by the operation of some supernatural agency called power. It was this imperfectly recognised dogma that Hume assailed, that Reid re-adopted, that Brown repu- diated, and which yet, to a certain extent, main- tains its authority under a more or less unconscious form. But the idea is an utter delusion, and, REASON. 571) therefore, Hume and Brown, with their successors, rightly rejected it, had they only substituted some- thing better in its room. In point of fact, however, they substituted nothing, and to this, as a main cause, is to be attiibuted that tinge of scepticism which has more or less tainted modem literature, and especially modern philosophy. It is just what might have been expected, since, if we are not assured of the necessary connection betwixt cause and effect, of what can we be assured logically ? The fact, however, is, that there is nothing mys- tical or obscure about the subject at all!' Power is no latent link connecting cause and effect, but is just CAUSE ITSELF Called by another name. In other words, when we speak of a cause absolutely, we call it a quality or property; when we speak of it as operative on something else, we call it a power ; and the word cause is only used to express the same idea, ivheii ice direct attention to the result of its union icith, or the change it tvorks forth, on some other attribute. Hence, the w^ords '• quality, power, ^' cause," are in thus far iiiterchangable. Thus, hardness is called a quality, when we speak of it absolutely; a power, when we speak of it in rela- tion to its action, for example, on glass ; a cause, when we direct attention to it as the instrument by which a window, for example, has been broken. In the veiy same way are these terms used with respect to any existence, whether matter or mind. • See remarks on this subject in the chapter on Sensation. 580 REASON. Power is not anything different from matter or mind, but it is matter or mind, spoken of as opera- tive on something else. We call steam, for exam- ple, a power as operative on an engine ; and we call it a cause, in respect of the motion which it works forth on the engine. Nay, while most philoso- phers have imagined substance to be what we know, and operative power or cause fo he something inferred, or, as Hume and Brown have supposed, to he nothing at all, the fact is the very reverse, OPERATIVE POWER OR CAUSE BEING ALL THAT WE KNOW OR ARE CONSCIOUS OF, AND SUBSTANCE IN ANT OTHER SENSE — BEING ONLY KNOWN INFERE2\TIALLY. ThuS, if we see a green leaf, it is not the essence of green- ness or of a green leaf in its entity that we know, but such essence in so far as it is an operative power or cause, which effects a certain visual sensation in the mind. Hence, unless in so far as we know essence as an operative power or cause, we evidently know no- thing about it at all. No wonder, therefore, that confusion and difficulty has been experienced with respect to a phenomenon, as to which we have been assumed to know that which we do not know, and not to know the only particular which it is possible that we can know. From all this, it is manifest, that the relation of cause and effect is, in the first instance, made known to us solely by experience, i.e., by percep- tion and consciousness. If something external act upon my organism, and through that organism on REASON. 581 my mind, it is a cause, or a power, and as a Cciuse or power do I know it in the act of perception, or feeling, and not otherwise. Hence, those who imagine that a power is a Hnk betwixt cause and effect, in this case, just fall back on the old tertium quid again, as a something intervening betwixt the external world and our minds ; whilst Hume, Brown, and their successors, who deny that there is any connection, so far as we know, betwixt cause and effect, but afErm cause and effect to be mere antece- dent and consequent, must either substantially assume Leibnitz's doctrine of a pre-established har- mony, or else necessarily fall back upon scepticism; since, to say that two existences have no connection, and yet admit that they really and literally act upon each other, is evidently a contradiction in terms. If, however, it be admitted, as it seems impos- sible that it can be denied by any one who has his attention directed to the phenomenon, that we are conscious of cause and effect in the first instance, i.e., perceive or feel it, according to the nature of the case, then all difficulty in relation thereto ceases. Thus, if an external colour or smell act on my sensations, it seems indisputable that I am conscious of this effect, as caused by the external influence. If again, in my presence, a stone breaks a square of glass, I pe^^ceive the whole process from beginning to end, and retain the various parts of it as perceptions in my memory. No doubt, in both instances, it is reason that distinguishes the 582 REA;iON. particulars from one another that take part in each process, and even the successive times that event succeeds event, but still the various facts in them- selves have been cognised by consciousness, and in consciousness alone are known. In the same way, of course, the result, as substantively a portion of the phenomenon, is solely known by consciousness, though reason, discriminatino- the nature of each particular, teaches the modus opercmdi, or, in other words, the relation which the several qualities or substances bear to each other. It will now be seen, that it is this combined operation of experience or consciousness and reason which complicates the process, and all the merit which we claim in the analysis is to have referred to each its own proper share in the result. Experience gives us the facts, while reason discriminates their several shares in the effect. We have, by experience, a knowledge of the existences operating, w^hile reason teaches what each does, by discriminating the natures of the several existences in relation to each other. The w^hole subject becomes thus perfectly simple. We find that we know nothing in any case directly of absolute existence, but only of existences as causes or operative powers, so that, except in so far as we know causes or operating powers, i.e., existences operating, we know nothing at all. That which produces a change in any case, conse- quently, is nothing intermediate between the ex- istence operating and the existence operated upon REASON. 583 but the nature, quality, property, or power of the thing operating in relation to the thing operated upon, and which is all that we knoiv about it. How existences should be so constituted as that they should be mutually related and mutually capable of acting on each other, of course, we cannot tell, because we have no means of knowing either the absolute essence of existence, or the mode in which in any one case absolute essence is constituted. But that every change must be produced by some ac- tion we certainly know, inasmuch as a change is merely another name for a thing having been acted upon, and thus we are just brought back by a different process to our original conclusion, that the proposi- tion — ''every change must have a cause" — is iden- tical, as merely affirming that " where an operation ''has been, there an operation must have been." But if this analysis proves that there is and can be no intermediate link betwixt cause and effect, it proves, with equal certainty, that the relation be- tween them is not that of mere antecedence and consequence, as Hume and Brown, and, indeed, most modern philosophers, have supposed, but that of action or operation by one upon the other, or of different existences among themselves, the opera- tive constitution of existences being^ all that ive hioiv of them. Hence it is evident, that except in so far as we are conscious of such operation upon ourselves, or indirectly of external bodies on one another, we cannot predicate eitlier their existence 584 KEASON. or their causative character, which indeed are, as will now be obvious, one and the sime thing. In this way is readily explained that illustration of Hume's error as proposed by Dr. Reid, and which so much perplexed Bi^own in his attempt to unravel the apparent difficulty implied in it. For we are not only not conscious of day operating in the pro- duction of night, hut ive know, on the other hand, that it does not so operate. Night or darkness we know to be the absence of light, whilst we equally well know day or light not to be the product of any operation of night or darkness, but to be pro- duced by the presence of the sun. We are, in truth, assured by the combined information of con- sciousness and reason, that light comes from a luminous object, of which the form is frequently and distinctly marked to us in the sky. It makes a cause no more a cause, therefore, because its antecession is permanent. Its causative character solely depends upon its operative power, and is constituted thereby. We thus know the whole process, till we feel ourselves back at the direct action of our faculties. We can know no more, and, indeed there is nothing more to be known, ex- cept that essential nature of qualities or substances which relates them to one another, and thus enables one to act upon another, and this we can never know. Our analysis of these elementary processes leaves little more to be done for determining the nature REASON. 585 of reason, and the knowledge which it enables us to acquire. We perceive at once that it is the faculty wliich discriminates the nature, or properties, or powers, whether of modes or substances, and thus indicates the effect which will be produced in their combination with or action on each other; for, if we know the differences of existences in their relation to each other, we must necessarily know the result of their combination with or action on each other. Thus, to take a very simple example, if we know two half squares of equal sizes, then reason teaches us, that by uniting them we shall have a whole square ; or, if we know hardness and brittleness as different qualities, and reason teaches us their respective natures, or, in other words, their relations to each other, then we know that the one will break the other. It may, indeed, at first sight be supposed that we are conscious of these things, but a veiy little consideration will satisfy any one that this is a mistake. We may be conscious of each of two half squares separately as absolute facts, but consciousness, simple as the process is, could never teach us that the two united would make a whole or complete square, by realising the result of their combination. In the same way we may be conscious of hardness by itself, and brittle- ness by itself; but consciousness could never indi- cate to us their differences, nor their relations, nor anticipate the result of their mutual action, nor, indeed, institute any comparison betwixt them at 5SC} REASON. all. In one word, reason teaches identities and differences of every kind ; but all that we mean by identities, is identical operating p7'operties or powers, and all that we mean by differences, is different operating j^^'operties or poivers, according to the DEGREE OF THEIR DIFFERENCES: hence, it is evident, that in knowing identity and difference, we must, from the very nature of the case, know how dif- ferent substances will act on each other, and gene- rally how they stand related to each other, in every respect in which their differences are hnoum, since otherwise it is clear, that though we might know them separately by consciousness, we could not possibly have realised the points which distinguish them as compared, for this necessarily implies an appreciation of the relation which the nature of the one bears to the nature of the other. But it may be said that this is manifest to everybody, and, no doubt, so it is, when it is explained; but in its very simplicity, paradoxical as it may appear, would seem to consist its difficulty, for this most manifest and indisputable analysis developes the real nature of reason, and unfolds the only process which takes place in the most intricate complications of reasoning. Hence it is clear, that the knowledge acquired by reason is the knowledge of relations in the widest sense of the term, and is acquired, both by identifying and discriminating existences. All matters of fact, i.e., all perceptions and all feelings RKASON. 587 absolutely, we know by consciousness, but consci- ousness cannot identify or discrimincUe, and conse- quently all knowledge of relations, i.e., knowledge acquired directly or indirectly, by identification or discrimination, must be referred to reason. Com- parison, it is farther to be observed, enters more or less into almost every idea. There is probably, in- deed, not a single act of consciousness in which we do not discriminate the perception and feeling from other things, in the process of determining that which constitutes each what it is, and, of course, the more complex the idea, so much the more com- plicated the operations of reason in determining the nature of each particular which it involves, and discriminatino' them amonof- themselves and from other things, it being evidently impossible to identify or discriminate, without knowing in so far the distinctive natures of the objects identified or discriminated respectively. From all this, it • will now be farther manifest, how we should feel certain that the same cause or power will always produce the same result. The difficulty, indeed, of explaining our belief in this most indisputable proposition, evidently originated in the idea that our knowledi^e of existences is abso- lute and essential, whereas it will now be obvious, that our knowledge of existences is only absolute in so far as they ajfect us, i.e., in so far as we are conscious of them as operative powers. In tliis view the difficulty at once disappears, since, to say 588 REASON. that the same power must always, under the same circmnstances, produce the same result, is merely to say that the same powers are the same powders, or, in other words, that the same existences are the same existences. But it may be said, that, though no doubt it is thus evident how we believe that the same thing will always, in the same circumstances, jDroduce the same results, yet, the same reasoning will not explain why we believe that all the things in the universe will continue for some time, at all events, to be the same, or, in other words, the cause why we believe that no other existence Avill suddenly interfere to act on and change the system of the universe as at present constituted. But our belief in this proposition, so far as it goes, admits of an easy explanation, as depending on that uni- versal experience which teaches us that violent changes do not take place without warning, since, in all such cases, forces are necessarily brought into operation that must struggle against each other from small beginnings, the power of the one only slowly overbearing the resistance of the other. There is another cause of this belief, in that convic- tion of the existence of an over-rulino- intellio-ent power which, it can be demonstrably proved, in- fluences every human being. Under that convic- tion, we feel assured, that whatever He does will be done in conformity with the most perfect wisdom, and in accordance with those general laws which, through our experience. He has made known to us. REASON. 589 We cannot imagine any other ground for this be- lief, and consequently seem justified in concluding, that, in so far as it exceeds the range which tliese arguments warrant, it must be regarded as a mere result of an habitual prejudice. Still, however, it may be farther said, that though, no doubt, we can thus understand the ground of our belief, in the proposition that the same thing must, under the same circumstances, produce the same results, yet, it seems difficult to understand how we are assured in any case that that which appears to us to be the same, actually is the same with regard to other quahties which this apparent quality only symbolises. Now the fact is, that the certainty of our conclusion in such cases must depend upon the care with which we attend to every particular. That a symbol — whether natural, i.e., where the symbol is a quality of some substance, and thus symbolises its other qualities, or artificial, i.e., w^hen reason arbitrarily identifies an existence with a symbol — may deceive us, if Ave allow ourselves from carelessness to mistake one for another, is perfectly true ; nay, in some few cases it may almost be impossible for our senses to dis- tinguish the one from another ; but this merely teaches us that we oug-ht in no instance to be satis- fied with a superficial examination, and that in cases where we desire extreme accuracy, and when one symbol may deceive us, we should seek for others. This, accordingly, is what persons under REASON. 590 such circumstances usually do^ and thus quickly find that the obtuseness of our senses may be en- tirely compensated by a due exercise of our intelli- gence. Having thus determined the nature of reason, in so far as it can be ascertained, by an analysis of the more elementary processes of the mind, we now proceed to consider it, in its application to those ulterior operations, which are usually known as processes of reasoning. CHAPTER XII. ON REASONING. Reason, in its application to ulterior processes — Kinds of reasoning. Demonstrative reasoning — Its nature — Its bases — Misconception of Stewart on tlie subject. Probable reasoning — Difference betwixt de- monstrative and probable reasoning in regard to the certainty of their conclusions — Analysis of probable reasoning — Object of logic as there- from deduced — Nature and use of syllogisms — Their inefficiency even for the only purpose to which they can be in any measure logically applied — Importance of understanding the true object of reasoning, and the nature of the rational faculty — Summary of the argument — Mode in which, under the view given, we appreciate the nature of extended substance — Determination of the principles which distinguish intelli- gent man from the lower animals, idiots, dotards, and madmen — Proof that the lower animals, &c., are possessed of that faculty usually called reason. In the former chapter, we endeavoured to develope the nature of reason, by shewing the mode of its operation in the simplest and most elementary pro- cesses, and in the analysis which this attempt implied accordingly, we trust that both the nature of reason, in so far, and the precise character of the processes analysed, have been made so clear as to be intelli- gible to any one capable of understanding the sense of the terms employed in the inquiry. We now proceed to consider the mode in which reason ope- rates in its application to those ulterior processes 592 REASONING. usually embraced under the name of reasoning, in the determination of which, our previous conclu- sions, with reo^ard to the nature of the rational faculty, will be found to be confirmed and per- fected. Reasoning, then, is usually divided into two kinds ■ — demonstrative and probable. According to the view which we have already given of the nature of the rational faculty, however, it will be manifest, that there is really no difference betwixt these kinds of reasoning in principle. The difference will be found not in the reasoning, but in the assumptions on which, according to the nature of the facts, the reasoning proceeds. Demonstrative reasoning pro- ceeds not on the assumption of facts as they are, of which it takes no cognisance, but on the assump- tion of facts SUCH AS THEY APPEAR TO US TO BE, and, therefore, its conclusions must be true to us whether they be true in reality or not. Probable reasoning, on the other hand, proceeds on the as- sumption THAT THE FACTS ACTUALLY ARE AS THEY APPEAR TO us TO BE, and Consequently the truth of our conclusions must depend on the accordance of the facts as they aiypear to iis w^ith their reality. From whence, however, it is obvious, that if we assume the facts as they aj)pear to us, to be the actual truth, without any reference to their absolute reality, probable reasoning becomes at once demonstrative reasoning, and our conclusions as to other things are just as certain as in regard to lines and num- REASONING. 593 bers. The process of reasoning, however, in both cases is precise^ the same, and consists either in synthesis, by adding some truth or analysis by taking some truth away — meaning by a truth merely a fact which we have been taught by con- sciousness, or by consciousness and reason combined. With these few prehminary remarks, we proceed to consider Demonstrative and Probable Reasoning in detail. DEMONSTRATIVE EEASONINa. Every step of reasoning, of whatever kind it be, must, as has been said, consist in adding a truth or taking one away — it being, of course, understood that the proposition on which we propose to reason has been, in the first place, constituted under the use of such terms as are clearly understood, their sense having been determined by definition. Ac- cordingly, mathematical reasoning, like all other reasoning formally instituted, must be premised by definitions and axioms, definitions being the defini- tions of figures or numbers, which constitute the absolute truths of the science, and axioms the defi- nitions of relations which constitute the related truths of the science. It is, therefore, evident that there can be no mathematical reasoning without both, and hence Mr. Stewart's misconception in undervaluing the importance of axioms ;■' and we " Stewart's Philosophy of the Human Mind, vol. 2, ch. Ist — Sec. Ist of Mathematical Axioms. QQ 594 REASONING. say undervaluing, though it be somewhat difficult to determine precisely what value he really attaches to them, since, while he indicates at one time that they are of little importance, he tells us at another, that " their truth is supposed or implied in all our " reasonings in both arithmetic and geometry." No doubt, '^ the theorems of geometry do not rest " on the axioms in the same sense in which they "rest on the definitions ;" but that is not the ques- tion,' — the question is, whether axioms he as essen- tial as definitions to geometrical reasoning, and this no one can deny ; nay, as we have seen, even Stewart himself substantively admits it. Tlie truth is, that Stewart was evidently led to his unintelli- gible speculations with respect to mathematical axioms by the plausible theoiy of Locke, who, un- fortunately for intellectual science, beyond all doubt, undervalued the importance of axioms for a reason which Stewart did not understand, and with which he could not have sympathised, and accordingly, he accords with Locke in putting this singular question among others — "the whole is equal to all " its parts — what real truth, I beseech you, does it " teach us T Now, it seems more than sufficient to answer this question by another — "If a man didn't "know the whole to be equal to all its parts, what " other truth would he ever be likely to acquire ?" While we admit, therefore, that definitions are essential to mathematical reasonino- — we maintain that axioms, or the definitions of relations, are REASONING. 595 80 too ; but we deny that the special certainty of the conclusions of mathematics depends on its being based on either or both, for this, every step of every kind of reasoning 'must he, or 2^'^ofess to he ; but upon its assuming its facts as we beUeve them to be, or, in other words, as being conform- able to its definitions, whether these facts be abso- lute or relative, and thus assuring a conclusion which, therefore, must be true to us, whether it be or be not tme in reality. No doubt, in mixed mathematics — that is, mathematics applied not to numbers or figures, such as we believe them to be, but to actual numbers or figures — there may be error, but this is just because we have now changed demonstrative into probable reasoning, by the assumption of facts which depend on observation for their authority, and not on our belief of their nature accordinof as we have defined them. Definitions and axioms, then, being thus fixed as the foundations of our reasoning, we next proceed to add or to subtract them, accordino: to the nature of the proposition which we have to demonstrate.* Now, we need hardly say how readily this explains all the processes of Arithmetic and Algebra, which resolve themselves in every case, merely into more or less complicated forms of addition and subti'ac- * Tlie axioms involved in the process are — " The whole is made up of " its parts " — " The less must be added to, in order to equal the greater," and, " if tlie less be subtracted from the greater, the balance is the measure " of their difference." " The balance must be subtracted from the greater ." to reduce it to efii'.ality with the lesE." 596 REASONING. tion. It is substantively the same with regard to geometry. The foui-th proposition of the first book of Eudid, which is the foundation of all geometry, consists of two axioms united. The first is to the effect, that "if two triangles have two " sides of the one equal to two sides of the other, "and the angle betwixt them equal, the sides will "lie upon each other." As the "angle" is the measure of the distance of the sides, there can be no doubt that this is an axiom, though, singularly enough, it is assumed as true, though not premised as an axiom, at all events in any edition of Euclid that we have seen. The second is to the effect, that "two straight lines cannot inclose a space," or, in other words, that "two straight lines beginning " and ending at the same points must lie the one " upon the other," The combination of these two axioms constitutes the whole proof of the proposi- tion as implied in the affirmation, that " the whole "is made up of its parts." The proof of the fifth proposition of the same book is again mainly con- stituted by subtracting a series of axioms from a mass of them combined in its figure, so as to leave a remnant embracing the previous proposition al- ready demonstrated, as implied in the affirmation, " that if one truth be subtracted from several, those " remaining are still true." The very same principle applies to every geometrical proposition, whether problem or theorem. In every instance the proof is to be found in adding axioms together, or, in REASON liNG. 597 subtracting them, so as to leave only a known truth remaining by which the point to be proved is em- braced. Of course, the axioms added together must be so added as to form a complete whole, and the operation of reason in this process is manifest. Wlien, again, axioms are subtracted, it must be from their having no bearing on the point to be proved, or, in other words, being discriminated from it by reason, and thus being mere incidentals to the purpose. They are, therefore, successively subtracted till we reach a known proposition in which the point to be proved is contained. Thus the whole operation is perfoiTiied by identification on the one hand, and discrimiDation on the other, and when we arrive at the result, it is ultimately identified with some axiom or proposition previously recognised, and the demonstration is completed. The process, however, will be more fully realised by attending to the nature of PROBABLE EEASONING. Probable reasoning implies precisely the same process as mathematical reasoning, the only essen- tial difference between them, consisting, as has been said, in this, that while pure mathematical reasoning depends on assumptions which are merely expressions of our own knowledge, as determined by definitions, that which is called probable reason- ing depends on facts of observation, which may or 593 REASu:SING. may not be true, just as our observation is more or less accurate, and this is indisputably proved by the consideration, that the moment mathematical as- sumptions are made to depend on observation as in mixed mathematics, the reasoning immediately becomes probable, while the moment, on the other hand, that we discard observation from probable reasoning, and assume the facts to be as they appear to us, that which was probable becomes demonstrative reasoning. That this point, however, may be thoroughly appreciated, we have only to consider the object at which we aim, when we desire to prove anything to be true or false from facts resting on observa- tion, for that object invariably is to identify the particular to be proved with an axiom, or what comes ultimately to the same thing, to identify its evidence, with evidence which experience had pre- viously assured us testified the truth. Thus, if we desire to prove the composition of water, we may do it either by synthesis in uniting oxygen and hydrogen in certain proportions, or by analysis in analysing the water into its constituent parts. In either case, the proof evidently consists in identify- ing the thing to be proved with an axiom to the effect that *^the whole is made up of its parts." The real proof, however, it is manifest, is alto- gether apart from any formal statement of the axiom, which is merely a verbal definition of that knowledge of the nature of '^ whole" and "parts" REASONING. !')90 Avbich we derive from the most elementary opera- tion of consciousness and reason combined. If, again, we desire to know the nature of a tree, we endeavour to identify its qualities with the qualities of some species previously know^n. If we desire to determine the character of a man, we examine his acts and identify them with acts previously known, of which ^ve had ascertained the motives, and of which motives the identical acts newly ob- served are thus constituted the symbols. If, in like manner, w^e desire to know whether Christi- anity be true, we compare its evidence with other evidence -which we had already been taught by experience to be probative of truth, and if it be identical, we recognise a rational proof, or, in so far as it may appear different, we recognise a legi- timate doubt of its authority. There is no dif- ference w^hatever in the process in any case. The only question is, whether the evidence in one case be identical with, or different from, the evidence in another case. If it be identical, the same con- clusion follows : if different, a different conclusion follows, and that, just in j)roportion to the degree and kind of difference in the evidence. Of course, it will be obvious, however, that the process now described applies only to forms of evidence of which the validity has been already ascertained. In determining the value of evidence, in the Jirst in- stance, the nature of the conclusion which it w'ar- rants, if not axiomatical, or, in other words, a result 600 REASONING. of the elementaiy operation of consciousness and reason, must be ascertained by experience. It is only from the knowledge primarily thus acquired, that reason can draw its conclusions. In probable reasoning, consequently, the object generally is to remove from the evidence or facts to be identified, every incidental and collateral particular, so as to have the one naked speciality presented to the mind, which is to be identified or discriminated, and this is specially effected in that form of experiment which is called an experimen- tum crucis. In regard to objects submitted to the senses, however, this is easily effected even by ordinary observation. In identifying or discrimi- nating colours, sounds, or figures, attention is all that is required. Even in cases of chemical ana- lysis, there is little difficulty in the ojDeration, so far as mere identification or discrimination is con- cerned. We need hardly, however, say Ijhat it is very different with mental processes. Yet, even with regard to these, the difficulty mainly origi- nates in the necessit}^, under which we are compelled to reason from arbitrary symbols in the use of words, for few are competent to attach definite meanings to words, or, in fact, to knoAV anything more of them than as expressmg more or less in- definite feelings. Now, it is just at this j)oint that the importance of logical science becomes discover- able, which does not teach us to reason as many seem to imagine — since all human beings reason, KEASONING. 601 and must reason equally well on their own pre- mises — but which teaches us, or ought to teach us, to use and understand words, not only in definite, but also in identical meanings. No doubt, this can never, perhaps, be thoroughly effected, inas- much as our respective desires will always more or less give a tone and colouring to our language ; but it is, or ought to be, the great object of logic to effect this as far as possible, so that the same word may be used precisely in the same sense, and and hence the value, so far as they have a value, of syllogisms. A syllogism, strictly sj)eaking, can prove nothing : it is only an awkward attempt at giving precision to language, or, in other words, at indicating sophistry ; for the major proposi- tion being assumed, the conclusion is certain, if the syllogism be correctly drawn, and the truth of that proposition can only be ascertained by dis- criminating the various meanings of the predicate, and determining the one precise sense with which, in the conclusion, it is identified. It is in fact a very rough and iiaperfect definition or deterr)iination of the subject. The process is the very same in every instance. If we desire to ascertain the quality of a mineral, we must discriminate all its accessories, such as the soil in which it is found, or anything else which may incidentally adhere to it, from the mineral itself, and so determine what the subject to be examined actually is. If, then, we find that we have known the same substance before, its 602 REASON I NT.. quality and character are at once discovered by thus identifying it with that previously known . substance. If we want to ascertain the nature of a disease, we must endeavour to discriminate the essential from all merely secondary and incidental symptoms, and then by identifying the essential symptom or symptoms with such symptom or symptoms as previously known, the real disease to be determined is at once discoverable, and so in all such cases. The very same process must be realised with respect to verbal proof. Whenever a word has different senses, even as to degree, we must carefully define and determine that particular sense in which we use it, by discriminating and separat- ing all other senses ; and hence, just as a word is more simple, i.e., has fewer meanings, so is our ver- bal reasoning the more simple and the more pre- cise. Thus, as we have seen, that the certainty of mathematical conclusions depends on our assum- ing its principles or premises as equivalent to cer- tain apprehensions of our own minds, so its sim- plicity and precision is owing to the character of language which mathematics employs, which is all of the simplest kind, the words either not admitting of more than one definition, or if they do, all the definitions coming substantively to the same thing. Indeed, it is obvious, that, however defined, no one could ever confuse a straight line with a crooked line, or a circle with a square. There is, therefore, no complication, and little risk of error in mathemati- REASON L\a. 6U3 cal reasoning, while its premises involving in reality nothing without us, hut only our ideas or apprehen- sions of certain thiwjs without vs, assure the cer- tainty of our conclusions, if the states of our minds are really what we believe them to be. But as pro- bable is in principle just the same process as mathe- matical reasoning, it is, therefore, manifest that Ave will approximate to mathematical reasoning in the certainty of our conclusions, just as in the first instance we observe with care, and then so define each term as to assimilate our language as closely as possible to the simplicity and precision of the lan- guage of mathematics. Now we repeat, that to do this is the object, or, at all events, is the only use of the syllogism, which contains in its major proposition a sort of rough and imperfect defini- tion of the word which constitutes its subject, by attaching a defining predicate to it. This we w^e have no hesitation in maintaining to be the only possible use of the syllogism, however much the subject may be misunderstood, and even this object it only realises in the most superficial and unsatis- factory way. If we are to reason with any real accuracy, our definitions must be something very different from the major propositions of syllogisms, and the whole science of the formal logic, if science it may be called, must be set aside as a coarse and complicated system of verbiage, utterly inefficient for the discovery of truth, and, except in the most glaring cases, when ordinaiy sense requires no 604 REASONING. assistance, even for the discovery of error. We venture to express ourselves strongly upon this subject, as being convinced with Dr. Keid — who, however, was himself by no means without some remnant of practical reverence for the formal logic — • that nothing has tended more, even down to the present age, to retard the progress of sound philo- sophy. But while it is thus evident, that the puqDose of logic is, and can only be, the determination of the true and precise meaning of words — our conclusion in all cases necessarily following on such determina- tion — yet it will be obvious, that this is by so much the more readily and certainly effected, inasmuch as we more thoroughly appreciate the true nature of reasoning, since our confusion as to the meaning of words very generally originates in our greater or less ignorance of what reasoning does, or is intended to do. Hence, the moment we understand reasoning to be simply the discrimination of a word, or a sub stance, or anything else whatever it may be, from all accessories and incidentals, so as that it may be known in its naked absoluteness, and then the identification of it with some axiom or fact pre- viously known, we have a test for ascertaining the meanings of the words which w^e use, that grows more perfect every time that we realise its appli- cation. We do not, however, advise by any means, that this should supersede formal definitions, but we think it cannot be doubted, that thus formal REASONING. 605 definitions will, under such knowledge, be both more easily framed, and more precisely expressed. According to this view, then, reasoning is merely the identification or discrimination of a fact with or from another previously known, and reason is the power which in all cases identifies and discri- minates. If a fact in any instance identified or discriminated be regarded merely with reference to our apprehension of it apart from its absolute reality, whether such apprehension be or be not determined by definition, then the conclusion is demonstrative. If, on the other hand, a fact so discriminated or identified be resfarded not as we believe it to be, but as it actually is in itself, the conclusion is only probable — not, indeed, as a matter of reasoning^, for as a matter of reasoninof, every conclusion, where a man understands himself, must be demonstrative — but because the actual con- clusion in respect of its truth in the nature of things must depend on the accordance of our assumption \\dth the premises as they exist in reality. But as our feelings or our senses may have deceived us, to this extent our conclusion must be uncertain. Hence, demonstration consists of a series of axioms added or subtracted, these axioms being merely our apprehensions of certain facts immediately de- rived from the conjoint operation of consciousness and reason, and havino- no relation whatever to the actual truth or falsehood of the facts themselves ; so that to us the conclusion must be true, in so far 606 REASONING. as we are capable of apprehending at all^ since other- wise it would imply that we were deceived as to what are our own apprehensions, which is obviously, in so far as our convictions are concerned, a sup- position that is impossible, it being observed that the argument in such a case does not even depend on what our apprehensions are, but what we believe them to he. This view of the nature of reason fully explains the mode under which we attain a knowledof'e of extended substance, to account for which has so much perplexed philosophers, and no wonder, since as we have already seen, they assume that directly or indirectly we become acquainted with substance first, and that afterwards by an imaginary process which they call abstraction, we become acquainted with the qualities which appertain to it. Whereas the process is precisely the reverse. We first, as was formerly indicated, become acquainted with qualities, and thus, by identifying them with one locality and one solidity, we form our idea of sub- stance as the something in which they inhere. Before concluding our argument on the cognate subjects of reason and reasoning, however, we must farther notice a particular of the first importance in spiritual philosoj)hy, as leading directly to the determination of a special tendency of the mind, which philosophers have altogether overlooked, but on the existence and determination of which, in a great measure, depends all that is characteristic of RKASONING. 607 intelligent man, as contra-distinguished from the lower animals and idiots, while the application of it indicates those specialities by which he is discrimi- nated from dotards and madmen. Nor does the subject, under the views which have been proposed, in so far involve any serious difficulty. One thing, seems clear, that the distinction in any of those cases, is not to be found in the mere possession of the rational faculty, since the lower animals, idiots and madmen, all reason, and reason in so far, with the most perfect accuracy. We have, at all events, never heard of any one who could discrimi- nate many of the processes which, it is evident, must take place in the minds (if we may so speak) of the lower animals, from those which, in the case of human beings, are called processes of reasoning, A dog, for example, knows his master, fights for him, and defends his property. A horse avoids the place where he has been frightened, and will, on the contrary, of his own accord, direct his course to the house where he has been treated kindly. Any number of similar phenomena might be cited ; and those who deny that they are attributable to reason, are surely bound to tell us in what, in so far as their kind is concerned, they differ from similar phenomena in human beings, which all agree in attributing to it. In such cases these animals de- termine identities and discriminate differences, and we know nothins^ else that the reason of man can accomplish. The only real difference lies, not in 608 REASONING. the possession of what is usually called reason, but in the nature of the objects to which reason is applied. The lower animals reason entirely under momentary impulse. They reason only on what has a direct bearing on the passion, desire, or feel- ing of the instant, and such passion, desire, or feel- ing, with the fewest possible exceptions, is limited to bodily states. Hence — and in this consists the grand distinction — we never find that they look for- ward to ulterior results, or manifest any approach to what may be called prospective reasoning. Whenever any of their doings have 7'egard to futurity, it is invariably the result of instinct, and is in no w^ay dependent on identification or dis- crimination. Now, in so far as the use of reason is concerned, it is exactly the same with idiots. These do not differ from the rest of their race in beinof unable to reason, but in reasoning only with respect to j^as- sions, desires, and feelings of the moment. They never look forward to ulterior results, at least in the lowest stages of idiocy, nor do they manifest any approach to that which w^e have called pro- spective reasoning. They have, in fact, the same rational character, to all appearance, as the lower animals, though deficient in the instincts by which these animals seem more or less to be guided. Hence, idiots could be taught to work as the lower animals are taught, under the influence of either immediate hope or fear. The experiment has often REASONING. f)()9 been tried, and may readily be repeated. It is a painful subject, this apparent identification of a portion of our race with the lower animals, but yet, so far as we may judge from the phenomena, there seems no doubt of the fact, and hence it follows, iiTesistibly from both instances, that that whit-li constitutes the special characteristic of intelligeiit humanity is not reason, but the tendency to pro- spection which enables and induces us to apply reason to the determination of ulterior results. Of course, therefore, the farther this tendency is cul- tivated and strengthened, the more do we differ from the beasts of the field ; in other words, the more intelligent we are, and the greater desire for knowledge that w^e realise, the more are we characterised by the nature of humanity. Hence, again, the special capability of intelligent man to reason abstractly, for this having no relation to momentary impulse, but solely to future and pos- sible results, evidently can be realised by those only who are capable of, and have a pleasure in, direct- ing their attention to prospective and indirect con- sequences. It need hardly be added, that under the same principles, intelligent man can alone, of the creatures of this world, have any notion of a future state of existence, and that he must have IT. This, indeed, is manifestly the brightest and greatest realisation of his characteiistic nature, that it compels him, as he rises higher and higher in intelligence, to look forward to an eternity, R R 610 REASONING. and to reason upon it. There may, indeed, be no such eternity, but he is not the less under an ab- solute necessity of expecting, and more or less believing it. It seems most extraordinary, that this capability of, and tendency to, prospection has never been observed by philosophers, and the more, that it is evidently the co-relative of our desire of investigating causes and anticipating re- sults. The philosophy of the subject, however, does not belong to this branch of the science, but to that which regards our feelings and tendencies. Dotage, again, though a totally different state from idiocy, yet does not any more than idiocy im- ply a deprivation of reason. It is different from idiocy, because in dotage we still have a tendency to prospection. It does not imply a deprivation of reason, because a man in his dotage can reason with perfect accuracy on the principles which he assumes. Dotage chiefly exhibits itself in an ap- parent decay of the faculty of memory, though it is very doubtful w^hether that faculty be really affected, inasmuch as the facts of a man's earlier histoiy are in such a state comparatively well remembered, and it is only more recent impressions that are for- gotten. Now, this can be accounted for by the weakening of the energy of our passions, desires, and feelings. We do not feel with equtil eamest- ness, and consequently, under principles already explained, the facts take only an imperfect and wenk liold on the mind. Our nnxietv about REASONINO. (in worldly things and worldly indulgences, except in so far as they have been confirmed by habit, seems in dotage to be diminishing and dying away. Hence, there is every probability, that a state of dotage is intimately connected with a change on our physical organization. The subject, however, is well worthy of a more careful examination. We have ourselves had but little opportunity of study- ing minutely the phenomena. Insanity exhibits phenomena, again, almost the reverse of dotage, for it involves an extreme energy in one or more of our passions or desires. Certainly it implies no deprivation of reason strictly so called, for the madman has frequently the most acute per- ception of identities and diiferences, and rea^^ons with indisputable accuracy, and that specially — ■ assuming his principles — in those cases where his own special extravagance is concerned. Insanity, in fact, consists in the overbearing strength of some one passion or desire, which, according to the prin- ciples of association, perpetually hurries and drpvgs the mind in a particular direction, so that, instead of events being felt by consciousness, as they actu- ally are, they all take their character from this irre- sistible influence. The eiTor of the madman, there- fore, is not in his reason, but in the feeling that is essential to his consciousness, and which, conse- quently, gives to the facts of his consciousness, a character which they do not bear to anybody else. He may be compared to a man in iho jaundice, to 612 REASONING. whom ever}'thing appears yellow. Insanity, in truth, is little more than what is usually called strong prejudice, for, whenever a man is prejudiced by passion or desire, so that he cannot appreciate facts as they are, it is evident that on the particular point he approaches to insanity, and if his prejudice be joushed a Httle farther, so that he could not appreciate facts at all, except in so far as they har- monise with his overbearing passion or desire, it becomes insanity altogether. In the same way, if the passion or desire in insanity be diminished, it becomes prejudice; and if at length it be rendered, in a measure, subservient to the desire for absolute truth, sanity is at once restored. The prejudice involved in insanity, however, depends probably in all cases, more or less on organic change. But it is not necessary, at present, to enter on this ques- tion, it being sufficient for us here to have proved that insanity is not a deprivation of reason, since the philosophy of the subject belongs also to an- other branch of the science. CHAPTER XIIT. ON THE INFINITE, THE ETEENAL, AND THE ABSOLUTE. Importance of those subjects — Causes which have specially led Pliilusopliers to attempt their expiscation by a jii'iori speculations — They cannot be so expiscated — Origin of confusion betwixt a jiriori speculation and experimental knowledge —Application of the distinction to the Infinite, tlie Eternal, and the Absolute — Analysis of the Infinite — Of the Eternal — Of the Absolute — Amount of our knowledge of the Absolute — Con- clusion. The subjects of which we projDose to treat in this chapter are evidently the most important and sub- lime to which tlie attention of intellisfent beino-s can be directed ; and they are forced on our con- sideration, from the very constitution of the human mind, for the prospective tendency — which, we have seen, constitutes the very characteristic of intelli- gent humanity — embraces sjDace and infinity, as well as time and eternity, inasmuch as the two thing's cannot be practically separated from each othei-, though, indeed, this tendency is itself, perhaps, merely a form of that desire of knowledge, whether for its own sake, or for the sake of some either direct or indirect advantage to be derived from it, G 1 t IN ^"l^' ITE -— ICTEll.N'AL AUSiOLL'TE. wliicli is felt by all intelligent human beings, and embraces tlie universe in its range. Hence, as might be supposed, these subjects from their very awfuhiess and magnificence, have attracted the attention of philosophers from the earliest times, but in consequence of this very awfulness and mag- niliceiice, they have been supposed to transcend experience, and thus philosophers in all ages have endeavoured to expiscate their philosphy by a jyriori speculations, and this especially has been the system of the modern German School, which has, as a natural result, above all others, ended in the delu- sio]i of substituting high-sounding words in the place of facts and phenomena. Were it indeed possible, that the nature of the Infinite, the Eternal, and tlie Absolute, were discoverable a priori, it is manifest, that there must have been some precise a priori facts on which our speculations might be founded, but there are none such, and even if there v/ere, as, from the very nature of the case, they could be comparable with nothing else, it follows that reason, if reason be merely the faculty which discriminates and identifies, could never carry us one step beyond them. These a ])riori facts would constitute the ultimatimi of our knowledge, and, as existing a 'priori in every mind, they would be equally known to every human being. We are now, however, ai'rived at a stage of our argument which enables us perfectly to compre- hend what is the orio-in of the confusion botvv^ixt INFINITE — ETERNAL — ABSOLUTE. 615 a priori speculation and experimental knowledge, for it is evident that our knowledcje is to be re- garded under two aspects — 'Ist, as regards facts as they are, and 2ndly, as regards our apprehension of them. Now, whether we know accurately facts as they are, which is usually w^liat is known as experimental knowledge, must ever be a matter of greater or less uncertainty, and, consequently, all our conclusions with respect to these must be un- certain proportionally. If, for example, we argue from the nature of a tree or any other object as it exists without us, we may or ma,y not be right as to the natm^e of such tree, or such object, and all our conclusions must be true or false, just according to the correctness of our assumption. In the same way, if we argue on the assumption, that a given triangle lohicli ive see, is an isoceles triangle, the correctness of our conclusion must depend on whether it really be an isoceles triangle or not which we see, a point which the human senses are not so perfect as with certainty to determine. Now this is what is usually called experimental, and sometimes, though not very accurately, empiri- cal knowledg^e. In resfard to such knowledsre, we never can have positive assurance ; but the case is altogether different with respect to our reasoning on facts or jjhenomena, not as they are, but as we apprehend them, for here our premises are certain, in so far as we are concerned. It is on our own belief that we reason, and not as to the CI 6 INFINITE — ETERNAL — ABSOLUTE. actual nature of anything without us. Hence, if we reason with respect to a tree, or any other object, not as it actually is, but as we apprehend it to be, our premises are certain, in so far as we are concerned, and our reasoning, consequently, to us must be demonstration. In like manner, if we argue that ''the angles at the base of an isoceles " triangle are equal to one another," not in any given case, but as we apprehend the nature of an isoceles triangle, then we cannot doubt the cer- tainty of our conclusion, else it would follow that 'Hwo straight lines might enclose a space," which, being inconsistent with our apprehension of what a straight line means, is to us impossible. Now, from not perceiving the distinction betwixt these kinds of knowledge, farther than that the one is certain and the other uncertain, philosophers have been led to suppose that they are essentially dif- ferent with respect to the mental sources from which they are respectively derived, and, regarding the former as derived from reason, they have sup- posed the latter to be a priori, innate, or intuitive. They allow, indeed, that there is some exercise of the rational faculty in the acquisition of demonstra- tive knowledge, though they do not know pre- cisely in what it consists, but they conceive that all the details are known innately or intuitively. Yet, in point of fact, so far are the details in demonstra- tive reasoning from being acquired a priori, that they are all derived from knowledge acquired n INFINITE ETERNAL — ABSOLUTE. 617 j)Ostcrior'i — are the direct results of it, and, ?.part from empirical or experimental knowledge, conse- quently we could not have known them at all; nor is it of any importance whether our knowledge regards anything without us or an internal state : in both cases, it must be primarily experimental. Thus we are conscious of the exercise of memory as an experimental fact. We know it from ex- perience, only being an act of our own minds, we are more perfectly acquainted with its nature, and therefore may in so far reason thereon with greater assurance as to the actual certainty of its pheno- mena, than with respect to those of any merely external object. Yet, our knowledge in such a case is no less knowledge of experience, and we can only, in a measure, be more assured of the facts which it communicates, if we regard their actual truth ; but, on. the other hand, we cannot be de- ceived in regard to them, so far as we are concerned, if we regard them not as to their actual truth, but only as to our own apprehensions of them. From all which it is perfectly clear, that all our know- ledge must, in the first instance, be derived from experience, and consequently that the knowledge which has been supposed a i^riori, is simply the special form of our apprehension of such know- ledge as may, through experience or consciousness, have been thus realised. It will thus be perfectly manifest, that in any proper and strict sense, we cannot be said to hioiv 618 INFINITE — ETERNAL — ABSOLUTE. the Infinite, the Eternal, and the Absolute. We can, in other words, have no experience of them, we could not have been conscious of them in any particular case, and therefore it is impossible that we could intelhgently apprehend them ; and it is quite absurd to say that we may in a measure know Infinity in space, and Eternity in time, because it is in their endlessness, and not in their modes, that the difhculty lies, of which we can have no experi- ence nor consciousness in any form whatsoever. Hence, every one feels, that his ideas of them are somehow totally different from his ideas of almost everything else. We do not know them as "v^e know any object within or around us. Our notions of them are quite special. We know in fact that they are, but not what they are, for to this effect and extent only can our experience reach upon the subject. In order, however, that we may as thoroughly as possible appreciate the extent and character of our knowledge of these particulars, it will be proper to analyse it in regard to each of them separately — the first to which we direct our attention being infinity, which meaning infinite space, it would, of course, follow, that if we know infinity a priori, we must know space a 2^Tiori, or else there could be no a priori knowledge at all, except abstract infinity ; but as there is, and can be, on grounds repeatedly explained, no such idea as that of ab- stract infinity, Kant was induced to maintain that IN FIN ITE — ETEUNAL ABSOLUTE. (U 9 our notion of space itself is a priori, and thence he was assuredly entitled to conclude, that much more must our idea of infinite space be so. Yet, most strange does it appear, that any one could have ever been deluded into the adoption of such a theory. The veiy proposition, that our knowledge of space is from within, that it originates in nothing without us, and that we know nothino; of it as without us, but that it proceeds from an internal conviction altogether apart from any assurance of its real existence, is a theory utterly opposed to our firmest faith, and our unvarying experience. Were it true, indeed, then we must conclude that all the universe which space contains, must be within us too, and thus, it would follow, that all which we suppose ourselves to know, would at once be liable to doubt, or rather scepticism in such circum- stances, would be the only possible philosophy. A very child would ridicule such a contradiction of all that humanity holds as most indisputable. The fiict is, that philosophers confused them- selves originally, by supj)Osing that our knowledge of space was acquired absolutely from sensation ; and as this is evidently not true — since we cannot feel, nor see, nor hear, nor taste, nor smell space — their successors, assuming that there v/as no other way of accounting for our knowledge of space, came to the conclusion, that such knowledge must be intuitive, or what is really the same thing, a 'priori. Yet, the mode of our becoming acquainted with space, 620 INFINITE ETERNAL — ABSOLUTE. is really a matter involving no difficulty, according to the principles wliich we have already developed, since, though we do not absolutely know space by sensation, in the way that we know hardness, colour, &c., we no less assuredly become acquainted with it from experience, in the combined action of sensation, memory, and reason. Our every motion, indeed, gives us a knowledge of space, for we are perceptionally conscious of the action of our muscles, and rationally cognisant of the difference of locali- ties in which our members exist at successive periods. Every sense of touch, directly, and every instance of vision, indirectly, gives us the same knowledge by a similar process ; nay, our very sense of existence, as creatures constituted of united bodies and souls, gives us a knowledge of space, by the rational discrimination of that which constitutes our existence, from that which such existence exists in, which is evidently not a priori, but a posteriori, or exj)erimental knowledge. It is not, therefore, an object which we perceive, but room or space which we apprehend as something distinct from ourselves, and in which we exist, and which thus, in its relation both to us and to other objects, we are made acquainted with. In this way we are assured, from the knowledge of space or locality so acquired, that to exist out of space is to exist nowhere, i.e., so far as we are concerned or can conceive, is not to exist at all. Now, from the very nature of the knowledge thus acquired of INFINITE — ETERNAL — ABSOLUTE. G21 Space, it is evident that we can only have the most vague and indefinite idea of infinity. We only know that the limitation of space is to us, incon- ceivable and impossible ; for, in other instances, reason gives us the idea of the opposites with some degree of precision, or, at all events, it makes them conceivable. In our conception of hardness, for exam2:)le, reason implies the possibility and con- ceivability of non-hardness ; in our conception of hght, of non-light ; in our conception of existence, of non-existence. But reason gives us no indica- tion even of the opposite of space ; on tlie con- trary, the opposite of space, reason teaches us, would imply the absence of a negation, which, of course, could never constitute an idea, and which, indeed, it is impossible that we can conceive at all. Space, to us in fact, it will be manifest, from what has been already said, is not existence of any kind, but the void wherein existence may be contained. To sup- pose space to cease, therefore, would be to suppose something of which neither existence nor non-exis- tence could be predicated, which — these being to us the only conceivable possibilities — evidently must imply a contradiction in terms, since it would be equivalent to an assumption that something is and is not, at the same time. Nor is this a merely nega- tive conclusion : it is a positive conclusion, involved in the axiom, "that contraries cannot be predicated " of the same subject." That space has limits, there- fore, implies to us an impossible proposition. 622 INFINITE KTERMAL ABSOLUTE, Nearly the same remarks are applicable to time and eternity. As was said of space, we do not know time as absolutely discoverable by our sensa- tions, but through the conjoined operation of con- sciousness, memory, and reason, as we recognise ourselves and other objects as existing in successive states or at successive times. We know, therefore, existence and even non-existence only as existing in time, and we cannot conceive them to exist otherwise, because neither reason nor any other faculty gives us any possible substitute for it. Not to exist in time, therefore, as not to exist in space, is to us just not to exist at all ; but in all this there is no a 2)'i'io7'i knowledge. We know time by experience, not as an existence or substance, but as a succession of existence and states in dura- tion, by a rational apprehension, of the distinction betwixt the time in ivhich ive exist, and existence existing in such time, just as we know space by a similar process, as a succession of existence and states in extension or locality. And as with re- spect to space, so with respect to time, reason gives us no opposite. We cannot even conceive non- time, nor any modification of it, for we cannot con- ceive time to move either faster or slower. To us, therefore, there cannot be a limitation of time any more than of space, as equally implying an im- possibility and a contradiction. It would, in other words, be assuming a time which was non-time, just as the assumption of the limitation of space INFINITE ETKRNAL ABSOLUTE. ()23 would imply au idea of space which was non-space. Hence, again, and on the same grounds, we can only have a very vague notion of eternity. We cannot, without absurdity, suppose a beginning or an end of time any more than we can do of space, because we cannot conceive a time whicli is non- time, nor a space which is non-space, but it is ex- ceedingly doubtful whether our knowledge extends any farther. It is under these views, obvious, that space and time cannot be annihilated, in so far as we can conceive, for all our notions are embraced in the categories of existence or non-existence ; but ex- istence we know, from experience, to exist in space, and, from our knowledge of its nature, we know that it can only exist in space while non- existence is space strictly considered, since, if any- thing were contained in it, then, in so far, it would not be space, but existence in space. Non-space, however, were it possible, would be a third species of notion. It would be neither exis- tence nor non-existence, but the ahsejice of both existence and non-existence ; which is not only an impossible idea, but from its very nature an absur- dity, because it would imply a condition of being which was neither something nor nothing. The very same conclusion follows with regard to time which is with regard to duration, just what space is with regard to extension. In this argument it will be observed that we are obliged, from the very 624 INFINITE — ETERNAL — ABSOLUTE. necessity of the case, to go back to our veiy pri- mary feelings as to the nature of existence, and this gives it an appearance of metaphysical subtilty which cannot be avoided, for the ideas are so simple and elementary that words can hardly be found to express them. A very little considera- tion, however, will make it perfectly plain, inasmuch as the subtilty is only apparent and not real, ori- ginating in no cause Avhatever, except the exceed- ing imperfection of philosophical language. The nature of the absolute, differs altogether from that of infinity and eternity, inasmuch as " the absolute " implies actual existence, and not merely the receptacle or duration of existence. It differs, however, from ordinary existence, in so far as " the absolute " implies existence, which exists hy its oivn energy. This " absolute " has, by some, been called 'Hhe unconditioned," as if it were ex- istence without powers ; but this is evidently to us an impossible supposition, for we cannot know exis- tence except by its powers, and therefore, to us, exis- tence without power, is merely another name for non- existence. The only possible assumptions, there- fore, as to the nature of ^'the absolute" are, first, that all existence exists by the necessity of its na- ture, and, consequently, is eternal; or secondly, that there exists an infinite and eternal power by which everything else has been created, and by which all things are preserved and regulated. Now it ap- pears to me perfectly indisputable, that the whole I N FIN ITE — ETERNAL — AliSOLUTE. G25 of the former of these assumptions, and a portion of the latter, rest on no evidence, and consequently, in so far as reason is concerned, must be regarded as pure conjectures or possibilities. Neither consciousness nor reason give us any information as to the essence of existence, and consequently it is altogether im- possible for us to determine, by our natural faculties, whether the universe be eternal in its essence, or created. The errors and confusion into which phi- losophers have fallen as to this subject just originate, indeed, in the supposition, that in knowing ''the " absolute" we know it in its essence, for such a sup- position necessarily leads to the conclusion of Kant and Sir Y/. Hamilton, that we cannot even con- ceive it, a conclusion impl3dng absurdity in its very enunciation, since, if we cannot conceive it, then u'liat is it ofirhich they predicate the non-conceptio7if We do not, therefore, and cannot know " the abso- " lute " or any thing else essentially. We can only know essence in the exercise of its powers, and that by three processes:- -1, that of consciousness, of course, including perception, through which we know it directly; 2, that of reason, through which we know it inferentially ; and 3, that of co-relation, which is merely a more complicated operation of reason, through which we know it, or have the means of knowing it potentially — and we say have the means of knowing it, because, in determining co-relatives, the operation of reason is necessary, in order to discriminate the nature of the existence or ss 626 INFINITE ETERNAL — ABSOLUTE. power which will specially correspond to that some- thing which the co-relative is needed to perfect. Thus, if we see, for example, a semi-circular hole artificially cut in a stone, reason tells us the charac- * ter of the co- relative figure which it is intended to receive, because it is impossiole to know definitely a deficiency or relation, without as dejinitely know- ing its supplement or co-relative ; or, if v/e see a piece of machinery, we endeavour, in like manner, through reason to discover the co-relative, or, in other words, the instrumentality which will set it in motion, and the co-relative, or, in other words, the object which it is intended to effect. Now, it is by the appreciation of co-relation, which is evidently a process of discrimination and identification com- bined, that we know all that we can know about "the absolute." We cannot see it, nor touch it, nor know it by any of our external senses, nor can we feel it in the same way that we feel the action of our faculties, or the impulses of our emotions, hence, the only other possible way that we can be- come acquainted with it, is as a co-relative to a de- sire, reason indicating the nature of the co-relative alone competent to gratify such desire, according to the axiom, that "all its parts are necessary to make "up a whole." This, indeed, as w^ill now, we trust, be obvious, is the only kind of aj^riori knowledge that is possible, and even this, it is evident, is not a priori in the ordinary sense of the word, since the desire in each case is really all that we know a 'pTiori, but 1 \y INITE ETERNA L ABSOLUTE. G27 i.s merely an inference of reason discriminating the nature of the something which will correspond or harmonise with, and thus complete, by combining with it, the desire of which, by our natural consti- tution, we had been conscious. Reason compares all the various objects or possibilities suitable for gratifying any desire, and thus ultimately identifies with it, its proper co-relative. Thus, hunger is a feeling that implies the need of a co-relative for its gratification, or in other words, in the feeling of hunger is i-idicated a something provided by nature, for the realisation of a normal condition. Reason discriminates this indication, as well as the proper means of attaining the result at which it points. In this way the something, however vaguely, becomes, if we may so express ourselves, co-relatively known to us. Sexual desire consti- tutes a still more striking illustration, because it implies the need, not merely of a physical quality, but of a moral sympathy, for its full gratification. Hence it seems to imply the existence of a fellow- creature as a co-relative. No doubt, tiie idea might be vague in the case of one who had from infancy been secluded from his race ; but that such an idea as co-relative to the desire, must be generated in some form, seems indisputable. In the same w^ay, aU our feelings of sympathy, and desires of society, give us an identical result. They imply the exis- tence of other beings Hke ourselves. However vaguely such ideas may be suggested, it seems im- 628 INFINITE — ETERNAL — ABSOLUTE. possible that such states could be, without in some measure involving them. Now, this is precisely the knowledge that we have in the first instance of "the absolute; " we feel dependent, and this sense of dependence implies an uneasiness which, under the influence of reason, again generates a desire for an assurance of the existence of some power capable of relieving us from this uneasiness, of preserving and protecting us, and that not for a time, but for ever. That power must be " the ab- " solute," because it could not serve its purpose, nor constitute a full co-relative to our desire w^hich is "absolute," unless the existence to which it ap- pertains were omniscient and omnipotent, infinite, eternal, and true, and that we must believe in it, is as certain as that hunger compels a belief in the exist- ence of food ; the sexual impulse, in the existence of some species of being co-relative to its tendencies ; and our feelings of sympathy, in the existence of fel- low-creatures with whom such sympathies may be reciprocated. All states, in fact, which are essen- tially imperfect, must necessarily imply our belief in those co-relations which will realise and com- plete them, else must we suppose our nature a delusion, and our reason a lie. Nor is this our knowledfje of " the absolute " under such a view, confined merely to a knowledge of its existence. In the very nature of the case, we must also know its qualities in so far as they are co-relative to our desire. This, however, does not appertain to that INFINITE — ETERNAL — AHSOLITK. 629 branch of the subject which we are now considering. It is the link which strictly connects intellectual witli theological science. Such is the knowledge which we possess of the '^ Infinite, the Eternal, and the Absolute/' we do not say all the knowledge that we can acquire on those subjects, but all, so far as we know, attainable in the present state of philosophical science. It is, however, a knowledge in thus far not depending on mere speculation, but on indisputable facts ascer- tained by experience, and determined by intelligence in their application. CHAPTER XIV. ON IMAGINATION, HUMOUR, AND WIT. Usual sense of the word Imagination — More restricted sense. In this latter sense imagination merely a form of reason — Humour analysed and reduced to the same category — Cause of laughter — Wit, an exhi- bition of incongruity limited to one particular — Puns are merely exhi- bitions of incongruity in expression and words. Imagination, in its usual sense, is merely a process of association in wliich the mind, havino- no definite object in view, but only a more or less vague con- ception of an object, its desires call forth a series of ideas unusually interesting and vivid, as specially cognate to themselves, and which are commonly known under the names of visions, fancies, or, gene- rally, day-dreaming. In such cases, the controlling power of the mind is only partially in operation. The mental state, indeed, which such a process im- plies, seems to result from a concentration of the mind in itself, and a consequent cessation of the perceptive faculty, which cessation, in its most pure state, is realised in actual dreaming. This is the process, as will he obvious, under a modified form, which generates poetical descriptions. Imagina- IMAGINATION HUMOUR — WIT. 631 tion, however, in the stricter sense in which the word is used, is merely the recognition of simi- larities. Hence the metaphor, simiUtude, allegory, and all kinds of figures. Now, this, though fre- quently conjoined with a tendency to day-dreaming, is in itself neither more nor lesS than a form of reason. It is an imperfect reason, giving us simi- litudes instead of identities, and, singularly enough, wherever it is strongly developed, the power of logical thinking is almost invariably deficient. A tendency to realise resemblances hardly ever co- exists with a strongly logical mind, yet the dif- ference is evidently only in degree, and not in kind. Keason appreciates identities absolutely, while imagination merely appreciates similitudes, and often, consequentl}'', errs logically, in supposing objects identical which are only similar. There is, however, no real difference in kind between simi- larities and identities, for similitude is identity in mode, or some other incidental, though not in es- sence, and, therefore, it is not improbable that the poet might be a logician, did he accustom himself to attend more carefully to the essential character istics instead of the incidents of things. The com- parison, consequently, of things so as to identify and discriminate their essences, is reasoning. The comparison of things, so as to identify and discri- minate their incidentals, is imagination in the stricter sense of the term. The difference seems to consist in the greater or lesser degree of attention 632 IMAGINATION — HUMOUR— WIT. given to the precise nature of the objects presented to us. This analysis of the process of imagination is still farther illustrated by the determination of the nature of wit and humour, which are merely forms of the same process. Eumour is just the exhibi- tion of unexpected incongruities in the same subject, and consists as a mental process in the acute per- ception, consequently, of identities and opposites in the same subject, causing surprise, mixed with a certain amount of admiration and pleasure. The greatest effect, however, is usually produced when such incongruities have reference to human beings, so as to imply a certain sense of superiority in those to v/hom they do not apply. Thus, for example, in the Eape of the Lock — " Whether the Nymph shall Lrcak Diana's hnv, " Or some frail China jar receive a flaw; " Or stain her honour, or her new brocade ; " Forget her prayers, or miss a masquerade ; " Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball ; " Or whether heaven has doomed that Shock must fall." The contrast exhibited in this passage betwixt that which is most important, and that which is most trifling, as if a giddy girl held both to be of the same value, and the absolute truth of the esti- mate of such a person's character, as occasionally, at all events, reahsed in experience, implies humour, which, however, as in most such cases, must, to right thinking minds, suggest also no small cause for pity and regret. There are many similar exhi- IMAGINATION — HUMOUR — WIT. ()33 bitions of the same species of humour in Byron's works, and particularly in Don Juan, but which is of a still more painful kind, as consisting mainly in the contrast betwixt the serious character of tlie truths which be illustrates, and the half-trifling, half-contemptuous style and terms in which the illustrations are couched. Thus — "What are tlic hopes of man ! old Egypt's king, " Cheops erected the first Pyramid, " And largest — thinking it -was just the thing " To keep his memory whole and mummy hid ; " But somebody or other rummaging, " Burglariously broke his coffin's lid : " Let not a moment give you or me hopes, " Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops." Under the definition of humour, it is evident that every species of fun is included, or, in other words, those incongruities, whether practical or verbal, which cause laughter, for this is by no means the result of every species of humour. To cause real laughter — for much more frequently than people imagine, laughter is more or less un- consciously forced, if not a mere result of habit — but to cause real laughter, the incongruity of the fact or idea presented to us must not only imply some obvious absurdity, but it must be of a very unexpected kind, and generate a variety of feelings so as to occasion an action of the mind on the nerves more rapid than the muscular system can immediately accommodate itself to, which, in all probability, is the cause of the convulsive move- ment of the bodily organisation. The length of 634 IMAGINATION — HUMOUR — WIT, time that this convulsive movement may continue, will, of course, depend upon the violence and con- tinuance of the cause, though it would seem also to be sometimes determined by the nervous system being for the time so disorganised and complicated as to require a considerable effort for the purpose of recovering its tone. Wit is merely a single flash of humour. An incongruity limited to a single particular. It is, in fact, to humour what a metaphor is to an alle- gory. The one is embraced in a single phrase, the other implies a sustained description. Puns con- stitute a species of verbal wit when the incongruity, i.e., the conjoined identity and contrariety, consists in a mere incongruity in the form of the expression without any incongruity of idea. This is usually regarded as a lower species of wit, and it really is so, as implying very little imagination, being usually the result of the habit of attending to th,e various senses which words usually bear. CHAPTER XY. CONCLUSION. Analysis must, in so far, be imperfect — Cause of this — Main object of the Work — WTiat it professes to have attempted — How far there seems reason to hope that the objects attempted have been realised — In so far, a foundation laid, on which the super-structure of Religious, Moral, and Political Science may be reared — Philosophy of the feelings and desires necessary to complctL' such foundation. We have now finished the first part of the philoso- phy of the human mind. We have described what may be called the machinery of the mind, and in so far explained its processes of operation, although any such description and explanation must necessarily, to a certain extent, be imperfect, until the active powers, setting the macliinery in operation, be also analysed, and their respective energies, and their mutual bearings be also thoroughly expiscated. These powers, it will at once be perceived, are the feelings and desires ; for it is evident, that apart from these, the faculties could never be stimulated to action. In this work, therefore, these have been assumed, but their character has only been briefly and incidentally indicated, in so far as absolutely necessary for the explanation of those processes 636 CONCLUSION. which constituted an essential portion of our sub- ject. The more thoroughly, however, the nature of these feelings and desires is understood, the more completely, it is thence evident, must the cha- racter of each such process be appreciated, in so far as each is respectively dependent on their in- fluence ; for as every state of mind is coloured, not merely by a consciousness of existence, but by feel- ings either of cheerfulness or depression, of hope or of fear, so the tendency of every state must be de- termined by the character of the desire or desires which generate it. Hence, from these alone can we be assured in any measure, either of the divine purpose in the creation of man, or of his future and final destiny. We, therefore, admit that many of the mental processes have been, and could only have been imperfectly developed, that not a few have, perhaps, been overlooked altogether, and that much more may be eflected in the way of illustrat- ing and combining the various particulars even which have been discussed ; but, on the other hand, we trust, that so far as we have gone, each conclusion has been rested on facts and evidence that are indisputable. The great objection hitherto taken to intellectual science has been the uncertainty of its foundations, each succeeding philosopher sweeping away the principles on which his prede- cessors had reared their respective systems. Now, it has been our main object to meet and to obviate this undeniable difficulty. We have never inten- CONCLUSION. Oo ( tionally, or without some indication, appealed to any proof which would not seem to have justified our conclusion under the same circumstances, ac- cording to the strictest deductions of physical science ; and we have farther endeavoured so to state such proof as to render it not only intelli- gible, but perfectly obvious in its application, to every one capable of understanding ordinaiy language. In this way, we trust, independently of minor particulars, that our consciousness of our own existence has been 2:>roved ; that the true and only grounds of our belief in personal identity have been proved ; that the idealistic and materialistic theories — referring to materialism in its grosser form — have been disproved, and ideas demonstrated to be neither mind nor matter, but our knowledge of mind and matter, and the relations which differ- ent powers, whether of mind or matter, bear to each other ; that the confusion betwixt relative knowledge, and knowledge of existences as related to our minds and organic being, has been cleared up, and the real origin of our belief in external ex- istence precisely explained ; that various particulars in regard to memoiy, and the knowledge derivable therefrom, have been established ; that the ti-ue principle of the association of ideas has been ascer- tained ; that the nature of general ideas and general words has been so developed, as to reHeve the sub- ject entirely from those difficulties and peiplexities by which it was supposed to be complicated ; that G38 CONCLUSION. our belief in matheriiatical and other axioms — spe- cially the axiom, " that ever}^ change must have a " cause" — has been reduced to ordinary and obvious mental processes ; that the distinction betwixt con- sciousness and reason has been determined, and the true power of the rational faculty indicated ; that the mental process in reasoning has been analysed, and reduced to its simplest elements ; that the nature of the Infinite, the Eternal, and the Absolute has been explained, and the amount of our possible knowledge of them defined and limited ; and that imagination, humour, and wit, have been identified with the exercise of reason, as forms under which, in certain circumstances, it developes itself. Of course, we feel that it would be presumptuous to assume, that all this had been done thoroughly, or that the various particulars are brought out with equal fulness and precision ; but we do say, that after most careful and anxious examination, we have not been able to discover any portion of the argument to which, so far as we can judge, any one can logically object, nor have we found any one — ■ and we have stated our views to many individuals — who has hesitated to admit their validity ; of course, however, when we say this, we assume the autho- rity of consciousness, and generally of the human faculties, so far as experience proves that they were intended to regulate belief If, however, our pre- vious arguments be conceded even in a measure, any dispute on this subject must be at an end. CONCLUSION. G39 since even our earlier chapters, supposing their argument vaHd, superseded, so far as we know, every form of scepticism which could bring their autho- rity into question. If, then, even in a measure, we may be entitled to assume, that the particulars ad- verted to have actually been realised, the purpose of this work has, in thus far, at all events, been accomplished. The principles of intellectual science have been so established, as to constitute, in thus far, -a solid foundation on which religious, moral, and political science may be reared. There may be much still to be done, no doubt ; but, certainly it would be of the most immense importance, to be assured that what is done, is not built upon sand, which at any moment may once more slij) away, and leave us precisely w^here w^e were before. To attain this assurance has, in every part of the pre- ceding work, therefore, been our main object, and we cannot help humbly, though anxiously trusting, that in this object we have not altogether failed. We would, however, in conclusion, repeat, be- cause it is a most important point to be attended to, that even if we have succeeded in our " inquiiy "into the powers and processes of the human "mind," to an extent beyond what even our most sanguine hopes would justify us in anticipating, yet we by no means conceive the foundations com- pleted on which the higher spiritual sciences may be reared. The philosophy of the feelings and passions, as has been indicated, is the bond which G40 CONCLUSION. unites that foundation with these sciences, and it has been even less cultivated than any otlier branch of the philosophy of mind. Yet, it evidently must involve most interesting considerations, and, in- deed, so far as we have been able to ascertain its results, seems to lead to conclusions so extraordi- nary and novel, that if we be correct — and we have endeavoured to prosecute the subject with the ut- most caution — it must lead to a complete alteration of those ideas usually entertained as to the inun- dations on which the higher branches of spiritual science are rested. Nor do we conceive the sub- ject to involve considerations implying any thing- like insuperable difficulty — on the contrary, we be- lieve that if the work has been fairly and surely begun, the impulse which it will thence receive, especially taken in connection with the strange and startling- results which seem to flow from the deter- mination of the philosophy of the feelings, will have the effect of directing the attention of a laro-er number of tuinking men to a more anxious culti- vation of the science, and thus will render its ulterior success both certain and progressively accelerating. I Wre . e n d AnERI'EEX : JOHN AVERY, ST. CATHERINE S AVYNO, UNION PTREET. LD 21-50m-l2;61 (04796810) *76 C02TMflq37s